How I Dealt with a Strike

In May, my work of teaching business English slowed down to snail’s pace. Most of my students had finished their hours or were on vacation. As a result, I thought this would be a great month to get caught up on things that I needed to do that could only be done in Paris. I also thought this might be a good time to see some exhibitions, lunch with some friends … and generally enjoy myself. What I didn’t bargain for were those dreaded words in the French language—grève, mouvement sociale. The issue was retraite. Most French people, I believe, think that the French retraite system needs to be changed. The problem has been finding a solution that the majority can live with. Prime Minister Jean-Pierre Raffarin is determined to change this system and the unions are determined to give him a fight. And so began last week’s Mouvement sociale, which turned into a grand strike of monumental consequences. The news said the Mouvement sociale was going to be on Tuesday. So naturally, I thought, “Fine, I will be able to go to my French lesson Wednesday, pick up my ticket to the Chagall exhibition from FNAC … maybe even see a movie. But, alas, it was not to be. I learned that Le Mouvement sociale was just what it sounds like. It encompassed more movement than I had bargained for and it was quite social speaking to people I will never see again in my life. I have experienced other grèves in France and survived them even when my French was cruder than it is today, but this one, this one was for the books. We live in the Ile-de-France in Zone 5 of the RER. My trouble began when my husband, Guy, dropped me off at the station Wednesday morning. Lucky man, he was not working that day. There was only one train at 8:30 a.m., which I got on. There were many irregular stops and starts, but the problem really became serious as we approached the Gare du Nord. Suddenly, I heard the announcement “terminus.” I tried not to panic as I consulted my metro map. I could catch a metro on the 4 line, transfer to the 12 and voila, I would be at my destination of Convention. What I didn’t anticipate was that from this point forward life would become one of chaos and rampage! Everyone in the whole of Paris was trying to get on the different metro lines in the Gare du Nord. The 4 line, one of the most popular, had people waiting all the way up the stairs (they could not even access the platform). So the 4 to the 12 idea was out. Now I was left with the 5 line, except that it wasn’t running. No other RER lines were going to Chatelet (my normal stop). The Gare du Nord connections were exhausted. I walked out of the Gare du Nord, looking for alternatives to metro lines. People on the streets were walking everywhere with metro maps or plans de rues, trying to figure out a way to get where they were supposed to go. I ended up at the Chateau d’eau metro stop. It turned out that was the 4 line. Not as many people were waiting to get on. The train came completely packed with passengers. When I say packed, visualize this picture: someone dies on the metro and no one knows until the cars empty and the person has the opportunity to drop to the floor. Thank you, Weight Watchers for helping lose that weight three years ago. I got on the train and the doors just barely closed without pinching my behind. I made it to the next stop to catch the 8 line. I started thinking I had licked the system. I called my French teacher to tell her I should be there a little late. But the system was not to be “licked” that day. After several minutes the train arrived and this one was worse than the previous line. There were so many people in the train, so many people waiting on the platform and the train was about 2 cars short. That was it. I didn’t want to go to my French course in the 15th arrondisement and then try and get home. So, I called Paulette, my teacher, and explained to her my dilemma, and she, of course, understood. I left the metro thinking that this day should not be a total loss. It turned out I was about 10 minutes from FNAC in Les Halles. Perfect, I would go there and pick up my ticket to the Chagall exhibition for next week and buy the biography of Frida Kahlo (loved the movie and wanted to read the book). From there I could go straight to Chatelet and take the RER home and leave this mess behind. But again, that was not to be. I entered Chatelet and read on the screens that there were no RERs and very few metros. Still fairly calm, I walked to the information kiosk and told the clerks where I wanted to go. It was as if they were laughing at me and thinking, “Listen, honey, just get a reservation in a hotel … you ain’t gettin’ home by our watches!” But there was this one guy who told me that I could go from Chatelet on the 4 to the 3 line and then to the 13 line to get to St Denis. Guy could pick me up at the Basilic St. Denis (near the end of the line). I finally got to St. Lazare (via Germany, I think!) and went to the 13 line platform, sat down waiting for the next train, only to hear an announcement that there were no trains in the direction of St. Denis for the rest of the day. Just when I started thinking that I might have to get a hotel room, I suddenly had an epiphany. St. Lazare was not far from the Opéra. And at the Opéra, on rue Scribe, was the Roissy bus—a private company—that takes tourists to the airport. I called Guy to tell him that I would take the Roissy bus from rue Scribe to CDG as we lived only 10 minutes north of the airport. The Mouvement sociale had given me…