We chose to walk to the train station, Gare L’Est, or rather, the transport strikes chose for us. We did consider lime scooters, which have gone viral over here too, but couldn’t find any with luggage racks. Taxis / Uber are hard to come by as everyone wants one.
The rising sun flamed orange over the seine as we crossed over to il de cite, rewarding us for our efforts, and we paused there awhile to soak it up. There’s less people at 8:30am on a Saturday. The other day crossing here we moved with the commuting throngs happily un-accosted by over zealous ‘merchants’, until we stopped and pulled out a camera. It was like sounding a battle horn; short women in scarves with clipboards and pens miming ‘sign here’, came pouring forth like orcs over the keeping wall at Helms Deep.
At first Di looked a little perturbed, “What do you fear my lady?”, but then she replied, “A cage. To stay behind bars until use and old age accept them and all chance of valor has gone beyond recall or desire.” Di pulled back her puffer jacked and behold, the sun caught the steel of her brolly shaft as it sliced through the air like a simitar, sending would be rogues and thieves scurrying away in fear. And I had to reply, “You are a daughter of kings, a shield maiden of Kenmore. I do not think that will be your fate.”
Anyhow, no such encounters on this morning and we continued up the long straight of Boulevard de Sebastopol. There are buses in lieu of the locked down metro but not enough. Every block or so we passed a bus stop with ten to twenty people waiting. When a bus did arrive it was already sardine tin full. We saw two waiting gents trying to ruck passengers further into the bus John Eales style – to no avail.
Fortunately the country trains are all running, or mostly all running. Our booked train was canceled due to schedule “thinning” however we were able to secure seats on another earlier one. It was a relaxing couple of hours watching the the green fields, small villages and wind-farms pass by till we arrived in Metz at noon.
Our Airbnb room in Metz is palatial by Paris standards (our hypothetical head injured Parisian chat would be well relieved), and right on the edge of the old town. We wandered into the first Metz market, there are four, and hooked straight into a steaming crepe with cream, chocolate, raspberries and nuts and a raclette box with hot spuds chorizo and cheese sufficient to send us (respectively) into sugar and lactose comas. Most of Paris have come to Metz for the weekend, for the markets and we waddled the cobbled streets amidst the well rugged crowds enjoying the wafts of wood fire smoke, mulled wine, cheese and grilled frogs legs, which we’ve yet to try, but smell awesome.
We’ve booked dinner for tomorrow night (it was full tonight) at ‘Mamie M’a Dit’ (granny told me), recommended by our host. On request for gluten free options, the owner, sucking back on a Gauloises, responded huskily, “oui oui, beaucoup de vin” – so that should be fun.
Metz looks grand! Love some pics of the markets! Love Joy
Thanks Joy. Metz is lovely. Market shots hard at night, will give it a crack – or perhaps some day time ones – if we can keep our hands free of mulled wine and giant prezels long enough – hence the running.
Ok now that’s a challenge…garbage AND transport strike. Walking distance from train station is a good choice for such unexpected situations . Despite all these challenges, the tone of your story remains positive!
As Di says, ‘it’s all good blog fodder’. And it’s hard to get too stressed when toughest decision, at the end of the day, is, ‘red or white’!
Now that’s the attitude to travel with
Agreed – red wine, best ceoliac diet ever.