We already knew that the Ministry of Culture was on strike and that most cultural attractions would therefore be closed. What we didn't know was that that was only one of two labor strikes affecting Paris upon our arrival. We left our train and walked into the middle of the Gare de Lyon in pandemonium. It seems that the Paris Metro was also on strike and as such, there was not a cab to be had in the entire city, and the streets were gridlocked with private cars, so much so that we would later see motorcyclists take to the sidewalks.
Before we could leave the station, we first needed a destination. We had been unsuccessful in finding a hotel from Aigues-Mortes, and we had also tried and failed in Nimes. We found our way to the tourist office and joined the queue. With no sights to see and no transportation within the city available, one would expect hotel rooms to be plentiful. One would be wrong. The attendant at the tourist office politely informed all of us who were waiting that there were no hotel rooms left to be had. While Hannah telephoned throughout the city, I waited patiently in line at the tourist office, even while the sole attendant took her 30 minute Galoises break. We even considered abandoning Paris and departing for Lyon or anywhere else, but due to the European rail network, we would eventually have to get through Paris, and there was no guarantee that it would be any better later. So, eventually, the tourist office turned up a hotel room, and we set off, on foot, of course, with our heavy packs, to the Hotel Voltaire.
Walking through the streets of Paris during a transit strike is an experience I hope not to repeat. The streets were jammed with cars and the sidewalks with pedestrians (and motorcycles), as well as dog poop. Under the weight of our packs, we struggled for about two kilometers before reaching the hotel, knowing that we faced a much longer walk the next day if we were to leave Paris. That was because of the way Paris' train stations are arrayed; there are nine stations in a ring around the city, each serving a different part of the country (and beyond). We had just come in from the southeast, and were hoping to continue traveling to the northwest. That meant crossing Paris, and during the Metro strike, that meant crossing Paris on foot.
Those concerns aside, we determined to make the best of our situation. By this time it was dark, and we walked around our end of the city to view the various buildings and monuments. We saw Notre-Dame and the Centre Pompidou, although both were hidden behind scaffolding, and we walked into the Latin Quarter before tiring and returning to our hotel. The next morning, we faced our nightmare and began the day with a six kilometer trudge across the city to Gare St. Lazare, again battling the crowds. Once there, we stored our bags and set off on foot. As this was my first visit to Paris, I had resolved to see the landmarks, even if only from the outside.
We passed the scaffolding-covered Opéra on our way to the Louvre, where we acquired a leaflet, in English, from the strikers explaining their grievances. Evidently, the whole thing was over budgetary reductions in the Culture Ministry's funding. I'm sure, if a poll had been taken, all of the tourists who were waiting outside the various cultural institutions would gladly have paid double or triple the normal rate to salvage their vacations, but no one asked. From the Louvre, we went on to the Champs-Elysées and a cybercafé, where we checked our e-mail, and I sent a message of warning to my mother and sister, who were due to visit Paris in a couple of days. I did accomplish one of my Parisian goals that day as we took lunch at a sidewalk café on the Champs-Elysées and people-watched. Continuing down the avenue we came to the Arc de Triomphe, which we were able to walk around but not climb the stairs within to take in the view. Our last stop in Paris that day was the Tour Eiffel, which of course was not open to the public. Nonetheless, a small crowd had gathered at its base. We stood underneath the tower, looking up, and resolved to return to Paris in the distant future. As we were admiring the tower, an incredible squall came up, driving horizontal rain at us across the Seine. We were soaked through within moments. Taking this as the least subtle hint yet, we hailed a cab for the station and boarded our train, dripping wet, for Bayeux.
Before we could leave the station, we first needed a destination. We had been unsuccessful in finding a hotel from Aigues-Mortes, and we had also tried and failed in Nimes. We found our way to the tourist office and joined the queue. With no sights to see and no transportation within the city available, one would expect hotel rooms to be plentiful. One would be wrong. The attendant at the tourist office politely informed all of us who were waiting that there were no hotel rooms left to be had. While Hannah telephoned throughout the city, I waited patiently in line at the tourist office, even while the sole attendant took her 30 minute Galoises break. We even considered abandoning Paris and departing for Lyon or anywhere else, but due to the European rail network, we would eventually have to get through Paris, and there was no guarantee that it would be any better later. So, eventually, the tourist office turned up a hotel room, and we set off, on foot, of course, with our heavy packs, to the Hotel Voltaire.Walking through the streets of Paris during a transit strike is an experience I hope not to repeat. The streets were jammed with cars and the sidewalks with pedestrians (and motorcycles), as well as dog poop. Under the weight of our packs, we struggled for about two kilometers before reaching the hotel, knowing that we faced a much longer walk the next day if we were to leave Paris. That was because of the way Paris' train stations are arrayed; there are nine stations in a ring around the city, each serving a different part of the country (and beyond). We had just come in from the southeast, and were hoping to continue traveling to the northwest. That meant crossing Paris, and during the Metro strike, that meant crossing Paris on foot.
Those concerns aside, we determined to make the best of our situation. By this time it was dark, and we walked around our end of the city to view the various buildings and monuments. We saw Notre-Dame and the Centre Pompidou, although both were hidden behind scaffolding, and we walked into the Latin Quarter before tiring and returning to our hotel. The next morning, we faced our nightmare and began the day with a six kilometer trudge across the city to Gare St. Lazare, again battling the crowds. Once there, we stored our bags and set off on foot. As this was my first visit to Paris, I had resolved to see the landmarks, even if only from the outside.
We passed the scaffolding-covered Opéra on our way to the Louvre, where we acquired a leaflet, in English, from the strikers explaining their grievances. Evidently, the whole thing was over budgetary reductions in the Culture Ministry's funding. I'm sure, if a poll had been taken, all of the tourists who were waiting outside the various cultural institutions would gladly have paid double or triple the normal rate to salvage their vacations, but no one asked. From the Louvre, we went on to the Champs-Elysées and a cybercafé, where we checked our e-mail, and I sent a message of warning to my mother and sister, who were due to visit Paris in a couple of days. I did accomplish one of my Parisian goals that day as we took lunch at a sidewalk café on the Champs-Elysées and people-watched. Continuing down the avenue we came to the Arc de Triomphe, which we were able to walk around but not climb the stairs within to take in the view. Our last stop in Paris that day was the Tour Eiffel, which of course was not open to the public. Nonetheless, a small crowd had gathered at its base. We stood underneath the tower, looking up, and resolved to return to Paris in the distant future. As we were admiring the tower, an incredible squall came up, driving horizontal rain at us across the Seine. We were soaked through within moments. Taking this as the least subtle hint yet, we hailed a cab for the station and boarded our train, dripping wet, for Bayeux.
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