Baby's First Strike

I’ve long known about the French inclination to protest, and was duly warned about the likelihood of a transportation strike. Alors, it wasn’t a shock when the news came ‘round that today would be the day. Practically no Metro, commuter train, railway, and bus lines would operate from Wednesday to Thursday evenings. Who could get to work, you may wonder. Those who have cars could brave L.A.-style traffic, those who live close enough could walk or ride bikes/ motorcycles/ scooters (all ubiquitous modes of transport on a normal day), and those who are shrewd – or motivated – enough could wake up at the crack of dawn and stake a claim on a Velibe (bikes available for public rental). You'd think cabs would also be an option, but as my in-laws (currently visiting) discovered, if you didn’t book one by last Wednesday, you were S.O.L. Although most of my Thursday students weren’t bothering to come to work at all, two were planning to, and I’m paid by the hour, so this girl put on her walking shoes and hoofed it to her 9:30am class.

It was a beautiful day for a transportation strike – deep blue sky, barely any clouds, an autumnal crispness to the air. The streets were a bit calmer than usual, although not much. My walk took me through the Marais into the commercial district of the 2nd arrondisement. I didn’t take the most aesthetically stunning route…lots of chintzy clothing stores, fast food places…I now know where the Paris Hard Rock Café is (thank goodness, I didn’t think I could lose any more sleep over that mystery) and if I’m ever nostalgic for my past brushes with Long Island, I can go to Japorama (it’s really a sushi restaurant, but of course my frame of reference is New York Jewish American Princesses). But just when you think you’re in a less than desirable nook of Paris, you look down a side street and see a magnificent medieval or Renaissance church peeking out past its neighboring buildings. Amen.

After my over-in-a-blink workday, I was thrilled to have a free afternoon to run errands. First, the post office. Clearly no deliveries can be made by train today, so I knew the package I wanted to mail wouldn’t leave the post office until tomorrow. However, the postal worker wouldn’t even accept my package and let it remain in the p.o. until it could be delivered tomorrow. WTF? Since you can buy stamps and send letters elsewhere, why was the post office even open, then? Ah, France…

Then I was off to pick up some odds and ends we still need for the apartment (such as light coverings – apts don’t come with ‘em here and the bare bulb in our kitchen poking out of the wall (whoever thought that was a good place for a light fixture is one smart cookie) is killing me). I decided to finally go check out what the hype was all about at BHV, one of the city’s most legendary (and there are many, natch) department stores. Well, the legends are true. This isn’t just any run-of-the-mill department store. Sure, there are fashion items and cosmetics, but those takes a back seat to all things home. Almost every floor is organized thematically: hardware, bed and bath, kitchen, home décor, electronics, HOBBIES (I couldn’t get over this – an entire floor dedicated to crafts, arts, games, toys, sports, all kinds of goodness). I needed a hodgepodge of items, so I wound up on nearly every floor. I was in there for over an hour, so I probably walked about half a mile just inside the premises. Then it was more walking back through the Marais to home, sweet home. Although I spent about a half a day on my feet, it felt like a breeze. J’adore vadrouiller dans Paris…