Down, and then Out, in Paris
Wherein Our
Heroine Recounts a Bit of Personal History.
I used to be terrified of public
transportation. Growing up in the woods of New Hampshire, "public transport" is
getting your friend's mom to organize a carpool. So as a result, when I started
spending time in cities I was at a distinct disadvantage. I have a theory that
beyond a certain age you lose the ability to learn to read a bus schedule. I
still cannot decipher the timetables, and the route maps tend to lack the most
basic landmarks and other context. Besides, buses are prone to any of the ills
that cars are (traffic, detours, etc.), so I've never really thought they were a
good solution.
I like metros
much better, although the occasional long stop underground is enough to make the
hardiest soul into a confirmed claustrophobic. I have, however, traveled on
some of the best (and less-than-best) metro/underground/subway systems in the
world and I generally like them quite well. They don't detour, they are
generally unhampered by traffic and they tend to be speedy. Also, they don't
tend to have schedules for me to peer at in
puzzlement.
My hatred of buses
was cemented many years ago in Paris. I was a college student, studying in
London and taking my semester break. I was traveling with one set of school
friends and staying with another set of family friends who were living in Paris
at the time. I had gone off for dinner and a walk around the city with one of
my traveling friends. After dinner we had walked until we stopped in front of a
bank (when you live abroad but still have all your fiscal ties to the
motherland, you check exchange rates
constantly).
Our American voices attracted the attention of another pair of American
tourists, and we stopped to chat. Our group also unfortunately attracted the
attention of a sinister-looking, very drunk Frenchman who informed us that he
had just emerged from prison. Since they had shaved his head in prison, he
objected to one of our new friends' long hair and he was getting more agitated
by the second. Our situation seemed similar to being handed a grenade with the
pin out - we didn't know how to get rid of him without setting him off. After a
few moments, a kind Frenchman intervened and managed to steer the sinister man
away.
We managed to stay out
too late that night, and we all had to scatter to get to the various places we
were staying. I managed to get about halfway to my friends' house on the metro
when it abruptly closed. I was told to go upstairs and catch a bus. It had
been an unusual and at times a frightening evening, but now I had real terror.
A bus? Great. I would never get home. I am hopeless with bus schedules in
English. If I tried to cope in French? They would find my skeleton leaning
against the bus shelter, hollow eye-sockets still staring at the laminated
timetable.
The bus stop above
the Metro was in front of a seedy-looking bar in a part of town I wouldn't have
chosen to frequent. As I peered at the bus schedule with an utter lack of
comprehension, various men entering the bar called out to me to join them.
Ignoring them and anxiously continuing to scan the schedule for some semblance
of a clue, I was directly approached by someone who growled the French
equivalent of, "Don't I know
you?"
It was our friend, the
shaven-headed ex-con from earlier in the evening. He was considerably less
drunk than the last time I had seen him, and looking at me the way I look at bus
schedules, searching for recognition. In another couple of seconds he might
remember - I took refuge in a speedy assumption. Hoping he mistook my fright
for bovine vacuity, I said in a flat, loud voice, "What? Sorry. I don't
understand. American. I'm A-MER-I-CAN. Nuh comprenny pah. I... don't...
speak... French."
Success! He
looked at me with the disgust of a Frenchman faced with a foreigner who has the
temerity to visit his country and not learn the language. Turning on his heel,
he walked away, muttering under his
breath.
I abandoned any idea
of taking the bus. "Taxi" is part of the universal language.
Posted: Thursday - February 26, 2004 at 08:00 AM
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