Paris Metro from Les Sablons to Rivoli - Euro 1.70.

After buying a baguette, camembert and some tomatoes for lunch at the Sunday Fresh Food Market in the affluent suburb of Neuilly-sûr-Seine, I boarded the metro at Les Sablons on line 1. I was on my way back to Rue Saint Honoré to meet up with John who flew in from London that day to spend the last leg of our holiday together.  I took the train from Barcelona the day before.

The metro was unusually packed that day and I was cramped at the door. At the Franklin-D-Roosevelt station 2 Frenchmen, one with an empty pushchair, entered. They carried on a conversation as if I wasn’t there.

‘’Tu pars quand?’’, asked one of them. (When are you leaving?)

‘’Dans un mois,’’ replied the other.  (In a month.)

‘’Comment va-t-elle, Amandine?’’ (How ‘s Amandine doing?)

‘’Elle l’a prise pas très bien. Elle est avec sa mère.’’ (She took it badly. She is with her mum.)

‘’Les enfants vont partir avec toi ?’’ (The kids are going with you?)

‘’Oui.’’ (Yes.)

At the next station a few passengers got on and off, we were separated and I could not hear what they were saying. My mind was wondering where and why is he going and what is Amandine looked like.  At Concorde, we were once again pushed within hearing distance.

‘’À Montréal, on paye beaucoup plus là-bas.’’ (In Montreal, they pay a lot more.)

‘’Pas mal, mais Il y a des soucis aussi.’’ (Not bad, but there are things to worry about.)

‘’Par exemple?’’ (Such as?)

“Plein de chose. Je ne veux pas y penser maintenant. L’école pour les enfants. La froideur.’’ (A lot of things. I don’t want to think about it now. Finding a school for the kids. Lack of sensibilities.)

“Je comprends.’’ (I get it.)

They got out at Tuileries. As the train rolled out of the Tuileries station I caught a glimpse of the handsome young man. I imagined that he would meet up with Amandine, her mother and his kids at the Jardin des Tuileries. They would spend a happy afternoon together. In four weeks, he would start his new position in Montreal but would Amandine be happy? I will never know but it was nice to know such a person exists.

I got off at Rivoli with my bag of goodies. As I approached the metro exit, I overheard a black woman on her mobile with her boyfriend or ex-boyfriend.

‘’Comment?’’ (What?)

Of course, I could not hear what the other was saying. She continued.

‘’Je m’en fous ce que tu penses. C’est moi qui décide, non ?’’ (I don’t give a damn what you think. I’m the one who decide, aren’t I?) She paused for a while, listening.

‘’C’est-à-dire, je t’ai arrangé.’’ (That means, I made up with you.) And then, abruptly.

‘’Connard!’’ (Asshole!)

The other hung up on her. There is always another story on Paris Metro.