Le Métro de Paris

I feel that since I've neglected this blog and have only really been describing boring stuff like administration (which I only include for those who may find it helpful) not forgetting my rushed descriptions of Parisian explorations, I owe a little post that's a bit more inspirational. I've done my French homework for the week and have possibly done my maths too (I say possibly because I don't want to get out my agenda to find out if I actually do have maths homework). Therefore, I will be writing a little something about my experiences on a Parisian commodity which is a landmark in itself. The Paris Métro.

I live in the 17th arrondissement and my nearest métro stop is Rome. You'd expect it to have a lot of restaurants that play on this name in the area but I've only found a tiny pizza place called Pizza di Roma in which I saw the staff were all watching The Simpsons. As soon as you emerge out of the ground at Rome you'll find yourself facing a big open area of RER railway, lined with tall white Parisian apartments and a brasserie. I remember seeing two guys slumped in chairs facing the road (as most al fresco seating is in Paris) with a pint of beer each. I knew instantly that they were foreign and walking by them, I stood (well walked) corrected as they sounded like fellow Londoners. Walking up Boulevard des Batignolles towards my place you can see a great sight in the distance.

That sight is of the highest point in the city: La Basilique du Sacré Coeur which is all the more magnificent at night.

Rome is only on one line and that is the dark blue Ligne 2 with terminals at Nation in the east and Porte Dauphine in the west. According to a guide to the 17th which was kindly posted in my mailbox, the numbers of the lines are chronological of the time of opening and use of each line where the first métro stop was Porte Maillot also in the 17th.

I found that sometimes it is better to get off at a stop and walk to your destination instead of changing lines to board a train at a station that is only one stop away. Underground, changing lines can take forever and everyone seems to want to get away from each other as quickly as they possibly can.

During rush hour, it can get pretty packed. I know that when I'm sitting on the fold-up chairs and arrive at busy stations like the Gare du Nord, I should stand up instantly. On one particular journey, I was squashed to the end of a carriage with a buggie in front of me. Smiling within this buggie was a little girl who was sucking on her fingers. Her smile was contagious and she was saying "Bonjour! Bonjour!". The mother kept correcting her to say "Bonsoir, Inès. Bonsoir." The little Inès then thought it was quite interesting to pat my leg. Not just in one spot but up and down it, then was curious to find what was under my dress. Much to the amusement of the fellow passengers, I was trying to hold on to a rail for balance and keep my dress down. It was a bit of a Marilyn Monroe moment, but hideously more embarrassing.

One night, when I was returning home from L'Hôtel de Ville, after changing at Charles de Gaulle - Etoile, a saxophone man was blaring out Chris de Burgh's Lady In Red. When I hopped onto the train, I heard a very vague tune that I instantly recognised because I remember listening to it over and over again in order to make my own guitar cover of it. A guy a few carriages down (line 2 has no specific carriages, it's just one long train) who had a very gravelly and soulful voice was singing the Eagles's Hotel California. Unfortunately, I couldn't really hear him and I had arrived at Rome and had to get off.

The following day, I happened to be returning home from L'Hôtel de Ville at about the same time as the night before and changing at Charles de Gaulle - Etoile the same saxophone man was playing Lady in Red again. The next métro was still a few minutes away and the Mr. Saxophone had started playing Celine Dion's My Heart Will Go On. Then followed a platform full of singing and dancing people. It raised the mood of the platform a lot. When he blew the final note, he was greeted with an applause intertwined with the sound of the oncoming train. When I stepped onto the train, I managed to step onto the same carriage as the busker that I heard the night before. He was setting up, tuning his guitar and had put down a tin in front of him. Another passenger had a guitar-like case which he was tapping. The busker (who sounded like he had an English accent) asked the passenger what was in the case.

"It's a Baglama. A turkish guitar." The passenger took it out and played a bit.
"I've got to get me one of those," the busker said.

The passenger continued to play, followed by the rhythmic tapping on his Baglama. When the passenger kept up this tapping, the busker started playing some chords.

"Old pirates, yes they rob I..."

His voice suited the song so perfectly. He was singing Bob Marley's Redemption Song. I could see everyone around me tapping their feet or lightly tapping their knees with their fingers. It was certainly a magical moment that left me smiling when I had to sadly get off the train for my stop. The carriage doors closed and their sweet music faded into the tunnel of the night.

When in Rome...