Partie 3 - La Nuit Presque Blanche*

*The almost all-nighter

Touchdown to Paris. It had been a pleasant flight - on EasyJet flights, travelers are allowed to choose their own seats. Laura and I managed to snag three seats to ourselves and passed the time playing Crazy 8s. When we landed at Paris/Charles De Gaulle, we asked the woman at the information booth the best way to get from the airport to Chatou, where we would be staying with Anne-Marie and Jean-Pierre. The woman said that we needed to take the RER train into the city, switch lines, and then take it out to Chatou. No problem. We'd need to take a bus at first in order to get to the RER, and we wanted the bus going to Mitry. No problem. Alright, we said, and off we went to find the buses. It was a long walk from one terminal to another, so we settled on singing Hey Jude to pass the time.

We arrived at an area where one would normally catch the train into the city, except that there was construction happening, thus necessitating the bus. We managed to switch our TGV (fast train) tickets for the next day to a more reasonable time of 3pm, rather than 10pm. That step done, we stopped to get a highly nutritious dinner from a vending machine, and sat down to collect ourselves. One of the airport workers came over and started mildly harassing us, so as soon as his attention was diverted, off we went to find the buses. We had to take a subway car in order to get to the right terminal. Once we reached them, we asked another worker whether we needed to buy tickets for the bus inside the terminal, or on the bus. "On the bus! You don't buy them in here." Ok, no problem.

The buses were lined up outside. We found the one we needed, got ready to step on, when another airport worker told us that no, we needed to have bought our tickets inside... Oook then. Back in we went. 8.40 Euros later, we had our tickets. We got back in line for the bus, only to be told that no, this bus isn't actually going to Mitry. It's going... someplace else. There are no more buses for Mitry. Excusez-moi? No. Now we have a problem. The whole line is in an uproar about this information. The airport worker clearly could not care less, but, sighing, he goes to talk to the bus driver. "FINE! Fine. This bus will go to Mitry. Get on! Go! GO!" Mildly relieved, but still reeling from the near disaster, we pile onto the bus. Across the isle from us sat the most distressed woman. She looked like she had once been elegant, but years of self-neglect left her quite disheveled. She wore two pairs of sunglasses, piles of sweaters, and had her feet propped up on the back of the seat in front of her. The expression on her face looked like she was trying to avoid something grotesque that someone was holding in front of her face. Poor thing. She was simultaneously hilarious and pitiable.

After a long bus ride, we arrived at Mitry, which turned out to be a train station in the middle of nowhere. Having had no prior idea of what Mitry would be, this seemed as good a result as any. We found our platform, and waited a few minutes for the train to come that would take us into Paris. By this point, it was probably past midnight. The train arrived, we got on, and didn't arrive in Paris until after 1am. My I mention that the RER trains close at 1am. Therefore, when we got to Chatelet/Les Halles, we were informed that the line we needed to get to Chatou had closed. Oook. We asked a station worker what to do, and she shrugged as suggested we find ourselves a bus. A man came up to us, and told us he would take us to where we needed to go. A little unsure, but willing to be given a solution, we followed him. He walked us to the metro, and told us to go to Gare de l'Est, where we would be sure to find a bus for the direction we wanted. Laura was game, but I wasn't feeling up to going on what could be a wild goose chase. At that point, I just wanted to get to Chatou as quickly as possible so that my poor friends would not be kept waiting for us any longer. A taxi seemed the final option. It was going to be expensive, but worth it. With that resolved, we started off to find one.

I pulled out my map of Paris, but it wasn't quite detailed enough to tell me where we were. I stopped a friendly-looking couple for assistance. At that hour of the night, my French was pretty mangled, but they spoke English. I asked them where I could most easily get a taxi, and they looked at me like I was nuts. "A taxi? Tonight? Don't you know what tonight is?" And before I could respond that I had no idea, Laura said with a tone of dreadful finality, "Nuit Blance." Nuit Blanche is the night when les Parisiens leave the comfort of their homes for a night of art, spectacles, and partying. There would not be a taxi to be found in the city centre. But just in case we were especially lucky people, we might as well try the nearby Rue de Rivoli to see if we could find out. The entire monde was out on the street that night. Laura and I made a great pair - she in her StFX hoodie (on EasyJet you can only take one piece of carry on, so she had to wear her bulkiest clothes) and I in Laura's sweater, scarf, and my own pair of shorts. And boots. Nothing like looking like a hooker while waiting on a street corner for a taxi. In my defense, my jeans smelled revoltingly like smoke after being inside the Spanish bars, and I had to wear my boots because they wouldn't fit in my carry-on. But still...

We walked eastward along Rivoli, further and further in the wrong direction, hoping desperately to find someone getting out of a taxi. We spotted a few, but it was as if each taxi held a million dollars; each time one stopped, a sea of people would swarm it, everyone trying to push their way onto the prized seats. We asked various people if they knew where the best place would be to find one, and everyone said the same thing. "Good luck finding one at all." Every corner we stopped at, we would see 4 or 5 other people a bit further down the road doing the same thing. Stopping, waiting, hoping. After a fruitless hour on Rivoli, we decided to try a smaller street. We found a likely-looking intersection and waited. Taxi after taxi passed by with a full load of passengers. At one point, Laura had the brilliant idea of asking one driver who was stopped at a light if he could come back for us once he'd dropped off his load. He said he would, and told us to wait. So we waited. Ten, twenty, thirty minutes later and he still hadn't come. It was so frustrating. We were tired, angry, cold, and slightly worried about   how vulnerable we were. To top it off, my phone battery was almost dead. I didn't want to call Anne-Marie and Jean-Pierre because I figured they would have long since gone to bed, and also I thought I should save whatever power my phone had left for any serious emergency. By this point it was about 3 am. And then, "THERE! A TAXI! ANNE, GO GET IT!!" I ran. I raced across an intersection and got to the empty taxi just behind a couple. But they were turned away, so I approached the driver. "Madame, je cherche un taxi qui peut m'amener a Chatou!" "Chatou? Mais non, il est trois heure du matin! C'est trop loin." At 3 am, she felt Chatou was too far. And with that, the light turned green and she sped off.

I had had it. I started crying. Laura came over to see why the taxi had escaped us. Ironically, Laura and I were experiencing our own Parisian "nuit blanche" (all-nighter). In different circumstances, it could have been a spectacular night on the town. Even more disappointed and upset, we decided to find a new intersection. After walking a couple of blocks, it seemed like the best idea would be to call my poor guardians and let them know what had become of us. Jean-Pierre and Anne-Marie, I know you are reading this, so may I say again, THANK YOU! With all my heart, thank you thank you thank you. You know what they did? At 3:30 in the morning, they drove out from Chatou to come and pick us up in the middle of Paris on the night when the entire world was out on the streets. They had been awake the whole time, wondering where on earth we were.

After hearing that they would come for us, Laura and I sat down on the ground to play a game of cards. I noticed that just across from where we were sitting was a restaurant called Chez Julien. It's Mum and Dad's favourite restaurant in Paris, and what a coincidence that that's where we ended up. I took out my camera to take a picture, and a group of people passed through the frame. We decided to all get in the picture together, and ended up chatting with them for a while. A few of them are from Brettagne (Brittany), and they were all in Paris for the festivities. Laura gave them each a playing card, because they each had a Canadian $100 bill printed on the back. Since the card deck was now useless, we decided to move camp and go to the other side of the street to wait for Anne-Marie and Jean-Pierre. Poor Laura was so tired she could hardly stand, and wasn't feeling well to boot. After a long time of not seeing their car, I began to get worried. (Little did I know I had given them the wrong directions. I saw a sign saying Pont Marie, but didn't realise it was pointing East. We were actually on Pont Louis-Phillipe). I was also worried about trying to make any calls on my phone. Thankfully we met another few people, this time from Lyon, and one guy lent me his phone. Bless him. Bless them all for their help and friendliness. I got hold of our friends, we realised my mistake, and within minutes they had found us. I started crying again, this time out of remorse for the imposition we were causing and the sheer relief to be taken off the street. I know I was being a drama queen, and that there are people in much worse situations than we were. I can't even begin to imagine living on the streets. But it just seemed like our luck had disappeared for good.

By 4:30, we were home - safe, warm, and comfortable. Well, I was more comfortable, but Laura was feeling even more sick than she had been a couple hours before. Soon we were in bed and fast asleep. We didn't wake up until 1pm on Sunday, a mere two hours before our train was to leave. We got ready as quickly as we could and went downstairs to find Anne-Marie making a lunch for kings. Veal, roasted potatoes, salad, cheese, and bread. Why had we changed our train to such an early time?? Instead of making things easier for them, we were now going to force them to wolf down their beautiful lunch. And it was beautiful. Anne-Marie, it was delicious! And thank you for the care packages! She put together pieces of the meal for each of us to bring back home. So so good. What's more, Jean-Pierre drove us all the way to Montparnasse station. We made it with time to spare.

Always an adventure, right? But in this case, an adventure I'd rather not repeat. "Let this be a lesson to you," my conscience says. "BE PREPARED." For those of you who watched the show Bill Nye the Science Guy, you may remember the little fun fact section where a booming voice would say "NOW YOU KNOW." Now I know not to book flights that get in that late. I know that there were several other options we had, had I been awake enough to consider them. I know to charge my cell phone, and to let the people who are taking care of me know where I am. But all in all, it was a great trip. And it makes for an excellent story eh?