The First Step is the Hardest
Fiction Friday
Stepping off the train, James felt alive and ready for his next adventure.
Halfway through his two-month trip backpacking around Europe, James certainly had his fill of excitement — yet he had no plans of slowing down.
From drinking liters of beer in Bavaria to hiking the Cinque Terre in Italy, he was intent on making the most of his summer in Europe before getting back to college in the fall.
Now, as he walked through the train station in Menton, France, James wondered what the French Riviera had in store for him. Typically a playground for the rich and famous, James was neither. Instead, he had scrounged together just enough money over the last two summers painting houses back in Maine for this very trip. So far, he had been successful in stretching his funds by staying in cheap hostels and cooking his meals — which he washed down with €2 bottles of wine.
Initially, he had been devastated by his friend Kevin bailing on the trip due to a sports injury. However, James quickly realized that there were still memories to be made, even if they were with new friends instead of old ones. Memories which now included hiking along the coastline of Lake Como with a mother-daughter duo from New York, and hitchhiking with a group of Scandinavians in Biarritz.
Now, strolling along the streets of Menton, he asked himself: who was it that he would make a new memory with today?
After nearly an hour of walking around town trying to find his hostel, James was about ready to give up. His high school French classes, as it turns out, were not paying off. On top of that, his backpack was feeling more oppressive by the minute.
Suddenly, as he casually glanced up and down the road, he caught a glimpse of a sign for his hostel.
“Yes! Finally!” James exclaimed.
Running towards the sign, James turned the corner and stopped dead in his tracks — his eyes slowly scanning a daunting obstacle in front of him. One thousand steps, at least. It turns out his hostel was up high on a hillside overlooking the city. A beautiful view from up there, he was sure of it. If only he could make it up these zig-zagging switchbacks alive to see it.
As he reached the base of the staircase, James was glad to see he was not alone in this. There, carrying a heavy backpack and large cardboard box, stood a man in his mid-50s that looked just as discouraged as James felt about the task ahead of them.
“We are really about to do this, huh?” James asked.
Startled, the man turned to James and said begrudgingly, “I suppose so!”
James immediately noticed his accent…was he Australian? A Kiwi? It was so difficult to tell between the two, and he did not want to insult him by guessing incorrectly.
“I may not have learned anything in my high school French classes, but I do know that is not a French accent. Where is it you’re from?” James asked.
“Australia!” the man proclaimed. “What about yourself? My name is Jack, by the way.”
“James! Great to meet you! And I am from the United States — Maine to be precise.” James said.
“Ah, Maine! Is that near…California?” Jack asked.
Smiling, James explained, “No, quite far from California actually. May I ask…what do you have in that big box of yours?”
“This? Oh, it’s my road bike. I haven’t had a chance to put it together yet. I just flew in from Australia this morning. I am here to follow the Tour de France by bicycle. It has always been a dream of mine. A bucket list item, if you will.” Jack said.
“That is amazing!” James shouted. “That is seriously so inspiring; I hope I am still traveling the world like that for years to come.”
James couldn’t help but notice a twinge of remorse in Jack’s face as he began to respond.
“Yeah…I am on quite the adventure, I must say. Sarah has been pushing me to go for years, telling me if I didn’t do it now, when would I?” Jack explained. “She and I put aside money for the last two years just so that I could come on this trip of a lifetime. I truly would not be here in France today if it weren’t for her. She has always pushed my limits for the better.”
For a brief moment, James noticed a cheerful glint in Jack’s eyes before the sight of 1,000 steps drained him of joy once again.
“Well,” James exhaled, “shall we begin our ascent?”
Each holding an end of the bicycle-box, the pair slowly made their way up the staircase. As they struggled under the scorching summer sun, sweat rolled down their foreheads and soaked their t-shirts.
A steady diet of German beer, €2 wine, and pasta dinners was finally catching up with James. At least, that was what James convinced himself as he struggled more than Jack — a man more than twice his age.
Finally, after what seemed to be an eternity, they made it to the top. Just as James anticipated, the view was spectacular — rolling green hills faded into the idyllic fusion of Italian and French architecture buttressed up against the crystal blue Mediterranean coastline. They both stood in awe, soaking it in as they caught their breath.
“Well, James, I am certainly thankful to have run into you. You made carrying my bike up here much easier!” Jack proclaimed.
Smiling, James responded, “Of course! I am glad we suffered through this together — I honestly don’t know if I would have taken the first step up this hillside if I had not run into you!”
As Jack gazed off into the distance, his smile faded. Again, despair came across his face just as it had while looking up at the daunting 1,000 steps an hour earlier.
“Jack! What is bothering you? You look just as defeated as you did before we began our climb! We have done it! Look at this view! We should celebrate!”
Full of anguish, Jack replied, “Oh, James. These stairs were nothing compared to what I went through yesterday. Knowing I was leaving Sarah behind for three weeks, leaving her back in Australia. It was that first step onto the plane that nearly killed me.”
