Leaving Paris 2017

            I did not mentioned karma yesterday on purpose.  It needed a rest.  I awoke fully refreshed and ready for the day’s adventure.  Wanting to miss the crush of the morning commute I bided my time in my room packing and repacking.  I mislaid four Metro tickets.  Finally impatience trumped wisdom and I set off for the Cadet Metro station.  A tiny voice whispered to lay the box on its side, which worked wonderfully.  I checked the bike kiosk and found that yesterday’s venture cost 31 euros for nearly five hours of biking. 

            A young man with dark brown hair and deeply tanned graciously helped negotiate the first set of stairs.  On the platform one fully loaded train swept out of sight and was quickly replaced by an equally full train.  I did find room for the box and myself.  Here charm replaced karma.  A wonderfully warm young lady and I exchanged looks.  I was humbly floored by the attention.

This train had an extended stay before moving to the next stop.  Here the train hesitated again.  Obviously something was seriously wrong.  I obviously did not understand the next message over the PA but when everyone exited the train, the message became clear, my box was either a bomb or the train was broken.  Geraldine came by and confirmed the latter.  She patiently waited outside on the platform as an attendant described a possible route to the train station.  Geraldine then helped with the box up one staircase, down another, up another and down another, etc. like a yo-yo. 

She is a graphic arts designer for a fashion magazine.  She lives in Paris but was raised in Lyons.  She passed along her business card and I promised to meet her when Isabelle and I return in late June.  Geraldine loves to travel and has been to the US six times including once to San Francisco.  Her next trip is to Japan.  She also writes a travel blog.

The next subway was as crowded as the first.  I was barely able to place the box and myself inside the door.  Taking up more space than deserved was greeted with several scowls and many murmurs of discontent.  The huge backpack only added to my unpopularity.  People have been lynched for less.  Gunnar still loves me.  Within a few stops the crowd had thinned and seats became available.   

            Groups of travellers formed little islands through out the cavernous train station.  Nobody was travelling light with mountains of luggage piled near every group.  All eyes gazed upward at a large billboard as if expecting the announcement of the next apocalypse.  The announcement of which track the next train was leaving on sent more than half of the crowd scurrying in that direction. 

            Most disconcerting was the presence of the young gendarmes armed with automatic weapons their heads rotating like lighthouses spying for trouble.  Sadly, these are the times we live in.    

A tall, thin gentleman with gray flecks in his brown hair offered directions to the ticket area.  The line was longer than any at the DMV or at the pharmacy line at Kaiser.  The countdown from J9051 to J9094 took 40 minutes. During the wait I solved the Rubik’s cube 6 times, getting faster.

I had left the box inside the door so that I could stand in line unencumbered.  Not long after the unattended box caught the attention of security and I was reminded to keep the box with me.

There was a utilitarian lounge with benches and tables near the food court.  The woman just ahead ordered a quiche Lorraine that sounded absolutely delicious.  The next 60 minutes sped by while enjoying the quiche and coffee, and solving the Rubik’s cube 8 more times.   The Rubik’s cube as supplanted Sudoku during these extended waits.

            Ultra vivacious Marie-Line met me at the station with hugs and kisses and tears.  This was a rarity.  The chore has usually fallen to Isabelle.  Marie-Line is a self-employed psychiatrist with a booming practice.   Recently, she has trimmed her days back to three, Monday, Tuesday, and Wednesday.  Today, Thursday, she was available while Isabelle was not.  Isabelle had a serious operation in April and had started back to work on Monday.

            Together we walked the box to the car under shies growing more ominous by the minute.  The weather was muggy.  Rain was definitely on the menu.  In Minnesota this would hint of thunderstorms with an outside possibility of a tornado.  The drive to her house was short and pleasant. On the way we crisscrossed paths with her husband Serge.

            Marie-Line and Serge are going through a family transition.  Only weeks before his father had been placed in a care facility.  His mother wisely chose to move into an apartment closer to them.  Serge was out and about buying furniture for her apartment.

            Their home is beyond lovely.  My first impression is Japanese with a large courtyard and sliding floor to ceiling windows.  Inside, the low ceilings accentuate the Oriental effect.   Large and comfortable couches surround a square table.  Many of Marie-Line’s paintings grace the walls.  Several Buddha’s sit on various shelves testifying to Marie-Line’s strong interest in self-awareness.  She has taken trips to India to study under a master. 

            Oddly, over the many years, Marie-Line and I have never had an opportunity to chat.  There have always been others around.  And her English was only slightly better that my French.  But in the last two years she has made tremendous strides.  I wish that I could say the same about my French.  On the other hand Isabelle learned English when she stayed in England.  We spent the next two hours appreciating each other.

            When Serge returned he tackled the assembly of the bicycle trailer with the joy and abandonment of a boy at Christmas.

            We await the arrival of Isabelle and Gerard.

Much joy!!!
Hardy