Traveling with Rob in La Belle France

When Rob puts the luggage in the car, there is frost on the windshield. II pity the flowering fruit trees, which had burst so early into bloom. Nibbling on some cookies and apples, we drive off to Tours. Trying to ward off our hunger pangs, we plan to have an early lunch before catching the train to Paris.

 Late morning, we safely arrive in Tours. Before returning our car to the dealer, Rob drops me off at the train station with the luggage. We want to store it there before going out for lunch. I am amazed at how deserted the train station is at this hour. Not a soul in sight. And to my dismay, I remember that you cannot store luggage at train stations in France because of threats of terrorism.

It takes Rob about twenty minutes to return, and I am puzzled that nobody enters the station during that time. Very strange, I think. Tours is a big place. Don’t people take trains? None of the ticket counters are open, either.

Stepping out of the building for a moment, I spot a policeman. I managed to ask him in French why the train station is so deserted. “En grève, he informs me laconically. Quickly looking up “grève” in my pocket dictionary, I was shocked to find out that it means on strike.

We quickly forget our plans to find a place to eat but rather try to find a way to get to Paris. Still debating what to do, we are suddenly approached by the policeman. He informs us that at around four o’clock at a nearby subsidiary station, one train to Paris is coming through. This friendly policeman also helped us find a small office close to the station where we could temporarily store our luggage. Obviously, we do not look like terrorists to him.

Downtown is within walking distance. The streets are bustling with people on this beautiful spring day, and many different eating establishments exist. Rob selects an Italian restaurant that serves his comfort food, spaghetti with meat sauce. I seem to have lost my appetite and go for a salad.

 After retrieving our luggage, we took a taxi to the nearby station. The taxi driver, a young, passionate man with a slight accent, is very sympathetic to our predicament. Hearing that we are from Canada going to a wedding, he is raving and ranting about the stupidity of the government, which lets these apparently frequent strikes happen. Apologizing for the inconvenience this strike is causing us, he is adamant about not accepting any fare or tip. He even carried our luggage into the station, wishing us luck and a “bon voyage” like a friend.

“Canada is a good country,” he says, parting with a big, generous smile. We are deeply impressed by this unexpected hospitality of a kind stranger. The station is packed with people. On the quay where the train to Paris is supposed to arrive, crowds of people are standing, sitting, or even lying around. Strangely enough, it is quiet. There is no holiday atmosphere. Most people have an apprehensive look, staring silently in the direction from where the train is to come. No one knows the exact time. I have visions of people in wartimes, fugitives, soldiers, and families, desperately waiting for a train to escape danger. There is no danger for us, only inconvenience.

Eventually, after a long, silent wait, we hear the train approaching. My fear that people will brutally force their way into it, pushing and shoving, does not materialize. Everyone quietly and civilly waits their turn and boards in an orderly fashion. Miraculously, no one is left behind. A courteous gentleman with a friendly smile even offers me his seat in the overcrowded compartments.

People start relaxing. Lively conversations emerge even among strangers, as if everyone is trying to make up for the long silence. In this cheerful atmosphere, we travel to Paris and safely make it to Saint-Étienne for Richard and Agathe’s wedding. But that’s another long story.