Chapter 30
CALLUM
I’m stuck again.
But, in a change of pace, I have drool on my shirt instead of snot. So I suppose this can be considered an improvement, if one was forced to compare the situations.
Asha is blissfully unaware, sleeping through the rolling green hills and fields of the French countryside. Ah well, not like she hasn’t seen them plenty before.
Everyone else is operating under the same exhaustion, making this the most peaceful ride of the trip thus far, if I ignore the snoring.
Since I would rather deal with the symphony of nineteen chainsaws playing on repeat over incessant questions and drunken chatter, I’ll enjoy the peace, such as it is.
And enjoy the close physical presence of Asha.
Who is working overtime to change my opinion on cuddling.
It’s still as physically uncomfortable as I always say it is, but there’s some redeeming charm in how much she seems to enjoy it.
And while she’s snoring her own wee tune, it’s not one I would liken to a chainsaw.
It’s much lighter. Cuter than the monsters on the bus.
Proof that working with another tour leader is ruining me, since I’ve taken to calling snores cute. This is why people need to stay away from unnecessary attachments. And focus more on scholarship.
When my hand starts tingling as my blood flow constricts, Laura leans over to tell me we’re getting close to Strasbourg.
I gently shake my own shoulder and therefore Asha’s head. Then I take the coward’s way out and close my own eyes, pretending I was asleep so I don’t have to answer any unnecessary questions like why I keep letting this wee sunshine use me as a combination mattress, pillow, and tissue paper.
“Oh, shit,” Asha whispers when she wakes up. I want to see the expression on her face, but I’m not willing to risk the Sunshine Inquisition, so they stay closed. I feel her shift away, leaving my body colder than it was not one minute ago. Damn Laura and her love of the Arctic.
I hear and feel rustling next to me, forcing my eyes to remain closed with more strength of character than I thought I possessed. And then finally, she tugs on my arm.
“Callum, we’re almost there,” she whispers.
Or at least that’s what I think she said. I have no idea, because after she shook my arm, sharp tingles shot up it and made me contemplate finding a tourist shop that sells dull medieval swords to chop it off. I draw a breath in and try not to cry.
Because I haven’t felt pain like this since…well, since the last time she slept on my poor body and parts of it were deprived of blood for long periods.
I slam into the seat and try to regulate my breathing, while Asha realizes what’s happening.
“Oh, shit.” She says it louder this time. “I’m so sorry.” I open my eyes for a second to see her hands hovering over my arm.
“It’s fine,” I say through gritted teeth. It’s not fine, but it was the choice I made and I have no one else to blame for getting sucked into valuing her comfort over my own. Again.
“I’ll do the speech bit. You stay here and rest. Maybe moving it will help.” She’s keeping her hand over my arm as if she wants to touch it, but knows that if she does it will only hurt me worse.
I appreciate the restraint, even though I’m learning that I would welcome the touch in almost any other context. Maybe even this one, if it’s the only way I could get more.
Asha shuffles in front of me, pressing her curvy front against me as she stumbles in the small space. A gentleman would have gotten up so she could get out of the seat without difficulty, but I’m not a gentleman, and I’m still in a lot of pain from my stint as a pillow.
And I’m enjoying the up-close view and feel. Because I’m a terrible person.
Asha lifts the microphone while still throwing concerned looks my way.
“Hello, everyone.” She starts out softly, trying to lull people out of their naps slowly, like a kind, concerned mother.
I would have tapped the microphone abruptly, letting the piercing feedback wake them up.
There are some grumbles, but snores are still the predominant sound behind us, so she tries again, a little louder this time.
“Hello, best group ever! It’s time to wake up. ”
The snores decrease until all I can hear is the usual sounds of the large bus: the whirl of the AC, the roar of the engine, the low volume of Laura’s music, and chatter. It takes about as long as expected, which is too long, frankly.
“Welcome back to awake-land!”
“I want to go back to sleep-land,” Emilio shouts from the back.
“I get that, and if you want, you can stay in the bus through the break. But that would be a shame, because we’re stopping in a real medieval gem of a city.
And that’s not just my personal opinion; UNESCO designated entire parts of it as a World Heritage Site.
The first time UNESCO made an entire area a site, instead of just one monument or building complex. ”
I don’t know if UNESCO’s opinion is going to impress anyone who doesn’t work in cultural heritage, but I salute Asha trying.
“We’ll stop here for five hours. That’s enough time for a nice lunch, and a bit of a sightseeing. I recommend getting some snacks for the rest of the ride, because after this stop, it’ll be a three-hour ride to Switzerland, and then a late dinner when we get to our lodge.”
She pauses, presumably to wait for their inane questions. When there are none—probably because they’re still half asleep—she continues.
“This city was first mentioned in 12 BCE as a Roman camp, but archaeological evidence indicates that it’s been inhabited since the Middle Paleolithic period.
” She winks at me, and I glower back, not sure if she’s insulting me or genuinely trying to channel my history-rich tour style.
Probably a bit of both; she can multitask.
“And the Romans built here because of its excellent geography. Strasbourg is situated on a river, great for agriculture and trade. The area, Alsace, was governed by some bishops, and then became independent. But then the French took them over, then they became German, then French, then German, then French again.” I count the times they’ve been conquered by the two nations along with her, but in my head.
There’s been a lot of movement, but she got all the switches right.
She nods. “Yes, we’ve landed on French now. As you can imagine, this means that both countries have had influence over the culture, from food, to architecture, to the language.”
I see more people focused on Asha, having shaken the sleep out of their eyes. Now they’re on to the stretching portion of the wake-up process, but they’re still looking at her, so I hope they’re multitasking, too.
Because she tried very hard to make this one heavy on the history, and they should appreciate her efforts.
“If you’re looking for things to do, La Petite France is an area with storybook-magical, half-timbered medieval buildings and bright flowers, where aside from a visual feast, there’s a bunch of delicious restaurants, too.
There’s the Cathedral, the Parc de l’Orangerie, and museums, including palaces.
Food wise, you all should try a tarte flambée; it’s like a pizza and it’s delicious.
And invented here. Callum has his list of things to do here and I can give personalized recommendations if you want when we get off the bus. ”
I still think my way is better with less interaction, but the guests do appreciate her very specific recommendations. I could try that more, too. It would be nice to send people off on the specific history that they enjoy the most. For shopping people can stick to the lists, though.
“That’s it for now. We’re almost there. Oh, and the closest bathroom is a paid public restroom in the square, directly across from us when we stop to unload.” She winks at the bus. “I know it’s been a long ride.”
Asha turns the mic off and sits down next to me.
“I feel like we’re watching first years sometimes, with how focused we have to be on where the toilet and the nearest food are,” I whisper to her.
“They just want to be comfortable. Everyone needs to pee, Callum. There’s a book that tells us so. And sometimes it’s hard to find the closest bathroom.”
“Hmm. There was good historical substance to your speech on Strasbourg.”
“Why, thank you. I’m trying.”
“I don’t know who complained on you to start all this.
Just because you run your tours a wee bit like recaps of The Real Housewives, well, history kind of is like a reality show.
I personally wouldn’t present it like that, but it would be absurd to ignore the fact that Henry VIII had six wives and even more mistresses,” I say.
“He could single-handedly supply the entire cast for a season of The Real Housewives of the Tower of London. If he didn’t keep killing some of them off.”
“I’m sure he would appreciate the distinction.”
“He would just be happy we’re still talking about him. Arrogant, murdering bastard.”
“Fair play.”
We sit in silence while Laura maneuvers the behemoth bus through tiny medieval lanes with an expert precision that terrifies and impresses me. Asha is next to me studiously avoiding looking out the window, also not wanting to see how close we get to the buildings.
Then Laura stops and we’re both focusing on unloading the bus with speed, because we’re not exactly allowed to unload here, but the tour bus parking lot is too far for our short stop.
Finally, the chaos ends and we’re alone, the group off to their adventures. Not entirely alone, as we are in a busy European square, where tourists and locals alike are crowding the space.
“Do you want to grab something to eat?” Asha asks into the awkward silence.