The strike continues! In the past couple of weeks, I’ve developed what I feel is a very Parisian indifference to the whole thing. I’ve got used to taking the horribly crowded bus home after class and have got ‘well stuck in’ in the mornings when a good run-up and charge is what’s needed to fit onto the train. It’s quite a rush when you just get in before the buzzer and the doors slam shut millimetres from the end of the nose. A sense of respect is tangible in the carriage for anyone who nips on in this fashion. This morning I simply decided that it was not worth it and so just waited for the next one.
A place to hold on in the carriage is paramount though not always possible. When holding on places are scarce everyone becomes one big mass of swaying bodies and it’s wholly acceptable to fling forward as the train slows down and then hurl backwards as it stops. At one point I didn’t see a corner coming and was sent off balance to one side. As a natural reaction, my hand shot out to break my fall. However, it headed straight for some poor old dear’s glasses. Somehow I averted it but still crashed into her, partly cushioned by the belly belonging to one of the few fat people in this land. Full of apologies and British embarrassment at getting so indecently close to an elderly woman on public transport, she was very understanding.
Ps, my speaking of French seems to have accelerated recently as several members of the team and training squad have commented on how much better I’m speaking. As one said (in French): “I can talk to you normally and you can understand what I’m saying, it’s great!” To say things like that make me chuffed would be a gross understatement.
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