Charlie woke early, before his alarm even had the chance to sound. This time, a large shudder from the ship jolted him from a deep sleep into wakefulness. Suddenly, remembering they would be docking that morning, he sprang upright in bed, full of excitement and quickly rolled out of his bunk, legs hanging over the side. He grabbed his watch and disabled the alarm, chuckling as he did. “No need for that with faulty engines driving the ship,” Charlie quietly chuckled to himself.
Surprisingly, although it was still only 3:00 am, he felt quite refreshed. So he went about his morning ritual of bathroom duties and was soon dressed for a new day. Being so early, the only thing Charlie could think to do now was tidy the bunk, straightening out the bottom sheet and quilt, and fluffing up the pillow. Next was to return all his remaining belongings into his backpack, making certain it was fastened securely before it was placed on top of the bunk, ready for departure.
A little time had passed from when he had woken to finishing the tidying of his temporary cabin. He looked down at his watch, noting the time was now nearly 4:00 am. Determined to not miss the arrival of the ship into port, he headed off, his legs seeming to lead the way before his body could catch up.
Charlie had only been on deck for a few minutes when he saw the pilot come aboard. It was quite the thrill seeing so many boats around and the whole hustle and bustle of a ship being steered through the narrow canal. He now began to understand just why Captain Macrina enjoyed this part of the voyage the most. First the pilot came on board, due to his expertise and knowledge regarding the currents and location of sandbanks that could catch the novice by surprise. It was his job to steer the ship safely into the inner port and finally position it along the dockside. Charlie watched with bated breath as the powerful tugs pushed and manoeuvred the Pierre Tristran into her berth, carefully avoiding all potential hazards. Soon, the ship was alongside the docks and being secured in place by the many large heavy and greasy mooring ropes.
After some time, the yelling officials and sounds faded away, and all that hung in the air were a few feint lingering voices that still commanded attention. The once palpable tension was greatly lessoned now that the ship was securely moored in place. Charlie had also noticed the dimming groan of a disgruntled engine as the power was cut; all that now remained was the stench of marine fuel and oil leaking from the stern of the ship.
“What an amazing experience that has been,” Charlie thought.
It would still be awhile before he would be allowed to disembark, so he decided to join the other passengers and officers for some breakfast before saying his farewells. Then the next phase of his journey would begin.
The officer’s mess was already busy by the time Charlie arrived, but Carla had saved him a seat next to herself and Bernie; for, Carla was quite a motherly type, especially around Charlie it seemed.
He was going to miss the medley of aromas that constituted breakfast and hastily filled up on a selection of pastries followed by eggs benedict. This sent his thoughts homeward again as he was reminded that his mother always made this on Sunday mornings or on special occasions. He washed the meal down with a mug of freshly ground aromatic coffee. On this occasion, Charlie and the other passengers were offered something very special indeed.... On this particular morning, the captain had given the gallery some of his own special coffee. Charlie was especially entranced and keen to discover just where it had come from, making a mental note to ask the captain before he left the ship.
It wasn’t long before breakfast had come to an end, and passengers and crew started to leave the mess. Charlie, Carla, and Bernie were the last remaining people at their table, as they were lingering a little while saying their farewells. Bernie passed Charlie a piece of paper, motioning to him to read the words, duly inviting Charlie to visit them in Canada one day, along with another piece of paper displaying their home address. Charlie was visibly moved by such a kind gesture and felt compelled to give both Carla and Bernie a hug before saying his goodbyes and wishing them a safe and happy time throughout the continuation of their journey.
Leaving the mess, he returned to his cabin, as he had to wait there until the Immigration Officer had been to check and stamp his passport. Charlie left the door open and sat on the sofa fidgeting as the minutes passed by. Even though it hadn’t actually been that long, it felt like an eternity to an excited Charlie. He felt like he knew every mark, scratch, or tiny pinhole on the furniture and walls as he looked for something to occupy his mind while he waited.
Soon, Charlie heard a knock, and standing in the doorway was a very official looking gentleman... the immigration officer, who greeted Charlie and asked to see his passport. Being prepared, Charlie held out his passport to the official who by this time had entered the cabin and met him halfway across the room. He was quick to check his documents and asked the purpose for his visit, to which Charlie explained that he was on his way to the town of Villejacques.
“Ahh, Villejacques. I know that town very well as I have relatives there,” explained the immigration officer.
Charlie noticed that he had now stopped looking at the passport in his hand and looked as though he had drifted off to a time of fond memories.
“Are you okay sir?” he asked apologetically.
The official smiled reassuringly and began to recount a fond memory of the first time that he visited a little patisserie shop in the town. He told Charlie of an almost magical experience he had encountered, tasting the most exquisite of pastries while there.
Pausing momentarily in thought, and lifting his gaze to meet Charlie’s, he continued by saying, “It was owned by a gentleman whose first name was Montaine. I have longed to return, but sadly, with work commitments, I have not found the time. Maybe one day I will visit again. After all, I do have to visit the family, too, once in a while,” stated the official with a slight grin.
Now returning his attention to his job, he stamped Charlie’s passport and handed it back. Before leaving the cabin, he recommended that Charlie visit that little shop, if he could, before he turned and continued on his way.
Intrigued by the suggestion, Charlie returned his passport to the safety of the backpack and once more made certain that everything was fastened. He then slipped an arm through one of the straps and swung it onto his shoulder. "Yay," he quietly said out loud. "Now onto the next adventure." Leaving the cabin, he made his way to the gangway ready to disembark the ship. Standing there, looking a little anxious, was the captain who was waiting for the "all clear" from immigration before allowing passengers and crew to go ashore. It seemed that the captain also had a tradition where he bid farewell to every passenger that left his ship. There was also another reason for the captain’s presence and that was to take delivery of his personal supply of roasted coffee beans, which came from a small supplier near his home town. Every few weeks he would request a fresh delivery and personally collect it from the dockside, securing it safely in his cabin.
The captain received the "all clear" over the radio and the gangway was opened. Like a shot, he was scurrying off down the gangway to greet his coffee delivery man who had been patiently waiting to hand over the valuable package... valuable not in monetary terms, although it was not cheap to courier this package, but valuable more in sentimental terms. Package signed for and safely in his hands, the captain was now free to bid farewell to the departing passengers from the end of the gangway.
Charlie looked up at the sun peering through the clouds every so often and realised it was now nearing mid morning. Keen to get on his way, backpack over his shoulder, he briskly made his way down the narrow metal gangway and towards the waiting captain.
“So, my young friend, it’s been a pleasure to have you travel with us, even if for only a day or so. My crew commented on how inquisitive you have been and how eager you were to learn, and so I would like to offer you my contact details. If you ever wish to travel with us again, please do not hesitate to get in touch,” the captain said to Charlie, with a warm hearted, seafaring smile.
“Thank you, Captain Macrina. I had a lovely time on your ship and will absolutely be in touch at some point,” Charlie replied. He then continued to say that he’d had a thoroughly memorable time on board whilst firmly shaking the captain’s hand.
Ready for the next adventure, Charlie merrily set off to locate the train station to make his way to Villejacques.
The Port of Frausseilles was not as busy as the last port that Charlie was in, but nevertheless, it was still impressive. “Perhaps it is just not a busy day for deliveries,” he concluded.
Standing still for a brief moment, he could see that the dock workers were already busy off-loading cargo from the Pierre Tristran. Next would come the repositioning of the cargo that would remain on board before the final loading of new cargo bound for other destinations. Charlie watched and marvelled at the precision with which the machinery was navigated, each piece being operated seamlessly to get the job done. He thought he would love to find out more about the workings of a cargo ship one day, perhaps even spending more time on board one.
“Who knows just what the future holds,” pondered Charlie, as he walked towards the port exit.
While standing at the exit looking for some indication as to which direction to take, the chief engineer walked past. Seeing Charlie’s confusion, he sighed, then stopped to ask if he needed any help. In his gruff manner he let him know which streets to take, and then headed off, continuing on his way, his body language quite clearly conveying a message of, “Don’t talk to me.”
While watching the Chief Engineer walk away, Charlie came to the conclusion that he must always be in a grumpy mood. “Perhaps he was born grumpy,” Charlie surmised. “Right, station it is,” Charlie muttered to himself and set off in the direction that had been offered just moments ago.
The town of Frausseilles was a small market town... very picturesque, but a little behind the times when it came to its architecture Charlie observed, as he made his way through the streets. It was alive with locals going about their business, the one thing standing out above all else being the small food businesses he passed and the myriad of street cafes, all of which seemed full, even at that time of the day. This truly was a town that took its food culture very seriously, Charlie concluded.
Eventually, he arrived at the towns small train station and made his way through the grand entrance towards the ticket counter. While standing in the small queue, Charlie reached into his backpack and pulled out the piece of paper which his father had given him, and read the address. "12 Rue de Muniers, Villejacques, France." Charlie was none the wiser as to why his father had wanted him to visit this person and deliver the letter he had been entrusted with, but he thought, “What better way to start an adventure?”
After a short wait, a ticket window became free and Charlie was called over. Upon approaching the window, piece of paper in hand in case it was needed, he quickly asked the person behind the counter whether they spoke English. To Charlie’s relief the reply came back, “Yes, young sir, I do.”
Charlie smiled and promptly asked for a one-way ticket to Villejacques.
“Ahh, Villejacques,” came the response. “Did you know that it is famous for its patisserie, and rumour has it that there are two very fine patisseries there,” continued the staff member.
Charlie cheerfully replied, “I do very much enjoy pastries, and I will have to visit these two little shops if I can find them.” With that, Charlie purchased a ticket, and the lady pointed him in the direction of the platform. Thanking her, he made his way to the platform, putting both the purchased ticket and piece of paper back into the side pocket of his backpack. Not needing to rush, as the train was not due to leave for at least another hour, he slowly made his way in the direction she had pointed listening to groups of gathered people. He admired the way the French accent flowed so eloquently to his hearing, the words seemly flowing together with such grace. The staff member had also explained to Charlie that, as this was the end of the line, the train would need to be cleaned and prepared for departure before any passengers would be permitted to board.
Once at the platform, he found an empty bench that he could sit on and placed his backpack on the ground next to him. He decided to continue writing in his journal, removing it from the safety of the side pocket. Charlie opened it to the last page of his previous entry and began to write. Not only did Charlie want this journal to be a memory of his travels, but he also wanted it to be a record of the many flavours and tastes he experienced along the way. The inscription inside left by his father, and the beautiful memories of cooking, had inspired him to follow his dreams. As one of these dreams was to learn more about fine pastries, he had decided it was important to keep a written record of these experiences as well.
Time passed quite quickly as he filled pages of his journal, until the train rattled into Frausseilles bringing Charlie back into the here and now. Smoothly and with some haste, passengers who had travelled to Frausseilles, alighted from the train and continued their onward journey. A small group of cleaners, the new driver, and conductor quickly boarded to make ready for a prompt turnaround. Time seemed to vanish as Charlie became mesmerised watching the efficient flow of the cleaning staff preparing the train for departure, so he was suddenly startled when an announcement came over the speaker that boarding was now possible. He sniggered to himself as he watched as some of the passengers suddenly sprang into action, grabbing their various belongings, whether they be a bag or several suitcases, and pushed to board the train. It seemed very chaotic to Charlie who assumed these people didn’t want to be left without a seat for the journey ahead. Charlie, more relaxed, waited with the last few for the rush to ease, and glanced over his shoulder to reveal a small group of other passengers shaking their heads in dismay at the behaviour of some. Once the chaos had subsided, he grabbed his backpack, and putting one strap on his shoulder, made his way to one of the open carriage doors.
Charlie climbed the little step up into Carriage-D and shuffled down the aisle to see if there were any remaining seats all the while having to quickly jump to the side as there were still passengers barging past, scurrying to grab the few remaining seats. Charlie luckily found a place to stand in the carriage entrance by the opposite door, pulling down the window in preparation to watch the world zoom past. “Ahh, peace,” he sighed to himself.
Soon, all the passengers were on the train, and Charlie could hear the banging of carriage doors being closed along the length of the train. All suddenly went quiet... then a loud whistle, and the train jerked forward. Pulling out of the station, little could be seen of the passing scenery as being an old fashioned steam engine much of the view was masked by clouds of steam billowing from the straining locomotive engine.
Before long, Charlie felt the train stop struggling to get all the carriages moving and ease into a more fluid and smooth motion. He gazed out of the carriage window, the passing scenery soon changing from grey lifeless buildings to fields and meadows full of colour. Charlie thought the carriage was rather full, as he was not the only person standing in the entrance, which explained the earlier pushing for a place as he recalled the prior chaos.
Suddenly, a loud sound vibrated through the crowd as the conductor called for tickets as he moved throughout the carriage. To Charlie’s surprise, he spoke in both French and English. As the conductor was now in close proximity, he reached around to get his ticket from the side pocket where he had placed it earlier for safe keeping. Fumbling, he grabbed what he thought was the ticket and pulled, only to realise that it was the first train ticket that he had purchased, along with an assortment of other important papers. To make matters worse, all of these papers now scattered in all directions, blown by the wind as it whistled in through the train window.
In sheer panic, Charlie quickly bent down to try and recover not only his current train ticket, which could be anywhere, but also to rescue the other pieces of important paper. Amongst them were the addresses of not only Carla and Bernie Waters, but also of Monsieure Luc. Charlie let out a short scream as he realised the dilemma he now faced. Frantically, he manoeuvred around his fellow passengers who were not only standing in the entrance way of the carriage but also those few passengers who were standing in the aisle itself. Charlie found himself having to crouch low and move around people, almost in a harmonised dance with the rocking motion of the train as his partner. Moving bodies and shuffling feet, all being repositioned to counteract the movement of the train, did not make Charlie’s task any easier.
In his haste to recover the items lost from his backpack, Charlie could not help but to bump into a few of his fellow passengers. Most were unresponsive to his predicament, not bothering to be particularly helpful in aiding Charlie, with a few noticeable mutterings in French filling the air. Charlie thought it was probably a good thing that he wasn’t able to understand what was being said, although the looks that they gave him said enough.
Finally, after scrabbling sufficiently to recover all but one of the items, Charlie was about to grab hold of the final, but elusive piece of paper, when he was suddenly and abruptly stopped in his tracks by a big black boot. Looking up, Charlie was confronted by the rather stern looking face of the train's conductor, who demanded to know just what was going on, firstly in his native tongue and then in English.
“Now young man, just what are you doing causing all of this turmoil?” demanded the conductor.
“I’m sorry, sir. The draft from the window blew away my ticket and pieces of paper,” Charlie answered, feeling rather unsettled in that moment, his voice slightly quivering.
Not yet satisfied, the conductor continued to question Charlie, standing over him in a rather intimidating manner, and demanding to know just who had opened the window in the first place.
Charlie was quick to admit that he had been the one to open the window, having been taught the importance of honesty, and well, he also knew the conductor had seen that it was Charlie that had caused the disturbance. In an abrupt fashion, he pointed furiously to the sign above the window, which clearly stated that the window should not be opened while the train was in motion. Admittedly, the sign was in French, but Charlie thought better than to point that out, choosing to apologize, not wanting to cause any further trouble. Finally, the conductor, now satisfied that he had made his point, asked Charlie to produce his ticket.
“Ticket, oh, no, my ticket,” Charlie quivered, frozen with anxiety, his breathing hastening. In all the confusion and mayhem, he was not sure where his ticket was! Then, out of nowhere, a hand appeared through the sea of passengers.
“Is this what you are looking for?” a female voice asked. Charlie grabbed the ticket, for fear it may disappear a further time, and showed it to the conductor.
“You’re lucky then,” Charlie heard the conductor say, distracted as he was trying to see who the female voice belonged too. “Here, take your ticket back and read the signs in the future,” the conductor said in a harsh tone, tapping Charlie on the shoulder.
Charlie turned to acknowledge the return of his now stamped ticket and apologised once again. “Very well,” responded the conductor as he continued on to inspect the remaining passenger’s tickets in the carriage.
That situation over and the carriage returning to normal after all the disarray, Charlie took a deep breath and calmed himself. Once settled, he again tried to discover just who the owner of the female voice was. Trying to look through the gaps between the standing passengers, Charlie suddenly heard the voice again.
“Are you looking for me?” said the voice.
“I’m not sure. Are you the owner of the talking hand?” Charlie chuckled.
“Excuse me!” came the response from the faceless voice.
Charlie was not quite sure how to reply and was still feeling a little nervy, so he quickly thanked the faceless voice for saving his ticket and returned to where he had first been standing by a now closed carriage window.
Again, quietly staring out of the window at the passing scenery, Charlie wondered just how much longer before the train would arrive at Villejacques. Looking at his watch, he realized it was already past lunch time. He giggled as his stomach rumbled loudly. “If only I had another of my mom’s travelling sandwiches,” he thought to himself.
Several stations had come and gone, and it seemed like more passengers were getting on than off, filling the train even more. “Now I know how sardines feel,” whispered Charlie under his breath when suddenly another voice piped up in a very soft French accent
“Oh, yes, sardines, marinated in a little virgin olive oil with some finely chopped onion, shavings of fennel, crushed garlic, a bay leaf, and some chopped tomatoes for about an hour. Then removed from the marinade and lightly grilled, making the skin a little crispy, with just a hint of smokiness with the flesh moist and tender. Then you take the marinade and lightly sauté until the fennel is soft. Then you carefully spoon the fennel onto a warm plate, and finally add the sardines … c'est magnifique.”
Charlie’s hunger had now grown exponentially, and his mouth watered at the description... but again he was not sure just who was speaking. The one thing for certain was that whomever had just spoken truly had a passion for food.
The train began to slow once more and several passengers were saying, "Excusez-moi," in French tones as they made their way through a wall of passengers towards the exits. As the train began to slow into the station, he was able to catch a glimpse of the sign on the platform which read "Villejacques."
“Finally,” Charlie thought, for any further descriptions of food like the one he had just heard, and he was certain he would faint with hunger. As the train slowed and came to a halt, the carriage door flung open, and eager passengers clambered to disembark from of the train.
“After you,” said the female voice that Charlie recognised and whom had rescued his train ticket, and himself, from a world of further embarrassment.
He smiled, but as he was raised to be a gentleman, he promptly responded, “Yhank you, but please, you first,” gesturing towards the open door. The female passenger thanked Charlie and made her way off the train, quickly followed by Charlie. He wondered whether she was local, and if so, knew the way to Rue de Muniers.
“Excuse me, madame,” said Charlie, “but do you know the way to this street?” As Charlie, very carefully this time, pulled out the piece of paper with the address on it and showed it to the petit lady that stood before him.
“Ah, yes, I know that street, and more importantly, I know Monsieur Luc, too... a bit of a celebrity in this town,” came the reply. With an air of eminence she then proceeded to explain to Charlie the best route to take.
Once she had finished with her directions, Charlie gratefully thanked her, then said, “My name is Charlie.”
The female replied, “Bonjour, Charlie. My name is Claire,” which left Charlie momentarily silent as he was captured by her soft, yet mildly clipped, French tone.
Charlie quickly gathering his words again, thanked Claire for her help earlier on the train, as well. They both had a little chortle over the sternness of the conductor. Claire then, quickly composing herself, brushed her shinny black hair neatly behind her ears, nodded, and was off.
Charlie headed in the direction that Claire had given him, turning from the concourse onto a small cobbled street. He felt instantly that he had stepped back in time as he gazed at the small old style shop fronts along the narrow street. The air was full of delicious smells, reminding him of his hunger. He couldn’t help but to stop and look into the windows of most of the shops that he passed. It was now, he realized, that although the outside looked old worldly, the inside of most of the shops had beautiful modern architecture.
The other thing that became prevalent was most seemed to be selling some type of food. It seemed to Charlie that if they were not food outlets, then they were small bistros or cafes. The air was full of the most exquisite aromas, and there were so many Charlie couldn’t pick them apart, deciding in the end to just take them in and savour the moment. It had quickly dawned on Charlie just how important food was in this region that he had travelled to. He was now getting more and more excited about his journey and wanted to explore the town further. Then, remembering the 20 franc note that Carla had kindly given him, he rushed into the next inviting bistro to stifle his still lingering hunger.
A quick bite to eat, and then on to the task his father had set him. He settled on a croque monsieur, a lightly toasted ham and cheese sandwich with cheese melting to perfection over the entire sandwich. What seemed like a simple snack was a taste sensation. Feeling now full and content, Charlie decided it was time to get back on route to deliver the letter entrusted to him. It was curious, Charlie thought, that in all these years his father had not once mentioned Monsieur Luc, or not that he could remember anyway. But he was so adamant that Charlie visit him first, before he travelled anywhere else. “The plot thickens,” Charlie thought as he chuckled to himself.
All the thinking, combined with the most amazing smells, had distracted Charlie, and he had not realised that he had already turned on to Rue de Muniers.
“Now I wonder where number 12 is,” Charlie thought. Looking up at the decorative number on the shop before him, he realised that he was not far from the letters final destination. Moments later, Charlie arrived outside number 12. Standing there for a moment, he examined the shop front. It had a large front window, a solid shop door, and a sign above which simply had two initials, "ML," written in white on a black background. Looking through the glass shop window left Charlie mesmerised by the delicacies that were elegantly displayed. Charlie pondered on whether they were even edible as they looked so exquisite. Having gazed in awe for several minutes, Charlie decided to remove the letter from his backpack before entering the shop.
He placed his bag on the cobbled street momentarily in order to retrieve the letter, not wanting a repeat event as on the train. Then, swinging his backpack onto his shoulder, he firmly pushed open the solid door to the shop. Inside it was beautifully clean and very modern looking, which was quite a contrast to the building’s exterior. Along the length of one wall was the display cabinet. This was made up of varying sized boxes, some large, some small, all stacked together.
Each box had been placed in such a way that in itself it looked like a piece of contemporary art. Each of the individual boxes then played host to an equally impressive patisserie creation. Turning around to face the serving counter, Charlie was presented with the longest chilled display case that he had ever seen. Inside were what looked like miniature pieces of modern art. Charlie stood there in total disbelief that something so beautiful could also be edible. He quickly skimmed over the descriptions neatly written on perfectly sculptured cards, describing each of the flavours within each work of art. Charlie was now salivating at the thought of biting into one and spent some moments trying to convince himself that he was not dreaming. “I should pinch myself," Charlie thought, just to make sure. “Maybe I should,” Charlie mumbled.
“Should what?” came a reply as Charlie had obviously been thinking out loud again. Greeting the woman that was standing behind the counter, Charlie explained that he had never seen edible works of art such as these before and that he wanted to pinch himself to check that he was not dreaming.
“Let me help,” replied the woman behind the counter, a wide smile spreading over her face as she leant across and pinched Charlie’s arm quite firmly.
“Ouch,” said Charlie as they both began to laugh. As the laughter abated, the woman confirmed that he was not, in fact, dreaming, and then asked how she could be of service.
“I have a letter that my father asked me to deliver to Monsieur Luc,” Charlie replied. The woman suggested that Charlie wait there for a moment while she went to see if he was available.
Several minutes passed before the woman returned, followed closely by a gentleman whom Charlie assumed must be Monsieur Luc. He was quite tall and of slender build with just a hint of over indulgence in fine food. He had deep blue eyes and short, slightly wavy brown hair. He introduced himself as Monsieur Luc, a curious expression on his face as he enquired as to who Charlie was.
Charlie started to explain that his father, Terrence Warner, had asked him to deliver a letter. Monsieur Luc looked taken aback and went quiet for a moment, before asking, in a hesitant tone, to see the letter. Charlie passed the letter to Monsieur Luc, who hurriedly walked back in the direction that he had first appeared.
Charlie stood bewildered for a moment, not quite sure whether he should stay or go. The woman who Charlie had first encountered was now also quiet as she stood there. Gone was the cheekiness and laughter, which was replaced by a look of sadness as if something very dear had been lost.
Charlie decided to walk around the shop once more, taking a mental note of all the flavour combinations. No, surely not; he wasn’t ever going to leave! he thought to himself. Plus a pondering of growing curiosity within him as to the letters content.
Monsieur Luc reappeared after quite som