After we got on the #80 bus, we felt relieved because we had our bus transfers in hand and were ready to hit St. Catherine's Street, where there was rumored to be some good shopping (this was more up the girls' alley than mine, but I was happy to tag along). We had traveled for about two blocks when a Metro official jumped on the bus and began screaming commands in French. We weren't sure what was happening, but everyone started getting off the bus, so we followed suit. We stood on the corner for a minute debating what we should do next, as the Metro Official was explaining something in French to most everyone else who got off the bus. They looked like a tour group, so we stayed on the corner talking about what we would do. Then, to our surprise, the Metro official crossed the street from the mob of folks he had just ushered away, and waved to us to follow him! Not thinking twice, we did! We ended up boarding the #97 bus with our friends from the #80 bus, and were off.
Looking back, it makes a lot of sense why what happened next happened at all. Three Americans were riding a bus because a man wearing a uniform waved at them to follow him and yelled some things in French. We had no idea where we were going, what direction our hotel was in, or how we would get home now that we were on a new bus. But the bus pulled forward, and we were off.
A few things happened on this bus ride. First, we drove right past the actual Marijuana parade. The highlight of the protests were the Rastafarians who were rapping on the back of a flatbed truck. They had dreadlocks and were decked out in their best reggae threads. There was also a girl dressed like a marijuana leaf, and lots of folks who were just happy to be there.
Second, we began to realize that we were pulling further and further away from where we wanted to be, particularly since we passed the area we had been in earlier in the day, and began to see things that we didn't recognize. Ahead of us, a weird arm-looking thing began to make it's way into the sky, and we began to realize, too, that all three of us had to use the bathroom pretty badly. A nice Frenchman, recognizing our distress, advised us to get off the bus immediately and get on another bus, but he didn't give us much direction as to how to get on the other bus, or where we would actually find it.
We got off the bus at the next stop, and Nicole and I puzzled over a map of the Metro for a minute before figuring out where we needed to be and how we needed to get there. At this point, we were really needing restrooms badly, and were excited to see a gas station ahead. As we walked up to the restroom in the bathroom, though, our spirits dropped as we read a sign on which was written, "Hors d'usage," or "Out of Order." So we trekked on. Finally, we found the Metro station we were looking for (after another 15-20 minutes of walking) and luckily there was a Dunkin' Donuts right beside the station. There was a sign on the door that said the bathroom was only for paying customers, and Nicole got discouraged and said, "Oh well, I guess we can't go in there." At this point, I looked at her and said, "Nicole, you must be crazy! I'll buy anything I have to in order to use their bathroom!" We walked inside, purchased a "Special de Patron" donut, and were all able to use the women's restroom (the men's key was lost). We walked into the Metro station, relieved, handed our transfer tickets to the Metro official, and boarded the subway back to our hotel.
The Marijuana Protest.
More from the Marijuana Protest.
Nicole and I figuring out where we need to go.
The "Arm" in the distance, which turned out to be Olympic Stadium (circa 1976), which is a VERY LONG WAY from our hotel. You can also see the corner of the gas station where we first tried to use the restroom.
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