Friday afternoon, June 7, I clambered down off a bus in the Kirchberg business district of Luxembourg City and began walking. The sun shone surprisingly hot, and I wore the backpack I had stuffed and then wrestled to zip. My mother walked next to me with her big red duffel. We might both have preferred tossing our luggage to the concrete and kicking it rather than carrying it, after our journey from Virginia that had started the day before. Worse than our cramped muscles, though, was our present situation, since we seemed to be sort of, well, lost.
While some part of my remaining intellect considered what to do next, a louder part of my brain wondered how I had gotten myself to this point in the first place. I didn’t question so much why I hadn’t managed the bus ride better, why I hadn’t asked the driver for help in deciding where to get off—but why had I dragged us here at all? Why get on an 8-plus-hour flight to Europe and face a layover and unfamiliar public transportation, foreign languages, maps, guidebooks, and the certain disturbance of my safe, comfortable routine? Was this all for a stupid marathon? They have those in the United States, you know.
I wanted to go home.
My mother had maintained a better connection to reality. We needed to find our hotel. Since I couldn’t see any of the street names or landmarks I’d been looking for, I decided we should get back on the bus. We did, and eventually we made it to the right stop. We navigated around a construction site (being chased, it seemed, by a crane) and spotted the sign for the Sofitel, our destination. When we arrived hot and breathless in the lobby, a young woman at the front desk checked us in graciously and asked, “Do you know we have a marathon this weekend?”
“That’s why I’m here!” I exclaimed. She gave me a few maps and some tips about the bus (there was an easier way to return to the bus stop than by dodging the crane), and I thanked her and headed for the elevator. But still, I really wanted to go home.
The next morning, marathon day, as I waited for the evening race to approach, I remained doubtful about my latest adventure. It all seemed like so much work. True, the hotel was interesting; sure, we’d found a gigantic, Super-Walmart-esque shopping center easily accessible by bus to supply us with essentials; still, I kept thinking I would have been fine at home, with my familiar Chantal (car) to drive me around familiar streets.
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| Cool refuge in the Sofitel hotel atrium |
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| Inside the hotel atrium Friday night |
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| Auchan shopping center |
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| Inside the shopping center entrance |
And then I finally ventured into downtown Luxembourg, the Old Town.
I went on my own to buy Luxembourg Cards, which would cover our transportation costs and admission fees to a long list of attractions. I stepped off the bus at the Royal Quai stop and walked only about half a block before excitement had me diving into my purse for my camera. I took one photo and didn’t want to stop. Every view around me seemed worthy of a picture. I moved along with a leisurely crowd through narrow streets, and I began to enjoy the sounds of French conversation around me. I spotted a sign for Quick, a French fast-food chain I remembered from study abroad in college. The street opened onto a square lined by cafes, with chairs set out under colorful awnings. People relaxed in the shade and enjoyed their lunches unhurriedly.
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| My first photo in downtown Luxembourg: Subway and Pepsi Max look more picturesque in Europe! |
I needed shade, too. My eyes strained against the brightness. I noticed a shop selling clothing and sunglasses and ducked inside. At the sunglasses display, I tried on a few pairs before choosing one with big lenses. I took them to the checkout and was very proud of myself for conducting the entire transaction in French. Although I don’t think I said anything more than “bonjour” and “merci.”
Leaving the shop, I threaded between buildings into another square filled with flowers for sale. Here I found the tourist office and purchased the Luxembourg Cards. On my way back toward the bus stop, I noticed a vendor selling an interesting-looking snack, so I approached his cart to investigate. It was candied almonds. No, nothing too exotic, but I might have been lured over by hunger. Or maybe by the vendor’s friendly demeanor. He asked if I would be running the marathon that night, and we chatted about the race. I found out the course would bring me back through this square. The vendor would be there still: “Until 1 a.m.,” he told me. He hoped the heat would let up a little, for the runners’ sake and for his.
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| Back at the bus stop |
Excitement carried me through the rest of the day. I spent the difficult final hours before the race hanging out in the runners' “Chillout Lounge” and reading an issue of Washingtonian magazine, listening to a nearby trio of runners discuss the marathon versus the half marathon (the two women were running the half, “so we’re only half crazy,” they said).
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| Inside the expo center at the marathon start/finish |
The race began under the threat of rain, but the evening turned fine, and the city sparkled with a festival atmosphere. We ran from the business district into the Old Town, where spectators cheered and musicians played. I have run other races with live bands along the course, but I have never before passed a line of people playing alpine horns, which are so large that the musicians have to stand up behind them and rest the horn part on the ground several feet from the mouthpiece. I noticed other instruments unfamiliar to me, with tones like xylophones and bells. All around me were beautiful old buildings, and sometimes the course passed over cobblestones. In my ears and in my head were French words. The language I studied in college began to sound familiar again, so that my mouth felt ready to shift its default position and exclaim, “Oh, c’est beau!” There are marathons in the United States, I reflected, but they are not quite like this.
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| I kept seeing the clock on this tower from different points throughout the course--this is what I was racing! |
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The scenery was dramatic, and so was the elevation change, as we ran at the level of this bridge and along the floor of the ravine below.
There's so much lush greenery, and at dusk the lights twinkle through it. |
Luxembourg wasn’t on my schedule of places to visit before I discovered the marathon listing last fall. Even once I decided to go there, I had to look it up on Google to find out exactly where it was, and still during my trip, I kept imagining that Luxembourg has a sea coast (it doesn’t). It took a long time to get there and a long time to get back home, and so much about the days I spent there wasn’t very convenient. But I don’t ask myself anymore why I went.
So what was all the trouble for? Well, come on—it was Luxembourg!
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| This street is not in my neighborhood at home |
