Saturday, September 10, 2016

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

To Chanteloup-les-Vignes and back, then to Cergy Prefecture, Vernouillet, and finally to Carrieres-sous-Poissy and back to Poissy

This is more like it!

I sleep until 6:15 and rise to start work on Friday's notes.

I have been watching the most appalling rubbish on TV, most of which is appealing because it is in French and I can almost understand it all, or at least the drift of it. It was around midnight when I turned off the TV and left “Hitler's Biggest Construction Jobs” to itself and dropped off like the proverbial. By 6:25 my eyes are rinsed and I am staring at the computer screen with one of yesterday's apples in hand.

I am getting into a routine. When I am ready to “go out”, I walk to the paper shop and buy Le Figaro, then walk to the cafe and order a coffee.

Yesterday I just ordered a coffee and received a regular teeny-tiny cup of espresso. This morning I ordered a bigger cup. “Une double?” Yes, please, Madame.

About 45 minutes later I ordered something even bigger please. “Une cafe au lait?” Yes, please, Madame.

Later on I explained to the lady that I take ages to read a paper because my French is so poor. Yes, she said with a smile, I've been watching you!

It is doubly hard because a cafe is theatre, and the players walk on (“Bonjour Mesdames et Monsieurs”. “Bonjour M’sieur. Desirez?”; “Un cafe gratuit, s'il vous plâit Madame”; “Mais nous n'avons pas le cafe gratuit, M’sieur”; …) and I can understand the regular banter and my attention gets sucked into Paulette's drama with her son, or Gerome's issue with the renovators. I could never watch a soap opera on TV, but this is better than a soap, and from time to time I get to play a part.

You are from where? Australia! They speak English in Australia? Yes, like this:-

Ardjebe? Dynathirs! Yairsoamai!

The paper is €2.20, the coffee runs to about €7, so with a tip, my morning paper works out to about €10.

As each new customer walks in they issue a general Good Morning, then everyone known to the new entry is greeted with a handshake. I am not known to anyone, so I don't get a handshake.

Each morning I wade through the paper from front to back. At the back is the crossword but my French is not good enough to make a serious attempt at even a child's crossword. I toy with the idea of doing the Sudoku puzzle though. It would seem to be cheating to say that I had solved it in French.

I reflect on yesterday's experience with the bus route 16 express. Perhaps I should make a better study of the Express bus network. I could see a lot more of the countryside that way.

I walk back to the hotel stoked on super-caffeine feeling on top of the world.

And I am.

In my room at the hotel, I tidy up, prepare my bag, and set off jauntily. I'd be whistling “The Happy Wanderer“ if that sort of thing were done here. The walk to the bus station is under a minute – Man! But this is super-convenient – and I quickly find a bus route I've not ridden before, pat my pockets for my Navigo pass and as quickly find it is not there.

A quick search of my shoulder bag and purse shows that neither my Navigo pass nor my hotel door card are there. Back to the hotel, sweat streaming off my brow for two reasons now, unpack my bag and go through every piece of paper (2 large Michelin maps of the Ile de France, 1 map Poissy, 17 small bus timetables, …) no sign. Marie-Laure looks on with unbridled amusement at the geriatric tourist unpacking and packing and panicking, then hands me a spare door key.

In my room are my two cards, the room key still in the switch by the door, the Navigo pass nestled behind it.

In my excitement at getting out on the buses again I have just swept out the door and set off to the bus station, which I do again, if you'll forgive my tortured syntax, after thanking Marie-Laure.

The view from my window at half-past seven Saturday morning. Traffic around the roundabout is building up. That’s the Citroën building on the left.

The windows are locked with a proprietory key, so can't be opened. The windows are so well sound-proofed that I have to listen acutely to hear a bus grinding past not twenty feet away. I am so impressed. Perhaps I could sneak a window or two into my shoulder-bag ...

At nine I set off for my morning paper and coffee(s). It's hard to make out, but the far traffic island is bedecked, as writers say, with flowers, and just out of sight to the right are more flowers.

By ten-thirty I am fueled for the morning and on my way back to the hotel. I had a double and followed that with a Cafe au Lait. Outside the cafe someone is smoking aromatic pipe tobacco, and the lovely smell drifts right through the cafe and exits by the rear door.

I get a kick out of saying Hello to the man in the paper shop as I head home, and have taken a better shot of the chromed stork outside the artists gallery.

I am looking at the northern end of Avenue de Cep (on the right) and Rue Charles de Gaulle (on the left). Avenue de Cep is modern buildings and boring places like dry-cleaners, paper shops, cafes and boulangeries. Rue Charles de Gaulle is more interesting with older buildings and interesting places like cafes, boulangeries, a bookshop, and more cafes, and boulangeries, and even more cafes, and boulangeries. You'd like it here.

I am not the only one on holiday. This store holder places great faith in the adhesive qualities of the notice. It hasn't blown away yet.

I walk back along Rue Jean-Claude Mary.

You will recall that 18th August 1944 was the bombardment of the factories in Poissy. Three days later The Resistance was still fighting.

By eleven I am ready to go out busing for the day. Traffic is building up.

French place names are so romantic, don't you think? Most buses go through the quaint village of Monte Je Valide.

I have walked around the station and walk past the entrance to the station on my way to Gare Nord.

There are three stations here, so do pay attention: Gare de Poissy is what the railway trains run through. Gare Nord harbours about half of the thirty bus routes, those routes which run away to the north of the railway line. Gare Sud houses the buses that run south.

When I began investigating Poissy I got very excited about “Gare Nord” because I thought that so many buses could take me all the way to Gare du Nord in Paris.

I'm still excited, but for different reasons now. As I type this, the time is 7:30 Sunday morning. The newspaper shop opens in half an hour, and then the cafe is just three doors down ...

I started the day off with a quick trip on the #25 from Gare Nord which took me to Chanteloup-les-Vignes. What a zoo as I arrived at the platform, every man and his dog waiting to get on the bus. I cheated and boarded at the back door and even then was able only to get a seat facing backwards. I dumped my bag and pushed forward to swipe my Navigo pass then returned to my seat.

“Is it always as busy as this on a Saturday?” I asked the man seated opposite. No, it's just that the train is canceled and we are all going to the market. Me too, I think, but when we arrive everyone except me gets off and the market appears to be little more than an extensive clothing market, so I ride to the end of the line in peace and quiet. I have switched seats and am facing forwards now as the bus heads back to the market ...

… through the quiet streets and lovely houses ...

… past very small strip malls ...

… until we are ready to pick up a few thousand people who are already done with the market.

I took this shot to remind me of the line of a dozen or so well-shaped trees growing in what seemed to be no-man’s land, between an industrial site and the roadway area. I am so impressed with the cultivated beauty of France, or at least, the little bit of France that I have seen.

We rush past pastures ...

… then more housing.

I tried to get a good shot of the flower beds in this house but instead captured a National Geographic photo.

Here is a shot of Chanteloup-les-Vignes trying to impress a visitor from Toronto. Now I'll admit that five tower cranes on a single site is impressive, but it doesn't come close to being in sight of a minimum of four tower cranes at all times from anywhere in the downtown core.

I occupy myself by sorting through my growing collection of timetables. This is the #25, the bus I'm riding now (you know what I mean!) On weekdays (blue font) the bus runs every 10 or 20 minutes, Sundays every 40 minutes.

We roll back into Gare Nord and I see that I have fifteen minutes before my next bus (#16 express) departs, so I take a photo of the Seine. A car chooses this moment to block my view of the flower beds. Sigh! Nothing for it but to walk closer.

There you go. A visual sensation.

This is the old bridge which no longer spans the Seine. A few piers remain in place close to the left bank.

Here is a Google Maps view of the remnants of the span and piers. I have marked my hotel room in the lower-right corner of the image.

A view back towards Gare Nord. The tree trunk to the right reminds me of the eucalypts where I grew up, shedding their bark each year and leaving a light-coloured skin for a while.

Yes! I must remember to withdraw my finger from the camera lens.

To the left, the remaining piers, but the Seine sits placidly waiting for another barge or two. Or three.

And there you have it. Another victim of the bombardment of August 1944.

I am unsure how this arrived here. The painting of the bridge sits on an easel on the river bank. It is not part of a vast array of Elvis-In-Velvet paintings as you see elsewhere. As I stood and looked at it, no-one emerged from the shady trees to propose an outrageous price which I could negotiate downwards, were I that sort of guy. The painting was just sitting there for me to see.

And there were plenty of people sitting on benches under the trees, upstream and down.

And so back to Gare Nord, where this sign tells me which bus routes are served by which station.

Also which parts of each platform serve each bus.

Later this day in this station I asked a bus driver where I could get the #1 or #2 bus, and he apologized profusely, saying that it was his first day on the job and he didn't know anything. It's not often I become an expert on my first visit to a bus station!

This is a welcome sight in any bus station. No buses at the platforms. The only buses are parked away from the platforms, “Not in service”, which means I have plenty of time to consult my timetables, because most times a bus will be at the platform for less than five minutes before departure.

My next bus is the 16 express which will be at the stop on the right-hand side of the photo. Since it is not here yet and only two other people are waiting I guess it will be a quiet ride with a good choice of seats.

Vroom-Vroom! I am aboard the #16 express which follows the same route as the #5 from Saint-Germaine-En-Laye as far as Conflans-Sainte-Honorine (as for Thursday(?)) and then ends up at Cergy Prefecture, which is right next door to Pontoise .

My small desk is my shoulder bag resting on my knees. I use the map of Poissy to trace my route out of town, then put it away in my bag. I use the small timetable map to note the stops, and that helps me to identify our route on the appropriate Michelin map.

Being on vacation is hard work!

We swan over the Seine. Again.

And end up at the back of a Peleton . There is no way to overtake the cyclists on these narrow streets, but they travel almost as fast as the bus anyway.

I think that Peleton is the right term. It is hardly a race except a race against time. London To Paris in twenty-four hours.

Note the window-blind’s bracket, top-left corner of the image, fixed to the windscreen with copious amounts of Celloptape!

Odd place for a lighthouse, I thought, at least two kilometres from the Seine and even further from the Oise.

I don't remember exactly where this is. Oh yes I do, after a quick check of my Michelin. It is the bus station at Neuville University. We are nearing Cergy. One of these days I am going to plan a bus trip by daisy-chaining myself as far as I can across the Ilê de France in one day.

We leave the University grounds and scream down some sort of feeder road ...

… Before gaining our own Service Vehicle Lane on the D202

And here I am in Cergy-Prefecture. The bus driver has shown me bus stop “G” where I can catch the bus to return to Poissy. Little does he know that I have no plans to return to Poissy just yet!

See those escalators? I'm heading up there for lunch.

For a Saturday there aren't many buses around. Obviously they are busy, not sitting here getting bored.

The orange sign on the bus shelter indicates Pontoise. I could just hop on a bus and be there in fifteen minutes.

Dancers at Cergy

I stop to take a video of a dance troupe. They look pretty good, but I suspect that they are coming to the end of the routine, so I quickly move on before they can approach too close to me with a hat.

And I make my way up into the large shopping centre I say “large”, because the driver looked a bit apprehensive about sending a 70-year old up here, but I decided to make a quick exit. It's a shopping mall, right? I've been in one of those before.

Outside I spot an Istanbul Grill. I ate well in the one at Poissy Thursday night.

I swing around and there is a French Diner. Well, pancakes and burgers, don't you think?

I swing into the Istanbul and order (on a plate) a chicken dish with rice and salad and fries. There is too much to eat. I stuff the bread into a serviette and into my shoulder bag.

Out of there and guess what! This library too is closed. I have this effect of shutting down libraries wherever I am about to go. Two years ago I managed to gain entry into only one library in the twenty or so towns I visited.

And here I am about to choose my next bus.

I will NOT be taking the one that will soon appear directly below me. I am through fighting for a seat. I'm too old for that. Every other shelter in this view appears to be ripe for the taking.

The dance troupe was in that space to the right. They have packed up and left.

Feeding-Time at the zoo. What a mass-panic there is when the bus pulls in.

This is a seriously-large station. My bus-stop 'G' is right at the end of the footpath and beyond the bus that is idling by the kerb. The overflow of the bus station platforms, as it were.

There is a strange sculpture attached to the building by strings and wires. The art is the set of copper-coloured strands, but they are suspended by wires which are knotted around people's balconies. Very Strange.

Last weekend was back-to-school week, so that may be why there was a get-to-know-your-bus demonstration here. That's all blown over now.

A poor shot. We are in a bus-only lane and we have our own signal that displays in red “BUS” in a most commanding manner.

The Oise! Haven't seen this in two years. The Oise is navigable and looks about the same size as the Seine in this part of town.

Our #12 bus barrels through the narrow streets of Jouy le Moutier. Try to imagine what happens when we meet an oncoming vehicle near the parked car.

These look like fallowed market gardens.

Whoosh! And another bus flashes past us.

This railway bridge is a good sign that we will soon be pulling into a train station. Gare de Maurecourt, unless I am very much mistaken.

Then it is back on the road again. After a while there is a sameness about it all, but then after the next bend something unusual always happens. Often enough some sort of blockage.

We loop back to the northern side of the line through Andresy.

Then it is back on the road again. After a while there is a sameness about it all, but then after the next bend something unusual always happens. Often enough some sort of blockage.

I was trying (and failing) to get a good shot across the valley of the Seine. A huge cluster of buildings over there is, I think, Poissy.

There! See those buildings in the gap between the trees,

Here we are in Chanteloup les-Vignes ...

… where Rue de Poissy crosses our path and the railway tracks.

The town centre doesn't have a lot going for it.

And then we dive into the warren of Triel-sur-Seine.

For me it is a thrill to be traveling through these places whose names I have studied for the past six months.

Every village has a pharmacy.

Bridges like this one always signal a river. In this case ...

… the Seine. Again.

That microscopic bit of white at the far end of the tracks is our railway station in Vernouillet

And to prove it, here we are.

Where are we?

Vernouillet.

Where that?

Two stations up the line from Poissy!

RER pulling into Vernouillet-Verneuil

Somewhat like Union Station in Toronto. Not yet finished.

Not yet finished at either end.

The other platform is no better.

Here is how selfish the French can be. All the window seats on both sides are taken. I have a buddy sitting to my right.

With the exception of the blonde-haired lady who is fanning herself and wishing she were somewhere else, not one of the window-hoggers on either side is looking out of the window. They are all heads-down playing with their you-know-what’s.

Don't they know that I am on holiday and have a camera with 18 GB of memory?

Just to embarrass the guy to my right, I lean over and take a shot of my room at the ill-fated Appart’Hotel.

Minutes later I am off the train and – where else – Gare Nord waiting for the #2 bus.

My first effort at locating the correct platform spot was a dismal failure. Adopting my best spoken French mode I approached a parked bus and asked the driver where I should go. My best spoken French mode brands me instantly as a tourist. The drive sheepishly said he didn't know where the #1 and #2 started from – it was his first day on the job. I wished him a long and illustrious career (or there again I might have expressed hopes that his mother would spend a long life washing dirty socks) and went to ask another driver.

I have checked my timetables. Both #1 and #2 leave here at the same time, but #2 gets to Carrieres-sous-Poissy two minutes ahead of #1 which should give me enough time to catch #1 home by a different route. The bus shelter opposite sports an advertisement for RTL 104.3. I have been listening to the breakfast show from RTL for over a year to improve my comprehension in French.

On the #2 on Boulevard Gambetta, the new bridge over the Seine.

We are heading towards “Park du Pe”. I must look up “Pe” when I get back to the hotel room. Short words like that usually turn out to be one of two sources. Either “Pe” was a general who died gloriously in a battle in the Franco-Prussian war of 1870, Or “Pe” will be the name given to the crud left in the bottom of a vat after the grapes (or apricots or pumpkins...) have been crushed and are ready to be fed to the pigs.

A poor shot. You'd think I was trying to count cranes again. Or else showing you a mixture of buses parked in a yard.

Wrong. There was this guy, see, sitting in the aisle seat with his bag not taking photos from the window seat. I made the appropriate noises and gestures and the bugger picked up his bag and slid into MY window-seat.

Maybe this photographic action taught HIM a lesson.

And so we toddle around streets such as Saint-Honorine.

Hah! Guess which bus got held up in traffic for over three minutes?

Right!

My #2 has dropped me off and is just now driving away from the bus stop in the distance.

I have trekked across the burning sands to reach this point.

I swivel through ninety degrees and see my #1 bus stop hidden behind some trees.

Yes. Missed the #1 by a little less than two minutes.

Rats!

Nothing for it but to take a walk through the Park du Peuple de l'Herbe.

At least I now know what “Park du Pe” means. It means that the digital display has been poorly programmed.

But frankly there isn't a great deal of l'Herbe around here.

Concrete steps lead nowhere into a dry flood-plain.

That's a field of bamboo in the distance. Great for games of Cowboys And Indians. Or run-from-the-water-rats.

Three children approach along the bike path. The first to arrive is a small boy, age about eight, riding a bike with small wheels; we would have called it a “fairy-cycle”. Second on the scene is big sister who calls out to boy something about “Mum said not to go too far” and he, in the mode of little brothers everywhere replies "OK" and presses even harder on his pedals in an effort to get as far ahead and away as possible before the axe of the threat drops.

These three matrons are walking along the bike path which, up ahead of the matrons, is blocked with concrete slabs. To deter motorists. I suppose that tells us a lot about the area.

My #1 arrives after my twenty-five minute wait (Thanks Traffic!) and the driver gets off to smoke and cogitate over the madness of a well-dressed guy who would come out to this desolate spot on a #2 just so he could go back on a #1.

OK. So it does SOUND a little crazy ...

I haven't mentioned the bus seats on this trip so far.

Same as the last trip. Fabric. With anti-graffiti patterns.

Yes, Virginia. There really is a Chateau Vanderbilt on Vanderbilt Avenue in Carrieres-sous-Poissy.

Back again over the Seine again. Heading home, and quite ready for it too.

This hotel has no electric jug or tea-making facilities, and while I miss my cuppas I am feeling liberated from the business of stocking tea bags and milk powder and sugar and washing up afterwards.

These three ladies got a laugh.

I walked up behind them and set them laughing with “Excusez-moi, Mesdames. Je suis en vacance, et je suis pressé!”

I had stopped to take a photo of the road sign when they overtook me.

What is the point of “All directions” at the top of a sign?

I saw one early today that listed four places to go, all in the direction of the arrow. The fourth place was “Autre Directions”!

I am certain that there is logic behind this. I just can't see it yet.

I am about to shave about five seconds off my walk home by walking through the train station instead of around the station. I can do this because I have a Navigo Pass which I swipe to enter the precincts and swipe to exit. I will look like someone who thought to go to Paris and then changed his mind. Hooray for the Navigo Pass.

(Did you remember to convert the value of €73 to your local currency and sketch out an area of about 12,000 square kilometres around where you live?)

Eat your heart out! This day is Saturday and at half-past four there are SIX trains heading through to Paris within the next sixty minutes. If the sign ran ahead for the full hour it would probably register eight trains in sixty minutes.

The four-letter identifiers are cute, I once was able to work out what they meant.

(two years later) The first two letters identify the start and end points of the train; the second pair of letters are euphonic only.

Line	Stations	Letter
RER-A	Marne-la-Valée-Chessy	Q
	Torcy	O
	Noisy-le-Grand Mont d’Est	D
	Boissy-Saint-Léger	N
	La Varenne – Chevennières	R
	Joinville-le-Pont	E
	Vincennes	S
	Nation	P
	Châtelet-les-Halles	M
	Auber	C
	Charles-de-Gaulle-Étoile	G
	La Défense	B
	Nanterre-Préfecture	FJ
	Rueil-Malmaison	Y
	Saint-Germain-en-Laye	Z
	Poissy	T
	Cergy-Le-Haut	U

So the RER line A has seventeen “destination” stations identified with a letter. There are more like sixty stations served by RER-A, but only seventeen of them have the potential to start or end a train service.

The RER trains identified with “QUDO” run from “Marne-la-Valée-Chessy” (Q) to “Cergy-Le-Haut” (U).

In CDG station I see RER-B trains identified as “EPIN” so from “Aéroport Charles de Gaulle Terminal 2” (E) to “Saint-Rémy – lès-Chebreuse” (P).

Here is a clearer view of that board.

Niote that the RER lines and the SNCF lines both sport four-letter identifiers, but the SNCF lettering system is independent of the RER lettering system.

For the past couple of days I have been in need of a couple of paper-clips. And here lies a great difference between Poissy and downtown Toronto. In Toronto I would just stoop down and pick up a paper-clip from the sidewalk. Could be shiny steel-coated, could be plastic-coated, but it would be in good condition. Or a hair band, or a regular elastic band. Or a spring clip. (Or a cigarette but, or a paper coffee cup etc). But here In Poissy I haven't seen a paper-clip, and Lord knows I've looked. I don't want to buy a box of 500. I could ask Marie-Laure at the front desk I suppose, but I'd rather pick up debris from the streets than beg at the hotel. Paper-clips are titled “trombones” here.

Next Day