Finger-eating Train

I recently moved house (well, flat) and I now spend 50 minutes going to work, most of that spent on RER A.

RER A is a strange line - apparently it's the busiest line in Europe, and as you see people pouring on the train at La Défense you can easily believe it.

I saw a guy yesterday who tried to keep the doors open with his kid's buggy. The aforementioned child was still in the buggy and nearly got squashed as the guy tried to get on the already packed train. Normally I would say that people should have moved, but seeing as there'd been an "accident grave de voyageur" the train was heaving. There was no room to make any more room. So the guy wasn't stubborn, but just stupid. In fact when he gave up, his wife (who had been standing on the platform in horror, unable to do anything as there wasn't any room - spot the theme?) tried to wrestle the buggy from him once he let the train go. He was pissed off as he couldn't get on the train, and she was pissed off as he'd just try to flatten their child between two train doors.

And getting trapped in the train doors is no fun! I recently got my fingers trapped in the doors on line 1. You know they show you a cartoon of a little bunny looking surprised because his fingers are trapped, well, that was me. But the little bunny isn't saying "jesus f$*king christ!" which is what he should be, as it hurts like hell. A friend works for the SNCF and told me I was lucky I didn't get a finger ripped off.

So, the little bunny should really be shown with blood spurting out of his hand à la Monty Python and the Holy Grail, and the notice should say "Be careful not to get your fingers ripped off by the doors." Perhaps this would make people pay more attention.

The only reason I managed to get my fingers back intact was that I was so tired when they slipped into the gap by the side of the door (extreme fatigue was my excuse for my lack of attention that the doors were in fact opening and fingers should be moved immediately) that they went straight in before I'd even realised.

Then they started hurting a lot, and boy did I realise then!

I considered pulling the emergency brake but if I did that they would have left the doors open, and I just wanted the damned things to close.

I was proud of myself though for not even squealing, and instead giving a fine example of British stiff upper lip ...

And now I no longer stand anywhere near the doors.

Just in case they remember me as the one who got away and try to get their revenge.

Famous people on a train

Before you think I saw a famous person on the RER A (the title could lead you to think that) I didn't. But I saw someone who looked like John McCain, which was weird, as of all the people to take the RER A he's really one who I cannot even begin to imagine there... Plus the guy has a temper. I would love to see how mad he'd get when the train is packed, and then delayed. Surely he would explode.

I then started thinking how other politicians would react on the train (I didn't have my mp3 with me and haven't had time to go to the library recently):


Margaret Thatcher: Would her hair wilt or not with the heat? I would vote for no.

Bill Clinton: Playing sax for money?

David Cameron: Wouldn't take the train as he'd probably be on his bike somewhere with the armoured car following closely behind him.

Nicolas Sarkozy: I wonder if he would have the same problem as me - he's a little man, and I'm a little woman and I recently had the experience of a taller person literally resting their arm on my head as they held the pole (the pole!). How could they not notice that their arm was on my head? Did they notice and just not care? And I'm not minute. I think I'm maybe even Sarkozy height, which for a girl is okay.

Anyway, enough of that. I experienced a strange round trip yesterday as there was a problem at Achères Ville so the Conflans train went all the way to Poissy and then went to Conflans. I stood next to a man who spent twenty minutes saying to his colleague:

"I heard them say at Poissy that there was a train for Cergy but I didn't believe them so I went to Maisons Lafitte, only to be told that to get to Cergy I needed to go to Poissy. But I heard them say at Poissy there was a train for Cergy but I didn't believe them so I went to Maisons Lafitte...."

After the third time I switched off. Zzzzz.

Vivement les vacances :) 

Why pay for a sauna when you can take the RER?

I think this is a valid question. At least it would be if we weren't already spending the day with 30° in the shade. Honestly the last thing I want is a sauna on the way home but that seems to be how it works. By the time I get home I feel like a boxer who weighed in heavy.

People have told me "Wear linen" when it's this hot. Admittedly linen is better than denim, but it doesn't make that much different. After three minutes on the train it's as if someone has turned on a tap on my back.

Isn't there a type of Immodium for perspiration?

However I'm not going to complain about the heat. I'm not. Summer took soooo long coming this year I'm just pleased it's finally here. I can faint from heatstroke on line 4 and I'm not going to say a word. Just collapse in a heap muttering "Haha! It's summer!" with a delirious look on my face.

I would write more, but ... it's too hot ... 

vivement les grèves!

Today there is a strike. I'm in Paris. That's not unusual. But I'm always amazed by the attitude of some Parisian commuters during strike time. I'm English so maybe I have the old stiff upper lip thing going, but to use a cliché, we're all in the same boat, so why be crabby about it?

An example: so this morning the RER was crowded. No worse than a bad rush hour train but it was crowded. So everybody stayed just near the doors, with a metre of space behind them and refused to move. Because, dammit, they needed to be near the doors! Then the people wanting to get on the train got frustrated because of all those people near the doors.

"We want to be near the doors!" the people on the platform cried.
"No way José - we got here first!" the choir on the train answered.

Okay, they didn't really but you see what I'm getting at.

I saw people holding the pole (see previous post for my thoughts on this) and refusing to move. Really refusing. One woman tried politeness ("Excuse me, could you just take a step back?"). When that had absolutely no result (people gave her the non-look, usually reserved for people begging) she tried pushing. She was only little, so still no result. In the end she tried the plain rugby thrust movement, which made enough room for her to get on the trian without getting her bottom sliced off by the doors as they closed.

I was on a train of goats (the escaltors must be a bitch on their hooves - do goats have hooves?) - everyone had their place and were not going to budge.

The train finally pulled away with half the carriage comfortably spaced near the non-platform doors and the other half virtually standing on top of each other.

I did consider crying: "Why can't we all just get along? There's space for us all!" and hoping that someone somewhere would break out into song : "The sun'll come out tomorrow!!!!!!!" but instead I stuck with my mp3 and held onto the pole like everyone else.

Maybe I'll try singing this evening on the return trip...

Feline on a train ...

Last night I took my cat to my friend's house. We weren't invited for dinner or anything like that - I'm going on holiday and my friend is cat-sitting. This involved taking my cat on the train.

My cat doesn't like the train.

She doesn't like lemon yogurt either, but there she just shows her disgust by sniffing and walking away. Perhaps because the cat carrying contraption doesn't allow her to walk away she shows her displeasure with another method.

The method involves a screaming miaow which makes passengers look at me as if to say: "What are you doing to that poor cat?" That and "Christ, what's wrong with it?"

Once I drove for 8 hours with my parents. I should add she's not a big fan of cars either. My cat made this siren miaow for about 80% of the time.

"Make her stop!" said my mother.

"How?"

I still don't have the answer.

Last night was further complicated by the arrival of N° 2 ... a little poop in the cage, which stank in the train and disturbed the cat even further. I eventually managed to open the door, gather the n°2 with a tissue, and throw it away, while the cat pushed surprisingly hard at the door. That's all I need - a stressed cat running free in the SNCF carriage.

Luckily she recovers pretty quickly and is now nicely installed next to the windowsill in her holiday home. Until I come back from holiday and have to take her on the train.

Miaaaaaaaoooooooowwwwwwwwww............

damn the electric fence!

Last night I ran for the train. I should emphasize that I never run for trains unless they're international ones or TGVs. Running for a metro is mad, as there is always another one in about 3 minutes. Exception to this is running for the last metro. There, you should run your little feet off.

Anyway, last night, it wasn't a last train but I didn't have another train for half an hour (RER A Cergy line ... sigh) and so I ran - I ran like the wind! Zoom! Through the corridors at Nation! Whish! Down the stairs (almost faster than the escalators as no-one uses them). Whoosh! Down more stairs to find myself on the platform for line 6.

Dammit, that's not right.

Down more stairs, along more corridors.

I saw the screen with "Cergy - train à l'approche" and ran faster. By now, my lungs were starting to fill with fire ants. But I didn't want to sit at Nation for another half hour as I'd already done that the night before. I just wanted to go home and go to bed. Down the escalators, past the people getting off the train, who no matter how fast you're running, or how clearly desperate you are to get on the train, DO NOT MOVE. Being English, I just say 'pardon! pardon!' very politely, instead of screaming 'Get the hell out of my way! Can't you see I need to get this train!'

So, I dodged everyone and leapt onto the train in triumph.

Only to realise that it was the train for Vincennes, and my train was next to me, at the other platform. Which involved two escalators and a corridor.

Half an hour later I got the train home.

The Pole

The train pulled into the station, and the woman held the pole. She'd been holding it since she set foot on the train, and nothing was going to make her let go of it. Not the masses of people crushed against her, not the crazy swaying of the train as the driver accelerated around the bends, not even the girl with the crutch who just wanted something to hold on to. No. It was her pole. A protection against everything - Parisians who hadn't washed that morning, buskers with their never-been-in-tune violins, ladies with pushchairs. It was as if she thought there wasn't gravity in Paris - hell, if she didn't hold on who knows what would happen? She'd float away! Up, up and away! Off above the rooftops of the city, up over the Sacre Coeur, drifting past Saint Denis, never to be seen again!

Part of me thought she really did believe this - even when the train arrived at her station and she was about to get off, she only let go of the pole once she had her feet safely on the platform. What did she think? That if she let go of the pole that the train would speed off immediately and she'd be left in public transport limbo, waiting for another train, for another pole to arrive.

Stranded there, poleless in Paris.