Le Train.

Trains always felt like something from another time. Something for movies, for western outlaws, for secret meetings, or for murder mysteries. Now I take a train to and from my job in Moulins twice a week. It has become something de ma vie quotidienne. Nevertheless, each time I hear the little ring before announcements at the train station, it seems a bit like magic.

I love the landscapes slipping past. Unlike driving a car, I do not have to focus on the road in front of me. I can allow myself to study the little points of interest. Having taken the train from Clermont to Moulin every week, I feel like I know every aspect. I have a favorite hill. It's covered in thick, green grass. At the top is an old white, anonymous house. There is a tree off to the left that I watched go from barren white to light spring green to lush summer green. During the fall, I watched the huge cow feeders fill to the top with corn. I can spot the Army barracks, the last building before the Clermont station, a mile away. It's the sign of relief. At last, the journey is over.

I have experienced the evils of the train. I huddled hours on the hard benches in the freezing cold of an unheated train station waiting for a train that would never come because of the strikes. All of my most precious possessions were stolen from me on the train. Some person swiped my purse underneath my eyes. My iPod, €50, my Titre de Sejour with the perfect photo of me, a brand new wallet from Spain, and my purse that I bought in Paris are gone forever. I was able to renew my bank card and my student card. My Passport was found in a near by town. I had to take a train to retrieve it.

There is also a phenomenon thanks to the introduction of cell phones that play music. It's always some dumb kid around 15-18 years of age who plays his favorite rap songs aloud for the world to hear. I'm used to it by now, but I'm always amused by the adults coming across this problem for the first time. They stand up and stare at the kid as if their entire concept of the world has been turned upside down. I smile at them and shrug my shoulders.

Nothing, though, can take away the pleasure of sitting across from someone who is dear to you during your ride. Normally this takes place on some great adventure. First to Paris. Then to Brussels, Stockholm, London, Barcelona, Rome? Choose. They are all just a plane or another train away. In your excitement, you face the person you love. Or maybe you don't know you love them yet. But, you realize you wouldn't want to sit across from anyone else on your way to Barcelona. You let the thought fade away and begin any number of great conversations that you will never forget.

When I step off my last train from Clermont to Paris, I think I will be a little sad. I'm sure I will ride trains again in the future. This particular route, however, holds a special place in my heart. In my dreams, I'm sure I'll pass those fields of yellow flowers, the snowy hills that went on forever, or misty plains revealing the first colors of the sunrise. I will never forget them.