While in France last month, we depended on public transportation for the first time in our lives. It was an interesting experience. I saw young women with small children managing what to me would have been an impossible transportation situation, taking a preschooler and a sack of groceries, including the daily baguette, home for the day. One mom I saw was on an escalator with a baby in a carrier, with another small child (twins, maybe?) in a soft carrier on her chest, dragging a large suitcase on wheels. That seemed like enough of a nightmare scenario to me to not even attempt whatever trip she was about to embarque upon.
One observation was the lack of loudness of the other passengers. The days of boom boxes seem to be in the past, thank goodness! Because we were traveling in a group of six, we tended to talk to each other loud enough for many to hear. Most of the other riders were either alone or in smaller groups, so we didn't hear lots of group conversations, or maybe being regular travelers on public conveyences, kept their voices down as a courtesy to others. We may have lived up to the ugly American stereotype.
On a bus in Paris, as it ran its route, I gave my seat to an older woman. She thanked me (I understood that word, at least!) and when she reached her stop, spoke to me in French, a language that I don't understand. I like to think that she was grateful to someone for giving up a seat for her, but maybe she had the sentiments of another man who was mumbling under his breath. My daughter in law understood the word 'tourists' so maybe he didn't like this crowd of six, wearing matching tie dyed tee shirts, on his bus.
Oh yes, we were all wearing tie dyed tee shirts. I know, they look silly, but shucks, are they easy to spot when in an area with lots of people. Unless of course, the day you choose to wear them is cool and everyone has a jacket on.
Paris is a city where most all of the buildings are 6 or 7 stories, and I didn't notice a lot of parking garages. You can see in an earlier blog post the tight parking on the street. So with that sort of density of population, and lack of dedicated car accomodations, it must be a normal part of the daily ordeal to park your car. That makes me appreciate more the country life here where I don't have to parallel park with no spare distance between vehicles.
The evening that we left Paris, the six of us, dragging luggage, went through the Metro system to catch a train heading south to where my son and his wife lives. It was Sunday night, and the trains were busy with people who came to the city for the week end, now heading back towards their homes. It was almost musical, as passengers raced through the hallways towards the trains, trailing their wheeled suitcases, collapsing the handles when hitting an escalator, extending them again when it was time to get off and start walking again. The timing was like a symphony without a conductor!
One of the trains must have been running behind. The six of us were getting on it and too quickly the alarm sounded to let passengers know that the doors were about to close, with one son still not on the train! I looked at him through the glass thinking that he wasn't going to make it on the train, but knew that he must get in that car. I grabbed him through the closing of the door to make sure he was not left behind. At the next stop, which was our destination, once again after just seconds, the driver sounded the alarm that the doors were closing while we were still getting off! Norb had to pull his leg out of the closing door. The people waiting to get on it were out of luck. The train was on its way without them.
We finally made it to the high speed train to take us south. Dusk was falling as we began to roll out of Paris, so we were unable to take in the countryside. After the day of sightseeing we were all tired, so the trip was a good chance to relax. The rural area would have to wait until the train ride back to Paris.
Once we got to Montpellier, still wearing our tie dye tee shirts, one young fellow asked Norb if he was a hippie. Then he tried to bum a cigarette! Boy, did we send out the wrong messages with the multi colored wonders on our backs!
The last of the week end partiers were waiting with us for the final tram of the week end. With jet lag and two days of walking through Paris, we were worn out and a little punch drunk with fatigue. We had the best time!
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