The Zen of Ice Cream and Castle Walls

There's something about sitting beneath the ramparts of an elegant yet imposing stone fortress, eating ice cream with your wife on a sunny day. It's as if... First let me clarify, I wasn't with "your wife"...I may not even know your wife, and I've probably never eaten ice cream with her, and certainly not on a beautiful day below the parapet, or any other pets; we were just enjoying ice cream--that's not a euphemism. I was with my wife; we were eating ice cream... It was as if we were one with the universe, and the universe was one with us. I don't think it's possible to have a terrible time while eating ice cream on a sunny day, even without a magnificent stone pile for a companion--meaning the chateau figuratively, not my actual, literal companion...my wife...not yours. Eating under the protection of the castle made us completely impervious to any negative waves. 

As the French might say, C'etait formidable! I had chocolate chip mint. She had rasberry. 

It was after the ice cream that the negative waves came. Sylvie had recommended that we enjoy some ice cream after the assault on the castle. She had also given me her telephone numbers: her cellphone number and the residence number. We decided to call her, as per her earlier orders, to see if she could come to pick us up. The other option, the bus, would not leave town for another hour or more. We called Sylvie. Both numbers. Several times. Neither number worked. I sent her an email, letting her know that we had not been able to reach her by phone; we would take the bus.

We went to the tourism and information center to confirm the bus schedule. It was here at this place established for helping people, especially tourists, that we met the only person in France who did not actually help us much. She appeared to be in her mid-twenties. Her tank top was of a bright pink persuasion; it was as if someone had melted a pink crayon on a 60 watt bulb, and left the bulb burning. Unfortunately, the shirt was the only bright thing about her. Actually, that is too harsh. She was nice, but not as nice as most of the people that we had met. She did try to help us. She didn't know the bus schedule, but she did look it up, and gave us a time when the bus would stop right across the street from the information center. 

We had some time to kill. We walked around the square, and down to the bridge. We sat under the trees enjoying the view. Eventually, we made our way back to the bench where we had eaten lunch. A very nice bus arrived; it unloaded and stayed parked. I went to speak with the driver to see if maybe this was our bus. As I had suspected, it was a private charter bus, not our bus. The bus driver asked if I was British; I think it was the hat that fooled him.

As the time drew near for the bus to arrive, we went to the bus stop. The bus stop was next to the city hall. That building was under construction; it was wrapped in scaffolding and clear plastic sheeting; so was the bus stop. We waited nearby. After a short while, we noticed a man waiting on the other side of the street, twenty or thirty yards down. He appeared to be waiting for something. After a few minutes, he approached us; he asked if we were waiting for the bus. When I told him that we were, he informed me that the bus stop at which we waited was no good any more. He explained that the bus used to come in and make a loop, stopping at our location before finally leaving town. The new route, which had been in effect for many months, perhaps a year, eliminated the loop; the bus came through town, stopped once, and went out the other side. No bus would stop at our location. However, he was catching the bus to Compiegne. The new stop was where he had been waiting. So much for the help from the information center.

I don't remember our new friend's name. We exchanged names before we parted in Compiegne after the bus trip through the woods and villages. He worked in Pierrefonds, but lived in Compiegne. He was some kind of manager at an agricultural business. I had a very difficult time understanding him, but we appreciated his unsolicited aid. He also told us that we might have time to see the palace in Compiegne before it closed, and that we should get off the bus when it stopped at the palace. We got off the bus with him at the palace in Compiegne, thanking him sincerely for his kindness.

We went:
Far beyond those castle walls
Where I thought I heard a stranger say
The bus stop is not what it seems
And every man must meet his destiny