Enjolras: the girl in Reykjavík that coordinated a venue which served as a halfway house and somewhere non-profits could meet free of charge, who I met at the fundraiser she’d organised to help get an unfairly deported refugee back with his family.
Combeferre: the guy in Munich who smuggled me into his 3hr Anatomy lecture despite the fact that I understood maybe three German words.
Courfeyrac: the boy at my London hostel who managed to talk his way into joining the game of Cluedo my friend and I were playing, and charmed unsuspecting fellow hostel-dwellers into reenacting ridiculous scenes like a CSI flashback.
Jehan: The Book Shop owner in Wigtown who had built a reputation of being a savagely unhappy and impolite rouge but was actually the nicest person ever (and even drew me a map with directions to the best nearby stretch of coast)
Joly: the guy at the Boston Public Market who immediately raced off to fetch me a bag of ice when I snapped a ligament in my ankle and crashed into his friend.
Bousset: the friend I crashed into.
Bahorel: the guy from the hostel in Würzburg who joined my friend and I in exploring the city and had no qualms about duetting the entirety of “A Whole New World” in the main square with me.
Feuilly: the girl in my hostel room in Boston who was exhausted from attending two separate overlapping conferences that week and still went out of her way to make sure I settled in ok and knew where to find the nearest laundromat and best cafe.
Marius: the man in line at the Eiffel Tower who, upon finding shelter with us from a sudden downpour, proceeded to shake his umbrella so that it saturated my music teacher in the process.
Grantaire: the couchsurfer I’d hosted from Sweden who had appeared every bit the uninterested student-on-a-gap-year I’d expected, but when I caught up with him on his own turf I discovered he was an actual qualified nuclear physicist.
Les Amis as people I’ve met while travelling
Published
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