Thursday, September 18, 2014

I sleep in again, rise at 9:00, make and drink a mug of tea, and am out the door by 9:30.

First stop is to drop off my laundry at the Laverie. Not a problem here, pick it up any time after 6 p.m., and no, there's no need for a ticket. (If this doesn't work out I'll be buying some cheap clothes at the Monoprix early tomorrow morning!)

Next I collect a demi-baguette at the patisserie. I plan to nibble on it for breakfast, which I do, but not while I'm in the trains.

For some reason the Metro is not crowded today at 9:30; I feared another trip standing up until close to Montparnasse, but everything is fine! I sit and enjoy the view.

At Montparnasse, I start off looking for the Information booth, and on my way up the escalators spot the sign for the Rambouillet train, but decide to enquire anyway. It's a good thing I do; on the same level as the information booth is the SNCF train that is "Direct", stops only at Versailles Chantier before hitting Rambouillet. It is better to ask than to know.

We depart at 10:09 and arrive in Rambouillet 34 minutes later. Yee-Hah!

I prowl around the town for two hours, taking photos and making way for pedestrians and cars in the narrow streets.

Early on I find the sun too hot to sit outside, so I park myself in a cafe and order a large coffee. Things are quiet here so I take the time to count my change.

A little old lady stands near the doorway and waves at me; I assume she is waving at someone else, but I wave anyway. She says she is eighty-five and speaks English. I say we ought to speak French, and I think she is disappointed; she probably wanted to practice her rusty English!

The Tabac is new, and empty, so I pop in and ask about Fleur de Savane, which I used to smoke; the lady sells me a box of small cigars and some matches, which I remember as allumettes.

There is a chateau that charges admission, so I take photos from the outside, take a quick glance at the great park, then continue my tour of the town.

Up the back streets to find that the library is closed. Rats!

Back to the main street and I decide to buy some grapes, and wait inside while the woman works outside sliding a canopy onto a railing. I ask for two bunches of grapes, sweetest please. We get that settled and paid for, then she asks if I'd mind giving her a hand outside? Sure! I say, and ask her how much she pays an hour. She has a good laugh. She will feed the green canopy onto the rod and I will apply tension at the other end; it feels good to be gainfully employed again.

I wander to another park with a lake; two teenage girls eye me suspiciously and I ask them, with a sweep of my arm, if all these (some 300 youngsters) are high school students, and yes, they are. I gain in confidence with each trivial exchange.

I ask another lady where the station is and I am delighted to find that I can understand her directions, although I suspect that most of the time folks detect that I am a foreigner and explain their directions clearly, to help me. Nonetheless, even though I know where the station is, it feels good to hear directions told in another way.

I miss the four buses again, they pull out when I am in sight of the station, and I miss the little grey shuttle bus again by less than twenty seconds, so I decide to quit this burg and head for Trappes.

My bag is too heavy, but I am committed to visiting each place I worked, and Trappes is perhaps the saddest.

This day too is hot; I had absolutely no need of my jacket, but most people think it will rain tomorrow, which means most people watch TV in the evening.

I wait for the 13:22 in the shade on the platform, very cool!

I am having regrets about not entering Mc-Sub-KFC, I need a plastic teaspoon for the powdered milk.

The weight of my bag and the heat convinces me to skip Trappes-La Verriere.

I love being an expert; a guy asks me if we stop and I give him my map. Good. Now I'll have to ask for a replacement when we arrive at Montparnasse.

I take photos.

At Montparnasse I get a replacement map, and directions for the bus.

The bus is slow, because of the traffic, especially the maniacs at Opera, yet the driver is so calm, inching forwards and ultimately breaking free of the log jam.

St Lazare information doesn't know about the 29 but tells me to walk down the street. I should have trusted my knowledge. The bus does start where I thought it did, but I have walked probably two complete bus-stops to the next street. The good part is that all this was done in French, and to his credit the nice man came outside his office to point me to the specific exit he thought I should take. That’s kindness to a foreign tourist.

The 29 is diverted on account of road works. We reach Daumesnil around 4:30.

It is time to set my mind at rest about the hotel. I enquire of Madame Goulot, who says I can have another 8 nights at €150 per. I think I'll take it.

I shower and take €500 to Madame who takes only 5 minutes to accept the money and write a receipt.

Then to the Laverie; costs only €5, all up. Unbelievable value compared to the price-sheet in the hotel room.

Next it is out to a supper of steak-frites and salad, €15, then a cigar and a stroll down Daumesnil and as it grew dark I got lost and ended up at Porte de Vincennes, so took the Metro from Nation to Daumesnil and walked home by 9:30

15,000 steps

Getting ready for market, we are!

On my out the door I pass two guys discussing the flowers. It's not clear to me whether the discussion is about danger or beauty. I think the flower display is charming.

Dear old Tour Montparnasse again.

And a dear old Transilien train, again.

We flash through the inner suburbs, we are in a hurry to relax; at least, I am!

Squat residences line the tracks. The people that live here pay taxes that fund the train I'm on.

Through Versailles-Chantiers

And here we are in Rambouillet.

Honest!

Some trains are “Region Centre”, but I haven't yet worked out what that means.

Rambouillet has several tracks; here's a view of the new “old” station building.

And here are some trains waiting to zoom back into Paris.

Bye bye train!

Byeee!

During the next hour – middle of the day, too, three trains will leave here for Paris.

My first view of Rambouillet

Setting off from the station I walk along the main street.

It's a trick, see? The €0.5c coins are bigger than the €1, which fools me sometimes into using a €0.50 when I should be inserting a €1.

Something else I'd forgotten: when you've paid for your coffee or whatever, the waiter takes the money and crumples the bill to show that it has been paid.

Ty Billig. I have no idea what this means, but I do remember that it cropped up in my list of restaurants back in May when I started my research.

It serves crepes, and other light snacks. No Steaks Frites here!

Looking back across the square. That's my cafe on the left.

I continue walking west, or north (?!!) along the street.

I am fascinated by the shops.

I almost missed this. The driver of the truck is making deliveries, so he has let down the hydraulic platform at the rear of the truck, and pushed a trolley-full of goods into the shop. Meanwhile back at the alley, a stream of cars wants out, this lady is the last. Each car is driven OVER the hydraulic platform; what else is one to do in a small lane in a small town? Cars have been turning from my left, driving across the hydraulic platform and up the alley, away from me.

Off to my right an impressive church.

Now you'd think the glossy tiles meant a pedestrian area, right? But it's just part of the street; and yes, the cars are parked on the footpath.

The town hall. In the wing on the right-hand side is the Bureau de Tourisme; I have just left there after a brief conversation with the ladies at the desk. Very friendly, very helpful. I am gaining in my confidence in the French language.

The gatehouse to the chateau.

A panoramic shot of the gatehouse and the entrance to the park. The chateau is behind me and to my left.

The tower at one corner of the chateau. The tower protects the chateau, but thin railings now protect the tower!

I was kidding about it being a gatehouse; it was probably the administrative wing.

A sweeping view of part of the park.

... and a well-swept lake

... and a well-swept pond

A quiet nook where I can nibble a snack in peace.

Jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread--and Thou

Oh yes. Also a crumpled-up beer can

I recognize this leaf: It is what we called Acacias that we planted along the side of the house in Southern Cross.

They quickly grow tall.

A poor photo, but the sun is so bright and so hot. This array of flowers extends around the corner of the chateau and down the side.

OK. That's enough chateauing. Back to the back-streets.

I'm walking up the hill parallel to the shopping street, heading towards the town bibliotheque. I'm looking forwards to chatting with librarians.

The library was closed; the first of many that I found closed – wrong day of week, wrong hour of day. I began to think there was a small crew scurrying ahead of me fixing notices to doors. Is my spoken French that notorious?

I pass this old flywheel-pump; it is set back in an alcove.

Back through town, hang a right, and here is another delightful park

A panoramic view of the park. I asked the two girls on the left if these were all high-school students. Yes, they are!

It takes ages to walk through some towns; you are obliged to cross to the other side of the street, and it is sometimes a long walk on the other side until you come to a pedestrian crossing where you can cross back … (joke)

I love these signs! I know where these towns are.

Back at the railway station. The quays are clearly marked. I am to wait on quay 2B.

No, the quay numbering is not zero-origin, because if it were, people would make lame jokes along the lines of “2B or nought 2b?” That is the reason.

I know, I know. Shouldn't wear black socks with brown shoes ...

Focus on the neat rail for resting feet. In theory this means that young passengers won't rest the soles of their shoes on the seats.

Not what you think! Not an interesting shot of a do-not sticker on a grimy window, but an exercise in geometry.

I found myself using the sticker to see how much the catenary for the adjacent track sagged between supports. Not much. I suspect that most of the tiny variation I detected was due to the wobbling of my (railway) carriage.

Nearing town. There's that useful landmark again.

Clever train design. During peak-hour we stand and fit more people in; off-peak, we have more seats.

Back at Montparnasse I can't stop dreaming.

Check the doors: “Please board at the front and exit at the rear”

And check out the huge crab-claw-like rear-view mirror casing on the bus.

These are two of a bank of signs that announce destination stations in alphabetic order. You want to go to Little-Tiddling-On-The-Marsh? You need track 8. You're welcome!

This photo is to remind me to check the difference between Pave and Bavette.

Where I wandered through Rambouillet.