“I can’t believe I’m leaving you in Paris,” I told my daughter as we hugged goodbye on the Boulevard St Germain.
“I’m more worried about leaving you on the metro," she replied,
deftly handing me a train ticket and a bright pink Post-it note with scribbled instructions to Charles de
Gaulle Aéroport.
We’d just spent two action-packed days together and it was
time for me to head home while she embarked on her new student life in France.
Determined to allay her fears, I strode confidently through
the metro gate (getting my suitcase wedged in the barrier in the process) and
hopped on the train to Châtelet-Les Halles.
But after that, everything came unstuck. As I waited in vain
for the RER (the express train that connects the city centre to the suburbs), I
started to panic. My flight was due to leave in 90 minutes time and I was still miles
away.
Then suddenly a couple walked past and murmured something
incomprehensible. “Je suis Anglaise,” I replied – my default response when I
haven’t got a clue. The man replied in faultless English and
told me the train to the airport wasn’t running. We apparently needed to get a
train to Mitry-Claye, a place I’d never heard of, then catch a bus.
It sounds ridiculous but I instinctively knew I could trust
the pair. I hurried on to the packed Mitry-Claye train behind them and we hurtled
through the grey suburbs of north-east Paris together, past places I’d be afraid to walk
alone. The man told me he was originally from Cameroon and was on his way home to
South Africa from a business conference in the US. He and his wife had stopped
off in Paris en route to see friends.
When we finally reached Mitry-Claye I lost sight of them in
the melée. As hordes of passengers tore down the platform in search of the
airport bus, a few RER staff in red T-shirts apologetically handed us a tiny biscuit each.
Not exactly what you’re after when you’re about to miss your plane, but still.
I pushed my way on to the packed bendy-bus, wondering where my new
friends had got to. As it pulled away I spotted them standing patiently at
the barrier. My bus was full and they’d clearly been told to wait for the next
one. I waved like a maniac and mouthed “merci.” I don’t think they saw me…
PS. The kindness of strangers Part 2 is here.
PS. The kindness of strangers Part 2 is here.
Argh, that has just made me feel faint with fear! I speak no French, get lost EVERYWHERE and will have to make my own way between Paris airport and Vernon when I visit Lydia...
ReplyDeleteI'm pretty much the same, Jill. My French is very ropey and I promise you, if I managed, anyone can. I hope Lydia has a wonderful year. It's so exciting for our daughters!
DeleteIt always renews my faith in humankind when things like this happen. Its great that you got the assistance you needed.
ReplyDeleteThey were SO kind. I just feel sad that I didn't get to say thank you.
DeleteI found your blog via the Britmums MBPOW linky and it warmed by heart on reading it.....I was a student in paris for a year and it brought such memories back! What is your daughter studying there, is she working? I do hope that her french is better than yours lol!
ReplyDeleteHow lovely to be a student in Paris for a year. I wish I'd done something like that. My lovely daughter is studying history - and thankfully, her French is WAY better than mine!
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