Midnight in Paris (Extended Cut)

On the way to visit my friend and fellow IB student Jensen Lawless in Paris, she warned me that the city would be difficult to navigate. Dozens of flights into Paris were cancelled, and there was a citywide public transport strike that shut down most of the trains. Luck would have it that I was on one of the small handful of RyanAir flights into Paris that weren’t cancelled. I arrived around 8:40 P.M. in ‘Paris’ (a term I use loosely here because in reality I touched ground at an airport an hour and a half outside of the city) and then took a bus into the center. The first two steps out of my trip knocked out. Easy peazy.

I was warned that the next part of my journey would be the most challenging, but I wasn’t exactly concerned. Maybe I was too confident in my ability to navigate public transportation. Maybe I had too much faith in the longevity of my phone’s battery, which was now at about 12%. Nevertheless I was positive I would get to Jensen’s apartment before 12 PM.

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“I am not sure I can get to you. The trains into Paris are not running. Let me look how you would get here”
Received: MAR 31, 9:39 PM

“Okay. If transport is down I can just find wifi and set up an account for heetch or whatever” 
                                                                                                     Sent: MAR 31, 9:50 PM

‘Or whatever’. Oh how naïve I was.

At around this time, I was feeling confident. I had already traversed two metros that were supposed to be shut down, and there was a good amount of people in the La Defénse station where RER-A would take me to Cergy Le-Haut, the stop for my friend’s apartment. What I didn’t realize until I stepped on the platform was that this destination wasn’t listed on the boards. No destinations were listed for that matter, only an announcement of the train delays for the social movement.

Confused about what platform I was on, I approached a couple and pointed at the stop and said “Cergy Le-Haut?” I know Spanish pretty well and can figure out Italian from there, but French was a different story. They attempted saying something to me but quickly realized from my deer-in-headlights expression that I had no clue what it was. Finally they nodded and indicated that I was in the right place. I sat down quietly nearby and continued observing them to make sure they knew what they were doing. Although at first they seemed comfortable with the situation, within a few minutes an argument arose between the two. I assumed it was something about the train not coming, or maybe one of them said had that Lord of the Rings was “just okay”. Either way, whatever was said between the two prompted them to leave the platform arguing, waving for me to join with them.

Over the next 5 minutes I found myself being shepherded around the concourse like a stray puppy. At each escalator the couple would walk to the railing and point me up the escalator ahead of them. Despite the mildly demeaning nature of this ordeal, I really had no other options. I still had no idea where I was or how to get to my friend’s apartment anymore and my phone was now at 6%. My best choice at this point was to trust in this helpful and slightly rude Parisian couple.

After the worst game of the follow the leader I’ve ever played, we arrived at the platform that I hoped would soon welcome the RER-A. The couple sat down a little ways away and avoided my questioning glances. By this point I guessed they were tired of dealing with my problems. Fair. There was one other lady standing on the subway, so I asked her similar questions. “Cergy Le-Haut?” I wanted to make sure this was right. She too did not know English so I asked her to write down what to do. She just wrote down meaningless stations and pointed down at the ground. Clearly my confusion was visible on my face because a French kid in a pea coat walked over to help out.

“You said you were going to Cergy? I’m going there too, just follow me.” He speaks English. Awesome.  He’s going to the same place as me. Even better.

After explaining that he was going in the same direction but getting off two stops earlier, we each sat down in the row of chairs on the platform. The screen above said our train was arriving in 26 minutes. I sat down to read my book and wait, but he wasn’t quite as patient. He grabbed his scooter, stood up and looked towards me.

“I don’t want to wait for so long. I have to practice my sport. But I will return.”

And just like that, my pea-coated hero scootered off into the sunset, leaving me with nothing but a worn down copy of a Farewell to Arms and a heart full of hope. With the faith that he would return, I continued reading:

“I could see the brush, but even with my momentum and swimming as hard as I could, the current was taking me away. I thought then I would drown because of my boots, but I thrashed and fought through the water…”

It could be worse, I thought. I could be drowning. I texted Jensen again so she wouldn’t worry when I didn’t show up on time.

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“So I found a guy in the metro who’s going to Cergy. I’ll be there in an hour or so. I gotta throw on airplane mode.”

                                                                                                    Sent: MAR 31, 11:06 PM

2 minutes to arrival...

My battery was now at 3%. Apparently that message was a lot of work for my phone to handle. I continued reading:

“…I lay, and was hungry, and waited for the train. The one I had seen was so long that the engine moved it slowly and I was sure I could get aboard it. After I had almost given up hoping for one I saw a train coming”

I prayed I would soon hear the soft click of the scooter wheels passing over the cracks in the cement, but I never did. The train slowly screeched into the station and my heart dropped. As the doors opened in front of me, I took one last look down the tunnel and prayed that my peacoatted Moses would swoop in dramatically from behind the pillar. But just as quickly as he had entered it, he was out of my life forever. Dejected, but with my original guides trailing close behind, I hopped on board the train car. I looked at all of the stops and they gave me an annoyed nod ‘yes’ in response to my anxiety-ridden questioning point in the direction of the train route. Feeling less hopeful and dealing with my newly acquired abandonment issues, I waited impatiently for the last stop that I hoped would provide the lifeline out to Cergy Le-Haut. I rode uncomfortably, my blood pressure rising as I passed through each decreasingly populated station. In my book, I found myself reading the same paragraph over and over; with my stress levels at their peak, it was difficult to concentrate. A few minutes later however, the doors of the subway car opened and I stepped off the train. In quick bounding strides I sped to the end of the platform where a distressed horde of people gazed upward at the departure list. 

   CERGY LE-HAUT: 6:43 AM   

France: 1    Brian: 0

With the miniscule percentage of my phone's battery quickly approaching its event horizon, I was forced to make a choice: spend the night in the train station or call an Uber. Naturally I chose the latter. It quoted me at 55 euros but considering how most of this night had been going, I expected worse. I hit the request option and my phone immediately shut off, but not before letting off a smug laugh at my misfortune. Thank god I had written down Jensen’s address earlier. Say what you will about pencil and paper, but it’s reliable. From there on out all I could do was hope my driver would soon approach the curb. I stepped outside into the frigid air of the station square and waited, hoping that I would see my chariot to the promise land. As a thin sheet of rain began to fall over my head, the hopes of that prospect dwindled.  

After 10 minutes, there was still no Uber in sight. I finally accepted that the likelihood of one even showing up in the right place was low, and I walked over to the cab stand. The first cabbie said it would be about the same price as the Uber, so I accepted and hopped into the back of his Toyota hatchback. Being in the warm backseat, my phone dead but my stress dwindling, I finally felt calm. That night I wouldn’t arrive to Jensen’s apartment until 1:05 AM after hitting standstill traffic in the middle of nowhere, but I was nonetheless in a phenomenal mood. My driver was helpful and let me use his phone charger as we shared in the mutual frustration of the meaningless traffic. Apparently these feelings transcend international borders. With my phone alive again, I let Jensen know I had indeed not died in a train station in Paris and was outside her apartment. 4 hours of confusion and stress later, I had made it.  

I ate some delicious haddock and potato cake with arugula, consumed an unhealthy amount of pain du chocolate, and saw some beautiful sites. Paris is a really pretty city. 

Then the next day Jensen thought she had appendicitis and we spent the entire night in the hospital. But don't worry, apparently it was just a kidney infection. 

So it goes.