Monday, September 19, 2016

Please take a moment to download and read my file Fully Funded Public Transit .

Today's two bus trips (weakly outlined in Yellow)

I am sitting in the cafe Gambetta, where I had lunch two days ago. No wonder everyone looked blank when I told them I'd had lunch at the "Hotel restaurant", that was the only part of the neon sign I had seen. It is a hotel-restaurant, and it's name is Gambetta. I'd been telling people, in effect, that I'd been eating in the restaurant, a bit like telling them that I'd had a coffee in the coffee-shop

I slept until 7:30, and gorged myself on 1 cafe mocha, a cafe crème, and another cafe mocha. Cafe CEP will go bankrupt if I fill up on free coffee at the hotel each morning. Worse! I see Le Figaro is free in the hotel, so La Presse can't sell me that anymore. I buy a regional paper Le Courrier and read it in the cafe Cep.

Madame Sylvie calls out something about a cafe noisette; she has been holding out on me and I must tackle her. The cafe is crowded when I arrive, so I greet "Bonjour" and am greeted, then I slide into a seat and begin to read. There is no need to hurry and order; the coffee will arrive when it does, and Madame knows that I plan to sit for 60 minutes or more, and she is busy serving about 15 people at once.

Sure enough, when there is a break she calls out to me and I order just a coffee (espresso), and she already has one prepared. In five seconds it is on my table.

The garcon ("Momo"?) calls in orders from the doorway; he asks those on La Terrace what they will have and then relays the order.

I leave at 10:00 and go looking for the offices of the events paper "Pisciacais" in a light drizzle. I walk the street in both directions and can't find it. What the heck. I stop and introduce myself to the National Police, and he directs me to the octagon, but I already know that that's not the place I want. I walk down Av du General de Gaulle and smell wood-smoke. It is not the residue of yesterday's fete, someone is burning wood on their stove.

The removal men with two vans are using a thing that looks like a fire-ladder. The base is mounted on hydraulic legs and they tell me that it will extend up to the 10th floor. It has a platform that travels quickly. Sure beats occupying an elevator - if one exists, for most of the day.

Off to the hotel, pack the bag, then to Gare Sud where I hop on a #50 for the short ride to Saint Exupéry which is not very far and is nothing special. It is about five minutes walk from where I was on Saturday, and has nothing of interest for me, so I swipe my Navigo at the terminus and ride back through Gare Sud to la Coudraie where the driver hops off for a quick smoke and I swipe my card again. He is curious, so I tell him that I ride the buses to find good towns, then I return to walk the towns. He agrees that it is a good plan, and that one sees more on foot.

I love the mixture of buildings. The new apartment blocks alternate with the old limestone stone houses.

I suspected that there would be nothing at la Coudraie, and I was right. The #50 is a cross-town shuttle for residents of Poissy.

Then I confused myself with both time and space. I'd checked the timetables for #21 and #26 and thought that they might be easier to catch from Saint Germaine En Laye, to do the entire route in one pass. As we left I saw another lady driver - my fourth? - on this #50 route. La Coudraie is the little triangular roundabout (you know what I mean!) which I have passed perhaps eight times already.

Along the way I recognize each bus stop from my previous trips both by bus and on foot.

I check my timetables and realize that instead of going all the way back to Gare Sud I can hop off at CEP and catch the #8 on its way south, so I hop off, cross the street, and find no #8 listed at the shelter. Either the signs in the shelter are wrong or the timetable is wrong. It can't possibly be me. I cut my losses and decide to take the #8 from Gare Sud just to be sure. Also to see just where/if it stops on the way out of town.

As I walk from CEP towards Gambetta for a good lunch (I have skipped breakfast again) I pass people walking their dogs and notice that about 95% of the dogs being walked are small, small terriers mainly, but very few large dogs such as Labradors or Alsatians

Here is a typical exchange in the street: I have stopped to take a photo of the flowers outside a supermarket, and a young guy in a red shirt poses in jest. we share a laugh, and he walks on. I soon catch up and cross Gambetta about ten feet behind him. I think he can't know that I am there, but as he veers right and I veer left I call out "Allez! Au Revoir, M’sieur" and he swings around, recognizes me and replies with a wave of the hand "Bonne Journeé M'Sieur!", and I feel integrated.

So, at 12:30, Veal and green beans, introduced by a salad. I ask for a carafe d'eau, and my waiter repeats the order as "Gaf Eau", so I ask him about the words, and he re-assures me that it is indeed "Carafe", but with some pronunciations, and his is an example, it will sound like "Gaf" because he has a very throaty "C". There follows the usual discussion about English as she is spoke in Australia, Canada, England, the USA and Scotland, and he avers that the New Zealanders are the worst.

The sauce is excellent and I contemplate dragging out the cook to thank him, but then think that the sauce might be nothing more than the contents of a can of mushroom soup. How would I know? I never buy soup in cans, and as far as I know they are loaded with salt and fat and sugar, so of course to my palate a can of soup as a sauce would seem like haute cuisine. I elect to remain silent, but use several slices of bread to faire la vaisselle.

I study the timetables I have brought out today, bus routes I have not done, and hah hah there are TWO places called "Saint Exupéry". One is a teeny-tiny suburb of Poissy, the Saint Exupéry I covered this morning. The other is in Vernouillet, two stations out of Poissy, and it is possible that I went through it the other day on my way back from Mantes la Jolie when I toured two local buses out of Verneuil-Vernouillet.

Man walks into cafe, greets me. Me! Same man who was in here last week. We had chatted, he went outside for a smoke, his phone rang, and I knocked on the door to get his attention. Of course he would remember/recognize me. There are only three tables in here.

Towards the end of my hour I hear over the radio "Video killed the radio star", which was top of the pops here in 1979 or 80, thereabouts. That brings back some memories.

Lunch done I stroll back to Gare Sud, check the platform assignments, find #8 and walk across the bus lot to the shelter. Suddenly a man right by me calls out. The fellow from "i"information has been watching for me since Thursday. He tells me that the spoke with the bus driver, and that everything is OK. I reciprocate by passing on to him the URL for Thursday so that he can pass it on to her, and she can see that she is not in any of the photos. I am back in the saddle, or at least, on a seat in the bus. What most impressed me was that I automatically shook his hand in greeting. Perhaps I would have done that in Toronto, but here it felt more like "the correct thing to do on meeting".

At 14:35 we slide out of Gare Sud and head up the hill. I see a #9 being driven by a lady. What had seemed impossible seven days ago now seems common place. I check out CEP as we pull in. Very strange. The outside sign does not mention route #8 at all, but inside the shelter #8 is prominent, so my instinct this morning was correct. I wonder why the signs conflict. La Presse is closed. Do they close for lunch, or are they only open in the morning on Mondays? There is one way to find out. How ordinary this area appears now after only 12 days here.

We pass the cemetery again and I think to myself that when the cemetery was laid out, it would have been well outside the city walls. Now it is part of the downtown core.

We stop at the bus stop "Renaissance" where I got off to go to FNAC a week ago last Wednesday, but this time I stay on the bus to see what Chambourcy is made of. Chambourcy has a library - and it is closed. I am spoilt in Toronto with 100 branches, most of them open all day six days a week. In France Libraries seem to be open for two half days a week.

Chambourcy is attractive, shops in narrow streets, a church on the square and so on. I could easily return here tomorrow afternoon and explore on foot. When we slide into the bus stop at Renaissance I hop off and go straight into FNAC and examine the shelf in the camera section, from which I made my aberrant purchase. There I found not only the adapter for French folks going to the USA, but right alongside it, the adapter for North Americans coming to France; the adapter I should have bought, would have bought, had I not been so tired.

I could propose Greaves’s Rule #485 of traveling: Never spend money on your first day in the country - but then I really needed an adapter.

I walk to the adjacent mall which boasts "67 boutiques dans votre centre commercial Carrefour Chambourcy". It is not clear to me whether that figure of 67 includes the million or so eating places.

In the tabac I select two Thank You cards, and as I go to pay, a young child next to me whines for its mother to buy it a bon-bon. I comment to my sales clerk that it is like that in other places. "The World Over?" she asks, wide-eyed, and she laughs when I tell her that my mother told me so. What a great kick I get out of being able to make a joke in French!

The supermarket is huge. It is as deep as No-Frills is wide, long, wide, and long again. That is, this supermarket's depth is about the same as No-Frills’s perimeter. I make a second pass with coins in my right hand, and every twenty paces I drop a coin in my pocket. The supermarket is 200 paces across the face, so at roughly two feet per pace (I am not striding out here), think 400 feet across, or about 120 metres. A hundred yards, at least. Some supermarket! The security guard says it is by no means the biggest in France.

I say "security guard", but there are guards stationed about every 60 paces around the mall, on top of the bag-checkers at the doors to the mall, and the bag-checker in FNAC and every other large store.

Here I sit with a coffee and a rack of Le Figaro in the hotel lobby. Such luxury!

My walk along Jean-Louis Mary starts with a large lavender shrub overflowing to the sidewalk.

And here you have it; the library is closed because of a funny smell.

Here I am wandering the streets in search of the offices of Pisciacais; I know it is in Boulevard Louis Lemelle, for the address is in the paper.

Louis Lemelle is another victim of the bad times in August 1944 when the Germans must have seen that they were not going to win the war.

Nope. Can't find it, but I am cheered to see that big wall from Saturday's walk.

Another stroll down Avenue du General de Gaulle. Most of the shops are closed, and the drizzle continues.

This contraption looks like the ladder of a fire truck. Until a few moments ago it was extended to the fifth (top) floor of this building. Moving day. A second truck is parked off to the left of the photo.

The "ladder" has a platform with a boxed in area. The platform scoots up and down the ladder at great speed.

Keep an eye on those five or six "lugs" on the side of the ladder.

The top of the ladder has small rubber wheels that can cause little damage to the exterior wall of the building. Note how now those lugs which were separated are now together. The ladder extensions have been telescoped inwards.

Almost packed up on its own trailer and ready to roll out of here to the next job.

I am easily confused. This is where I had lunch on Saturday. It is the hotel/restaurant Gambetta.

But I had walked out of the door on the left-hand side, turned to read the name of the place, and read it as the "Hotel restaurant". I hadn't seen the "Gambetta" part of the sign.

Flower pots sit like saddle-tanks. It would be difficult for these pots to fall off the balcony railing. Why didn't I think of that?

Well, now we know where I will be on Saturday - wandering around the second-hand market!

My office decorations continue to bloom. I removed the original blossom and a second one has started up.

I think I'll never get over the trees in towns. I know we have some of this size (or larger) in Toronto, but we don't have trees growing in every few square yards.

On the bus to Saint Exupéry. Those are the train tracks heading out of Poissy towards Paris and St Lazare.

Almost every shop and cafe is closed, it being Monday. I reflect that this time next week (sniff!) I'll be at the airport.

Back at Gare Sud Poissy. I love the mixture of old buildings and new buildings, in this case, the tourist office on the right, and an apartment block on the left.

And of course, the flowers.

I am walking along Boulevard de la Paix on my way to lunch. Look how much open "soil" area is available to this tree.

And look at the healthy growth on this tree, this with compacted gravel!

Here is my red-shirted friend after making a pose.

And the flower bed in all its glory ...

... decorates a small supermarket.

Trees decorate Boulevard Gambetta. yes, that's my Hôtel in the distance.

See?

More flowers. You are getting tired of seeing beds of flowers when you don't know where they are, but I am not getting tired of seeing huge beds of flowers everywhere I turn.

Inside Gambetta. This shot was taken from my table.

And there's my window - right behind the tree!

Here's a zoom shot of not-my-window. I am getting a little loopy, I know, but I am determined to squeeze every last drop of fun out of this trip.

Now I am sitting on the #8 heading towards Chambourcy. Do you remember the three girls joking about being pregnant? Here are the symbols. I tapped the symbol of the old man with a cane. There is a stop/arrêt button, very handy if you have trouble getting up to reach the column-mounted buttons.

We trundle past FNAC and up the ridges into Chambourcy proper. here they have normal-sized (that is "small") flower baskets.

More road-works with single-lane traffic and countdown lights.

I think Chambourcy is an old town that has become a dormitory town.

A view of the town hall across the market square. I have by now decided that I will return here and walk around the town. A wing of the parish church intrudes on the right.

At long last I have captured a good shot of a countdown light.

The streets are inviting.

As are the buildings. I have no time for the grand buildings of Paris, but I love the personal buildings of the country towns.

We rush past lovely wooden bus shelters, but these slatted structures would offer little protection from biting winter winds.

We roll into and through College, a short spur on the bus route. next stop Renaissance.

Renaissance is studded with these inverted cones. Coming from where I come from, I find myself wondering what they do with all the collected rainwater.

My bet is that it gets shot into the drains and sewers. There must be hundreds of gallons of it collected every time it rains.

After re-assuring myself that I screwed myself at FNAC on the Wednesday, I hike up a gravel path that must lead to a pedestrian crossing.

It is a long walk to the other exit!

And here I am at a pedestrian crossing at a roundabout with no lights.

At first this situation looks scary, but the truth is that drivers are well-disciplined. I have problems convincing drivers to Keep Going because I want to stand off to the side and study motion, but the drivers think I am a scaredy-cat tourist who is confused.

The little girl is wondering why the strange man is taking photos. Crossing these roads is dead easy, and I'll explain it on my way out.

In the covered parking lot, green cats-eyes mark some kind of lane. I thought that the green would signify the direction, so I turned around expecting to see red ...

... and still saw green, even in the direction against the arrow-flow.

Pedestrian walkways are protected and signaled by traffic bollards.

This is the first warning I have ever seen of a sliding sun, except at sunset.

Chambourcy! Home to the world's toughest mini-gold course!

I much prefer the stick-figure signs to the regular difficult-to-tell-apart signs. The girl is dancing to the music.

The mall is basically clean; and empty. My guess is that about half the people here are here to shop in the supermarket.

But I didn't like the touch-screen map. You have to know what you want in order to use the map. It is not an old-fashioned map with "You are here" showing you what is nearby.

Aha! A bench under a tree where I can sit down for a while.

Nearly there!

What?

Yep. The tree "grows" through the bench.

Here I am looking into one end of the supermarket. This photo doesn't show the depth of the supermarket. I might go back and take another photo tomorrow.

OK. Traffic coming in from the left (circled) must wait for a gap in the traffic coming in from its left (double-circled).

I must wait for a reasonable gap in traffic exiting the roundabout on "my street"; "my" pedestrian crossing, where I will cross, is just to the right of me, off the right-hand edge of this photo. remember that pedestrian crossings are set away from the intersection.

All I need do is wait for a vehicle coming from dead ahead, or from the left, that wants to continue around the roundabout and exit from the right of the roundabout. That will mean of necessity a gap on "my" street, and I can assert my right to cross. Drivers who were delayed by that vehicle will now be looking directly ahead, and will see ME! And they will allow me to cross.

It is safer that it looks and safer than I can describe it, but it works!

I have just crossed "my" street and have turned to look upstream, supposing that I wanted to cross back to where I was. The gap between the approaching car and the motorcyclist is my opportunity to assert myself on the pedestrian crossing. Those oncoming drivers will adjust their speed to allow me time to cross.

I am so impressed.

I feel safer here than I do in Toronto.

This is the sort of map that I like.

Why does this remind me of Billy Butlin’s seaside camp at Filey? Is it the grey skies? The threat of rain? The size of the chalets ...

You can buy yourself a little kit of outdoor patio stuff, well, the fencing part at any rate. The paving stones are extra.

Sets you back €324, say about $460

Here I am waiting for the bus home. How nervous I was twelve days ago. What if I couldn't find my way back to the hotel?

I took a zoom shot across the valley of the A14.

Here is a mark of my ignorance: My vocabulary for restaurants, cafes and food stores is not too bad, but I am ignorant of terms of housing, never had to dabble in that area, you see. "parquets bruts massif en chêne" C'est quoi ca?

Well, maybe this ap will make me function better. I did download it, my phone says it is installed. I just can't find it on my phone. Not even to uninstall it and start over again.

Did I tell you that they have had a hot, dry summer? Even the rain we've had these past few days can't have amounted to more than ten points, I would think.

This stretch of grass is quite typical of untended areas.

Wherever I look there is a play on words. "Nuances de Feu" is guarded by a smokers ashtray.

On the way home the bus stops outside this lovely garden. Trees and shrubs and flowers. A small plot but apparently well-planned.

Here is my view through the gate.

And so, back to the Hotel and I set to work to type this all up.