Stricken by a Striking Paris on Strike

I suffered, oh yes I suffered! Instead of the 08.14, I got on the 08.54 from Mussidan to Bordeaux yesterday.

Some early trains were cancelled and I could decipher anxiety in the eyes of my fellow passengers as we all gazed up at the departure board for our connecting trains, once we’d reached our destination – on time. 

Keeping focused was hard. Outside Bordeaux’s station, a good 120 people had just started marching to join up with other protesters somewhere in the city. Their chants, their friendly faces, their enthusiasm and the funny songs they played in the loudspeakers nearly wore off the traveller’s worries. But we held on. We were boarding trains on a strike day, and that was not meant to be easy.

My train to Paris turned up with a small 10 minutes delay, barely worth mentioning, if not for the feeling that I was back in London for a minute, delayed trains, really?

 The journey was smooth and we reached the French Capital under a very engaging blue sky and warm sunshine, something planned by the cunning French meteorologists to lure me in a sense of comfort and let my guard down.I escaped Gare Montparnasse uneventfully to walk down to the river Seine, staying away from any form of public transport, so unreliable on a National Strike Day.

Eiffel Tower Lights up with Fury in Support of Strikes

The tourists that ambushed my stroll with their random stopping on the pavement, their constant pointing at shops and buildings forced me to join in the relaxed atmosphere that was floating over the Left Bank. 

I carried on walking through the small streets, avoiding the main avenues.

My plan was simple, make it to my meeting in a cafe near the Louvre without being stuck between enraged rioters and left-bashing policemen. 

It worked perfectly well ! I’m a genius in urban warfare. All I saw were cars and vespas zooming by, people getting on and off buses, while others had elected to use the Metro (subway/underground).

Why ! Didn’t they know ? Didn’t they realise what was looming between the bookshops and the trendy outfitters? This was National Strike Day in Paris, the gate to the  Next Revolution (I am not talking about Facebook or Apple here, so quit it!), the real Revolution, the head-chopping kind, the ‘off with them all bourgeois’ sort of unrest. This was no day to amble about, pretending it was business as usual. 

Soon-retired Parisians in Strike-denial

Maybe they all shared my unconditional love for the French public radio broadcast service and its 7 radio-stations that would all provide a very limited service on strike-days ? Like me, they would have been deprived from their morning bulletins and couldn’t have basked in the satisfaction to read about their country in the Anglo-Saxon press. Ah ! the fools, the ignorant, so French, so proud, taking the tube to work, meeting with friends for their one-hour lunch breaks…if only they knew !

Safe and sound, I crossed the Seine and walked through the Louvre, turned left near Place Colette and stopped to meet my friend, a big cheese at the newspaper Le Canard Enchaine, for a cup of the best coffee in Paris, at Cafe Verlet. It was mid-afternoon and Paris, more than ever, was looking like its proper self. Even more like a caricature of itself : an open-air museum patrolled by the fashion police. The cobbled streets, the well-dressed Parisians, the many languages of the tourists and businessmen alike. Yes, I was far from Dordogne but nested in a postcard of French-ness, with the smell of cigarettes and half a tiny cup of hot Misor.

So where were the burnt cars and the angry commies followed by violent youths that I had read about ?  

-This strike does have an effect on the economy you know, my friend the newspaperman told me. People are back at work because the strike has been going on for a while, but it is hitting us hard.

-Why is that then ? I asked.

Combining my analytical powers and my background in financial news, I expanded my question  further:  Do people have less money after marching the streets for a few days. I guess it did affect their salaries ? The answer had more to do with sports and coordination.

-During strike times, they are fewer trains, and a guy who runs after his train doesn’t stop to by a paper.

 Ashamed of failing this test of pure Descartes-like reasoning, I left him for my next meeting. It lead me through the Jardin des Tuileries to cross the Seine again and walk up to rue de Varennes to meet an old friend from university. He advises a member of Cabinet on all things related to Public services. Surely, he had a good insight on those terrible strikes that were shaking the core of the Nation. But first,  I got lost on the way there and ended up walking around l’Elysee, the palace where Nicolas Sarkozy rules France from. Policemen and gendarmes galore in the neighbourhood, but no specific tension palpable.

Suspiciously Nice Weather Lures Tourists to Enjoy Their Time in Paris

 Even near the siege of all powers, France, on this National strike Day was not to fall in a deep rebellious state. The only commotion I saw was at the bottom of Les Champs Elysees when a procession of police motorbikes and official looking cars, all lights and  sirens blazing cut the traffic to take someone important somewhere important. Maybe this was the man with the solution to end the strike ? In a small briefcase, on his lap, at the back of the gun proof limo, he had  the few lines of speech that would unite the country again, instead of keeping it divided between the millions of citizens tending to their existences and friends as if nothing was wrong, and those pounding the pavement in frustration ?

Public Transport at a Standstill

Maybe…not sure though, the issue is serious. It mixes rapid changes in the society with personal discontent and even when touching lightly on the subject, one can only remember that social laws in France were implemented after WWII to re-build a country around strong ideals and make life better for people. And that seems to be forgotten in the national debate around the retirement age.

No burning cars, no charging riot police, no broken shop windows...I do suspect that Parisians were putting up a show for me yesterday, caught up between denial and determination to carry on living their trendy life. 

I’m now heading to Amsterdam for 2 days an already, the tension becomes palpable once again. The train conductor has just made an announcement in French with a very strong Flemish accent :    ‘we re trying to find out why we’re not moving’. 

I have it ! National Strike Day in France, when things go pear-shaped : Blame the Dutch !