La Grêve - Strike!

- from a 5 July 2013 article in Liberation.


Two days before our departure to Paris by the TGV, a friend casually said, “ Better check on the strike.”

Strike? Une grêve? That word instills terror in the hearts of the traveler especially when it concerns mass transit. The newscasts spoke of between 150,000-350,000 demonstrators (depending on the source). Unions asked the public to support the strike for the entire week by refraining from use of public transit.

The strike was scheduled to end Wednesday at 8 a.m., five minutes before our 8:05 a.m. departure. There was no way to get an update—the train stations were locked. Websites gave the basic information. Our TGV might leave, but we couldn’t take an early local train to Cannes. I spent a sleepless night, imaging all possible scenarios.

At the Cannes station, local trains had delays. The TGV would leave as scheduled.
We boarded, in a state of disbelief! At 8:05 a.m., our trained pulled away from the station.

We descended from the train in Paris under gray skies and joined the hundreds of other passengers, pulling rolling suitcases. The métros ran efficiently. We made our business appointments.


Our one-night stay left no time for relaxation. At the Gare de Lyon while we awaited the departure of our TGV for Cannes, we ordered our usual café gourmand, thankful the strike was no longer foremost on our minds.

Café gourmand at the Train Bleu, Gare de Lyon

La vie à grande vitesse - Life in the fast lane

A rush-rush trip to France. A business trip of sorts. I arrive in Juan-les-Pins in mid September, my favorite time of year. But within hours after landing, my daughter and I have started work that involves her renovation projects in the South and Paris area. Life in the fast lane. Estimates. Rendez-vous. How does she keep track of everything! I begin to wonder how much help I will actually be. We take the TGV to Paris for a 24-hour séjour. The calm of our train stations at Cannes and Antibes contrasts with the Gare de Lyon, where we are pushed along quais by travelers and noisy suitcases and down into the métro. A change at Châtelet. Where is the escalator?

Just north of Paris, we are pushed and shoved by more crowds in rainy, chilly weather. No hot water in the apartment where we are staying to wash off the dust and soot of our work. In a little more than 24 hours, we return to the Gare de Lyon this time by taxi, hoping the SNCF will not be on strike. By now, I am succumbing to a cold. . . . Back to the Côte d’Azur. Now, appointments with governments agencies for that paperasse they always seem to need. Lines that resemble immigration at JFk with matching attitudes of employees. Even my daughter, experienced with the mentalité functionnaire, seems disconcerted. . . . . Even with a few setbacks, we are progressing but at a slower pace. It is the South of France, after all. And the next stop--the pharmacy. . . .