In Old Pairee

June 14, train to Paris

    Five hours into a train ride that will deposit me in Paris for the night. We are a sleepy bunch, five adults and a short haired dog in a stuffy little compartment where the others insist on having the air conditioner turned down and the door closed.
    Had to change my ticket when the train showed up late. Didn’t have time to make the cross town connection so I had to opt for a night in the big city. It was not necessarily on my list of wanna dos, but I must admit, I’m curious. What a way to go out!
    The muggy day has become quite clouded as we near the city. I’ve been off the train twice for air, it is hot. From what I know of cloud patterns, which isn’t a whole lot, I’m betting on rain, or at least a good power storm. Here at least, Paris is still another 200 K away.
    Good thing I went in to change my ticket this morning. Turns out the nice fellow who sold it to me yesterday had me booked on a no-bikes train out of Paris to St. Malo. The woman who served me this morning claims to have corrected that. I wouldn’t be surprised to find out in the mornning it is the other way around.
    Did not sleep last night, nodded off a few times while a giant water tank burped and farted nearby. Had many thoughts in my mind, not many of them comfortable. I was quite hurt by Emma, glad she’s behind me now. Am also disappointed in myself. I should have read the signs. Moreso, I’m bothered my trip is ending, or at least the European portion.
    Still, I’ll be glad to escape France, when the time comes. I have a feeling after a night in Paris I may be even more grateful. Not sure what I’ll do there. Try to find the station where I’m leaving from tomorrow morning, then find a cheap place close by to stay, if that’s possible. If not, I’ll likely spend my night wandering the city. Hope that doesn’t happen.
    Saving grace today has been a young French fellow who understands and speaks enough English to help me along, and to make conversation. Our dialogue has helped me keep my mind off things, and quickened the cramped ride on this rocking machine.
    Caught hell, in French, from a security officer at the Carcassonne station this morning, for running my bike across the tracks insteaqd of up and down two flights of stairs. I understood what he was yelling at me about, but responded with a mixture of Spanish and English that totally confused him. In the end he threw his hands in the air and walked away, leaving me on the platform where I needed to be. “No comprende compadre, had to get my bike for the train!” It worked well.
    The countryside out the window has been everchanging, starting out flat and brown, becoming hilly and green. Now it is dense forest, with some hillls and tunnels, rolling out every few minutes onto small town vistas. Some of the towns are old and well cared for, others are run down. None of them are new. The land here is not so dry as that around Carcassonne, while the rivers and streams that run through it look downright dirty.
    Anyway, just thought I’d drop a trainalog in here. May as well go for all that’s happening. More later from Paris I hope.
 


Later: In old Paris

    Well kids, here I am.
    To start, I’d like to do is take back all the nasty stuff I said about French culture. Then again, this is Paris. It has its own culture.
    First thing I did getting off the train was fix my back rack. Lost another nut holding it to the frame. Said farewell to my French cabin mate, never did get his name, but we both seemed to enjoy our visit.
    Next thing I did was get into a disagreement with an information clerk. She insisted I get on a bus. I showed her Wheels. In fact, Wheels was between us. She said clearly I could not take it on the bus. Then told me to take the bus anyway. I asked if she could put me onto someone who would really be willing to help me find my way. She again insisted I get on the bus.
    “I CAN’T GET ON THE BUS!
    I walked away. Found a map. Realized I could follow the nearby Seine River to another part of town and take a street straight to the other station, which I set out to do.
    So there I was, riding along the cobblestone piazza, by river, across from the Louvre and St. Whoever’s Bassilica, when I remembered the loose nut and didn’t like the rattle Wheels was making over the rough surface, so I went up a ramp and out onto the main street along the river, where I was delighted to see a bicyle lane.
    My delight ended abruptly when I was ordered to halt by a policeman. At first, because of his black clothes, I thought he was just a security guy.
    “Why?” I asked, After giving him my usual, “pour vouz parlez Anglees, si vous ple.”
    “Don’t ask why?” came his barking reply, just stay there.
    I was around another side of a vehicle from him, and thought seriously of making a run for it. I thought better.
    “Why won’t you let me go? Why have you stopped me? Why are you letting other people go?
    I could clearly see I’d done nothing wrong. I’d came up a road from the piazza, a road cars use, and now had Wheels front wheel on the edge of the cycle lane. I hadn’t run any red lights.
    “Why have you stopped me,” I asked again, getting quite agitated.
    “I told you to stay, you stay,” he barked.
    Then I noticed the streets were full of policemen. Hundreds of them. Some in groups standing around. Others in cars coming across a nearby bridge. There was something major going on, some sort of official convoy or something. I began to expect to see limosines. I didn’t.
    Then it dawned on me again that I was the only person being stopped. Others were cycling and walking right by.
    Finally I said, in English, to a woman riding by who made eye contact, “Can you help me, this policeman has me stopped and won’t tell me why and he’s letting everyone else go!”
    The woman looked at me curiously, thought about it for a milisecond, then pulled over and said something to the cop. Something like, what’s going on? or “pour Quo?”
    The cop looked at me and told me to go. I looked back in disdain. It had been some sort of weird little power trip. He’d had no reason to stop me. As the woman left before I could really say thanks, the cop called out to me.
    He approached, smiling, and said in perfect English, “When a policeman tells you to do something you do it!” I asked, not willing after Maastricht to take any guff from cops: “Is this not a free country?”
    “Yes it is free,” he said, “but you must stop when policemen tell you to.”
    “I’ve had a lot of policeman who just want to play games with me,” I told him. “If its a free country then you have little right to stop people for no reason.”
    Then I turned and left. The cop stood there smiling.
    Up the road a bit I stopped a cop and asked where my turn off was. He spoke to me in French and shook his head.
    Then I stopped another, who apologized saying he wasn’t from Paris and had no idea where it was I wanted to go.
    A little while after that I found the turn off, or a cycle lane that took me in the right direction. It was getting to be about 7 pm and the sky was starting to look like rain. I could have just followed my nose but I was tired and didn’t feel like getting lost in the rain. So I begand to ask people, “Gare Monthardasse?”
    Several people ignored me and kept walking, some even while I was right next to them totally ignored me. Finally two women about 60 spoke back to me.
    “Yes, go straight ahead, its behind the big tower ahead.” they said. I thanked them, mercy bookoo!
    When the station was in sight, I began to look for a hotel. I decided my one night in Paris would be spent in decent digs. The prices shook me, 85 euro, 109 euro, 73 euro, 89 euro. It was looking scary, but the worse thing was, right after they told me the prices they told me they were full up. For some reason the whole area around the station wass booked solid. No one could explain it.
    For over three hours I circled, checking every hotel and “chambres” sign, same result.  Finally, just as it started to rain for real, I noticed a horizontal hotel sign. There was no name, and when I road up to it at its corner location, it appeared shuttered up. I walked around the side, and there saw the official accomodations sign by a door. As I walked futher I saw the standard room “tariffs” sign. Rooms were under 40 euro! I decided to try the buzzer. I was about to walk away when I heard it buzz me in.
    Stumbling over Wheels, which I was straddling, I let the bike fall and pushed open the door. I stepped inside and spoke with the happy looking Turkish man minding the place.
    “Yes I have a room for you, with shower or without?”
    “With.”
    “One night.”
    “Yes.”
    “Thirty seven euro.”
    “Sold. I’ll stay. Just let me get my bike off the sidewalk."
    As I went out the man followed me and held the door. The foyer was dark and a little dirty, but I was’t concerned. Can’t be any dirtier than sleeping on the dirt.
    We made our deal and he showed me where to lock my bike, right in the a little hall by the lobby. I put all three locks on, but was reassured when I saw a few of the people staying, they seemed all right and friendly, self respecting, and all that.
    Hours later I’ve been out for dinner. Raw meat, with real nice spicing. Steak Tartau they called it, in a busy little bistro full of French people puffing cigarettes. It was actually quite good tasting, but I'm not so sure what I ate, nor convinced I want to know. It went down all right and it wasn’t bad. Don’t really need to know more I guess.
    After dinner I picked up some juice and a snack from a nearby fruit and convenience store, then headed back to the Hotel, where I’ve had a long hot powerful shower. Now I sit on my bed as the traffic hums outside, the sound of voices and exhubrance.
    Paris is okay. I half like it. Much better than Lyon. In my three hours circling I never once felt in danger from the cars. They were all quite considerate. And people have been smiling at me, letting me talk English, being quite civil.
    Found the Eifel Tower while I was out riding in circles, took a snap.
    If I take my ibook to the window I can pick up just enough of a connection to send this out. Think I’ll do that.
    In the morning, I’ve ordered a seven am wake up call, I’ll head to the Montparnasse Gare Station and move onto St. Malo, where I hope to find a boat within about 24 hours. Hopefully.
    Feel like I’m where I’m meant to be. How better to end my Euro wander than with a lone night in Paris. Pure poetry. Guess its what’s meant to be, obviously.
    Talk to you soon, there’s still a little more train and a boat to come, then there’s London on the refry.