Destination Coin Toss

By Solomon Taragin

Florence

I got off the train from Aix-en-Provence and stepped out onto the swarming platform of Gare de Lyon in Paris. The sheer number of people instantly stressed me out. They all seemed so rushed, and I couldn’t understand why. We’re here, I thought. We already made it. Take it easy.

I’m used to people in New York walking fast because they’re always rushing somewhere, but the people at Gare de Lyon felt different. There was something almost aggressive about their stride. I half-joked to myself: was there some kind of Parisian Fight Club I hadn’t been invited to—the clueless American kept in the dark?

Gare de Lyon is massive and overwhelming. At the end of the platform, the crowd split in different directions, each person moving with such certainty that it made me feel more lost. Everyone seemed to have a purpose, while I was strolling along, Uber app open, trying to figure out where to order from.

Every part of me wanted to just walk out and call a car. But something about the way people were rushing didn’t sit right. Why was I, the one doing the least, the only one about to cruise home in a warm backseat? It felt unfair—like I was cheating. So I took off in a sort of jog, unsure where I was going but feeling like I had to earn my arrival.

Google Maps gave me options: a twelve-minute drive, a thirty-minute train, or an hour-and-ten-minute walk to my dorm. The twelve-minute drive tempted me, conjuring visions of a driver helping with my luggage while I relaxed in a quiet car. But no—I had committed.

The train map looked more like a math problem than a guide. Letters, numbers, and foreign words blurred together. Back home in New York, I understand the subway—not because it’s simpler, but because it’s mine. No matter where I am—above ground, underground, even dreaming—I have a sense of direction. But in Gare de Lyon, I was just a kid running wild without his parents.

The first obstacle: tickets. I wasn’t in the mood, so I tried to slip in behind someone else. That didn’t go well. I got caught in the sliding doors, suitcase still on the other side. People stared. Some rolled their eyes. One man muttered something unkind in French that I, unfortunately, understood.

“Can you help me?” I asked, hoping someone would show mercy. Eventually, a woman helped—though probably more out of a need to get through the crowd than kindness.

I chose Line A and followed the signs. I got to a platform and hopped on the first train that arrived, feeling like I was flipping a coin with my life. At that point, it was more about the story than the destination. But I got nervous after one stop. The train had stairs. No visible maps. The passengers looked eerily lifeless—like I had boarded a ferry into some underworld.

So I got off. It didn’t feel right. The Uber price hadn’t changed, and I figured I could still escape. But the stairs back up were daunting. How deep underground am I? I wondered. Is this already the inferno?

The next train felt better. No stairs. People were breathing and talking. Relief washed over me when I saw “Cité Universitaire” listed on the wall. A few stops lit up behind it, meaning they had already passed. I relaxed. I played music, let myself sing along quietly, finally feeling like I had found the rhythm of this foreign place.

And then, I looked back at the map.

“Oh no…”

I had missed my stop. My noble effort to save thirteen dollars was quickly unraveling into chaos. I got off the train again, this time in a neighborhood that felt eerily like the projects back home—only I was alone, it was 1:45 AM, and there was no one around.

To add insult to injury, I needed a ticket just to leave the station. Once again, I faced the same kind of sliding door that had humiliated me earlier. So I threw my bag over the top and climbed over after it. Not elegant, but effective.

One man was in sight, walking toward me. I braced myself. More embarrassingly, I gripped my wallet—not to protect it, but so I could hand it over without a fight if needed. He walked right by. I exhaled.

Finally, I caved and ordered an Uber. It cost nearly triple the original price, but I no longer cared. The driver helped with my luggage, and I melted into the seat, grateful to let it all go.