Hermeland vers Malakoff

People say that Paris is the City of Love, but I say it's Nantes. I know, because I'm in love.

The physical attraction was there from the start, and my feelings have only grown stronger as we spend more time together. I smile every time we pass each other on the street. I know the sound of his approach and I always know exactly what time he'll arrive at our designated spot. He comes when the weather is crummy and even when it's rush hour and no one wants to be on the road.

We're both comfortable calling it an "open relationship." I buy my monthly pass with him in mind, but sometimes a girl just needs to take a different bus. It just never feel quite right with anyone else.

You see, I've fallen for my bus: the 56 Hermeland Malakoff. Hermeland vers (in the direction of) Malakoff goes into town and Malakoff vers Hermeland brings me home. I get on and off at a number of different stops along the way, and often, weather permitting, I walk the route just to feel it under my feet and get to know the less popular stops. I love passing a bus stop with a 56 sticker shining on the glass window. The soft orange background is a good indication of the 56's warmth, energy, and humility.

Somebody once said that you should love someone because of their faults and not in spite of them. Well, I love the 56 because there are a number things about it that drive me crazy. First of all, the route is twisty and gives me a headache. It's often packed because it is a normal size bus, not like the 22 (my backup if the 56 and I are taking a break). The 22 is actually TWO buses connected by something resembling a very large accordian. (In French it's even called un accordéon.) The 22's route is straighter and the bus itself is more spacious, but it seems to have a big head about these advantages, and that's just not the kind of bus I see myself sharing a future with.

The public transportation system in Nantes goes by the name of TAN, Transports de l'Agglomération Nantaise, and consists of four tram lines, lots of buses, and the navibus -- a cute little boat that goes up and down the river. After my trusty foot falcons (Australian for "walking"), the bus is my favorite means of transportation. With my monthly pass (only 27 euros!) and a map of Nantes, I can hop on any bus, 11 through 99, and traverse the city. After a few months of getting to know the city, the different bus lines have taken on different personalities depending on where they go, where they stop, and little things like the color of the sticker.

I feel no personal connection to some lines, simply because we've never been formally introduced. It's rather uncomfortable when I know their routes and they don't even know my name, so in I usually avoid eye contact. I'm on a "smile then look away" basis with some, and a "look down, look down, look up and smile at the last possible second" with others. There are only a few lines whose shedules I keep with me at all times and who I can really confide in (the 56, the 22, and the 70), but only the 56 knows that I prefer the aisle seat in the back row on the left, because it's close to the stop-request button, and that sitting backwards makes me bus-sick.

I leave Nantes in just a few days time. I'm trying not to think about the end, but it's going to be hard to say goodbye. My only comfort is knowing that we took advantage of every trip together, whether I was grumpy and cursing myself for forgetting my umbrella, or whether I was in a stellar mood because I race-walked just fast enough to catch my honey's attention and wave him over to the stop.

The 56 showed me all around the city, and my monthly passes helped pay for his upkeep. Everyone who sees us together says that we bring out the best in each other. But long-distance is just too hard.

Don't forget me, 56.