Wednesday, September 14, 2016

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

Lunch in Maurecourt and a stroll back to Conflans Fin d’Oise.

I have fallen into the dreaded currency conversion trap. The reasons are manifold:-

In the first place it is dead easy to think in terms of "Units" of currency. If I see that a coffee is 2.0, my mind thinks "two dollars" (your mind thinks "two pounds" or "two yen"), and the ease of this pitfall is greater the closer the units are to parity. Right now one Euro is about 1.3 Canadian Dollars, and that is close enough to make a first order of approximation comparison, a €100 hotel room is ABOUT $100 and of course an upcoming €1,000 bill for a hotel stay is about $1,000, and so I transfer $1,000 between accounts.

In the second place, to keep track of expenses I have brought with me my new expense sheet. I tossed out the old Lotus-123 DOS sheet after 27 years of good use and built a new one. Of course, whenever I use this sheet at home I am using dollars, so this sheet reinforces my thinking in terms of dollars. hence my comments yesterday about being taken to the cleaners. When they quote me "Trente-deux, monsieur", I hear 32, think thirty-two dollars, and enter "32" in my spreadsheet. The spreadsheet units are Euros, but as I key in “32” I still think that this is a Dollars-Sheet.

A double is €3.50. I can buy a kilogram of ground coffee when it is on sale at home for the price of just two "doubles".

Well, anyway, the upshot is that I have transferred another thousand dollars between accounts. Hooray, I think, for online banking.

Is the expense worth it? Yes. I'm paying what for me is a fortune to stay in this hotel, but the hotel is my base. The hotel is where I return fatigued at the end of the day. The hotel is where I sit and type, and enjoy peace and quiet.

The good news is that I keep track of all my vacation expenses. For Spain next year I shall budget for this year's vacation and add 10% for inflation and unknowns. Proportional for the length of stay, of course. This procedure worked well for me on my GO-transit trips out of town last year.

I am caught up with the text part of my blog. Those first two days - switching hotels and running around for an adapter - absorbed a lot of time. The blogs lack maps, but if it does rain tomorrow (Thursday) I might hole up in the cafe with my netbook and make maps galore.

A quick review of the 30 bus lines serving Poissy suggest I still have some work to do:-

3	Meulan - right bank going downstream
11	Maurecourt - right bank going upstream
8	Aigremont - locally to the SW
14	Cergy - due North, near Pontoise
17	local in Conflans-ste-Honorine, next time I pass through there
26	Meulan - right bank going downstream and Triel - right bank going downstream
98	Triel - right bank going downstream

The bar at the cafe is open to all, and I guess it is so at home, too. It just looks different here. One man is wearing a suit, could be a lawyer or a manager steeling his nerves for the morning meeting. Two men are plasterers or painters having the pre-job or mid-job coffee in their spattered overalls. The greeting on entry is always consistent "Bonjour Madame, Messieurs".

I hear more now of Madame Sylvie's chatter. I must ask tomorrow about a "Cafe alongé", if I got that right, and why did she bill me for a "p’tit crème" and not a "petite crème", and is there a larger cafe au lait that I had.

I wanted to be a part of the general merriment, so asked for a Cafe Español, and won some consternation until I exclaimed "Cafe Ole!". I think that most of them laughed out of politeness.

At nine I leave the café and walk slowly to the bookshop to inspect Michelin maps. I am convinced that mine are very old. Trouble is I tore off the cardboard covers to reduce packing space and weight two years ago, so I have no date of publication. I walk slowly because my first bus of the day is the #3 at 11:20 from Gare Nord.

I discover maps for this region varying from 1:200,000 to 1:53,000; my two are the #101 and the #106, but the 2016 issues in stock don't look any better than mine, so I leave without spending any money, and walk back to the hotel.

Then I remember that I had planned to drop the can of spray off with M.Guerin at the Service Tehnique, and there is still time, so I pack my bag for the day and walk back to the town hall area. The receptionist is on the phone and I would not just barge down the corridor. After five minutes she tells me to go right ahead and barge down the corridor, which I do. Guerin's door is closed so I knock hesitantly, then louder, and hear "Oui!", but the door is closed and he is on the phone. What the heck. "Une Minute" he says and continues on the phone for ten. By now, of course, my window of opportunity for the #3 from Gare Nord at 11:20 is shrinking.

Enfin! he is off the phone. I explain that I cannot drop the can in the waste basket, nor do I want to leave it in the hotel (that just looks like a condemnation of this great hotel), and there is no way I can take a pressurized can of poison on the plane, so perhaps he can pass it on to someone who needs it. Terrific idea, he says!

Then comes the follow-up. I am not sure that I understood the whole conversation. I hypothesize that perhaps the local hotel manager was glad to have to issue me a refund (no guarantee that I'll ever get my money back, though) because it would give him leverage with his higher-ups.

Guerin tells me that by co-incidence there was a meeting this past week (or will be the week to come) with some director representing the Île de France. That's a pretty senior position. My complaint dropped in somebody's lap at just the right time.

Then Guerin shows me the email he issued to Appart’Hotel, asking that proper fumigation be carried out twice, with a 15-day interval, and that written confirmation of the procedure should be sent to him (Guerin). So I'm glad I did what I did, because Poissy is a beautiful town, and even if its people are not the nicest people in the world (they are!), then the rest of my life is going to be most enjoyable each time I return to a town in the Ile de France.

Poissy doesn't deserve bed-bugs.

During all of this I remind myself that I am on holiday and can take the #3 bus tomorrow, and sure enough, by the time I slip outside I am way too late to get to Gare Nord and the #3 by 11:20, so I sit on a ledge outside to write a few notes and - right outside the Services Tehniques, along a covered gutter, runs a fat rat. I am too late to take a photo. Oh the irony!

I walk to Avenue de Cep thinking that I may as well catch a bus to the stations, and what flashes past me but my #3! Had I been on the ball I would have realized that it runs through downtown a few minutes before it arrives at the station. I contemplate kicking myself, but figure that would ruin my day, so I laugh at myself instead. I took a few photos, keeping an eye out for the next bus, and a #8 came and lifted me out of my quandary

At 11:40 I am on the #11 which will take me to Conflans St Honorine, on the right bank of the Oise, then across the Oise and on to Maurecourt.

At 11:50 at Les Garennes the bus is swarmed by about two million excited high school kids, obviously on their way home. How come school doesn't last until 3:30 anymore?. I end up with two sweet young things sitting opposite me. One nudges the other and points to the sign that indicates the seat is for pregnant women, and a giggle ensues, so I tap on the symbol for old-man-with-a-cane and say "Ca, c’est moi!". More giggling.

The lasses continue to chat among themselves (there is another now sitting alongside me) and they rise to get off at Clos du Roy. The one that had sat opposite me pauses, turns and says "Au Revoir Monsieur", and I am deeply touched by the politeness. I feel that I should be looking after the young ladies, but now I feel that they are looking after, or out for, me. I ride two more stops to Julia, thinking how blessed I am to be here in the region around Poissy.

I had read the timetable as Julia being the terminus, and so I get off in the middle of nowhere, while others stayed on the bus. Rats! What to do? Well, wait and see. I have had several days of dashing all over the countryside by bus. Perhaps today is a day to take it slowly.

I walk back through the town thinking I am retracing the bus route, but happily I am not, and I walk past a cafe/bar/restaurant and spot a man eating a steak with fries. "Steak Frites" - only in France. And I haven't indulged yet on this trip, so in I go, order, and go for a quick pee. Within minutes a plate arrives with a Bavette and a mountain of frites. Also Bread. And mustard in little sachets. I grab two mustards for supper tonight (later!) and get stuck in. I finish with a cafe double, a perfect meal for me.

I think of the Englishman Arthur Lee. I was introduced to him on my second day at work, and was so impressed at his command of the French language, how he rattled off a phrase and a Croque Monsieur and a half a half-pint of lager arrived at his place. I asked him to order one for me, and the grilled cheese and ham sandwich and beer arrived like magic. I decided to make him my mentor. Two years later we met up again in the local cafe and, saying that he was hungry, he ordered a Croque Monsieur and a Demi. By now I had picked up a bit of French and I heard the owner say to the waitress 'What's with this guy? That's the third Croque Monsieur he has ordered!", and so I learned that after over two years in Paris, the only thing Arthur knew to order was the Croque Monsieur and a Demi. Very sad!

How to get to where the Oise joins the Seine? Piece of cake. I just have to walk towards the sun, which is of course south of me where is, of course, the Seine. I make my way to one of the two stations named as Conflans, this one "Conflans Fin d’Oise" and must wait 27 minutes for my bus. So I wander over to the cafe and order a coffee. A man pops out of a door, looks at me and welcomes me "Bonjour Monsieur". I reciprocate, there is a small chat of nothing important, then he shakes my hand and says "Au Revoir Monsieur", and heads off calling Au Revoir to everyone. I am puzzled. He cannot possibly know me, but he treated me as if we did business with each other once a week on friendly terms.

I asked the waiter who he was, and he was (is) the owner of the cafe, which is what I guessed. Perhaps he just thought he recognized you, offered the waiter, When were you last here? First time today and probably never going to be back. The waiter smiled and I have a sneaking suspicion that I have loaded him with ammunition for his boss.

"Pedestrians Must Cross" It can take hours to go a hundred yards if you cross the street every time you come to one of these blasted signs!

It took a while, but I have finally realized why the Boulangerie is never open for business.

The town hall in all its morning glory at eight o'clock.

When you've read enough papers you'll realize that you are expected to know that PDG stands for Plan De Guerre, or since this is "son PDG", it will stand for Plans De Guerre.

(But later I corrected my assumptions!)

Ah-Hah! At the other Laverie it is €3.00 per shirt. That does it. From now on I am going to walk more slowly and make each shirt last two days!

The penny drops!

A closer look that this bus is a "Ville de Poissy" bus, as distinct from a "STIF" or a "Transdev". My mistake in looking at buses was to do a Google search and hit upon the web site of one company - Transdev I think. Truth is that several bus companies all use the same terminal or station. Yesterday I rode in some SQYBUS buses. Today I must make a list of all the bus routes at all the platforms at both stations in Poissy. Only that will give me a complete list of Poissy buses.

"Bridging Finance"?

Where I saw a rat.

Seven bus routes serve this stop, most of them would take me to Gare Sud next door to my hotel. All of them will take me to other bus routes. This stop is right outside my cafe.

So I look upstream. Buses come in from the right, or from straight ahead. Some buses come down Avenue du Cep, while others veer off to the left to go down Boulevard Victor Hugo. Boulevard Victor Hugo gets buses for Gare Sud, while Avenue du Cep gets buses for Gare Sud and Gare Nord.

The hanging baskets are enormous. We have had practically no rain, so these baskets must be watered at night time, for I never see a watering crew during the day.

A better shot of my cafe "Le Cep"

Le Cep is housed in an apartment building. La Presse is there at the left-hand edge of this photo.

Assignment of bus routes to platforms at Gare Sud. My room is marked with a yellow star. Bus travel really doesn't get any more convenient than this.

Here is my list of all the buses served at Gares Nord and Sud.

Assignment of bus routes to platforms at Gare Nord. My room is at least three minutes walk away.

Here is the problem with bus routes like my friend #3. Note that the last bus leaves Les Mureux at 16:15.

That means that if I catch any bus later than the 15:20 from Poissy to Les Mureaux I can't come straight back.

Now I'm sure that there are other ways to get back, and once I get to Les Mureaux I might decide to daisy-chain around the district, but I do like to have a trump card in hand.

Along the way to Conflans; the houses are a bit toffee, set in large yards, screened from the roadway.

A quick sneaky look at Gare d’Andresy.

Here's the deal on these old stone walls: Because they represent the past, way past before the time we were born, the draw is that they represent a time before the current time, and we long for those years of our childhood, and old walls and buildings suggest to us that we could be back in that time, if only we lived within these walls.

At least, that's my theory. It's why us oldies love listening to the pops of the 50s and 60s; we can feel young again.

The trees are heat-stressed, because the weather has been so hot, and so dry.

Department of "Doesn't do it justice", "it" being the photo, of the flower-bed. The railway viaduct tells us that we are approaching a station. One of the bus stops is named "Viaduc"!

I have been wondering how far I was from Germany.

Now I know!

This is why I feel so at home here. It's the orange cones and barriers.

Barges parked on the banks of the Oise.

The station at Conflans Fin d’Oise.

We are stuck in the queue waiting to cross the road bridge. The school kids are all off the bus. In the peace and quiet I take a shot of the Seine.

On the right-hand edge of the photo is one of the several riverside restaurants.

Yes, we are crossing the Oise as it empties into the Seine, and together they flow away in the distance towards Le Havre. Two types of barges are in use, those local to Le Havre, and those that prowl the Seine. We speak of the Havres and the HavresNauts.

A better view of the Fin d’Oise without the awful jokes.

The big white things (lower left of the photo) are floating docks.

Note the hill in the background. What we don’t have in Toronto is hills, not real hills that rise above the houses, crowned with forests. Or woods, at any rate.

This is Julia. For this I have paid $4,000? So much for a quick lunch while waiting for the next bus.

I love the old stone work ("I wish I was young again ...")

I head down a lane-way; there has to be a place to eat somewhere.

Courtoisie. Monsieur La Presse asked me the other day if I found that the people of Poissy had Le Courtoisie. Here is a bit of reinforcement for my vocabulary.

Now this department was abolished in 1968!

The church in Maurecourt.

The Mairie in Maurecourt.

And down an alley-way, The Administrative buildings in Maurecourt.

And right next door ...

To my eye all those municipal buildings are in the same style, but the shopping complex across the street is built in a different style.

A typical menu system. You picks your item and you pays your money. The question arises – what to pick, how, and why?

Well, for a mere €9.90 you can get the plate of the day, and in some places this would be whatever they have too much of, but in other places I am sure things go according to a calendar schedule.

For €14.90 you get the Formula, what we used to call “Prix Fixée” or fixed-price menu. See the next photo for details, but essentially you get the aforementioned Plat du Jour accompanied by two small dishes of your choice.

Use the next four sections to compose a Real meal. This I would do if I were showing off and trying to impress a woman. I would pick one of the four entrées (which have become appetizers in North America), and note that one of the appetizers is a wee bit more expensive and suggests something a wee bit special.I would pick one of the two salads on offer, one of the five grilled dishes, and one of the five desserts.

I would probably skip the €7.00 ($10) strawberries, figuring to buy a small punnet and eat them on the river bank (takes longer so I get to spend more time with the woman!)

Now to the last two items:-

You can choose one of three basic menus that give you a three course meal at slightly less cost than the impress-the-woman scheme I outlined above. I might shave €2.00 of the price of the meal. Each. If I chose the Andouillette and the cheapest entrée and desserts. The Entrecôte comes in a 250g size rather than the belly-stuffing 450g. Fair enough.

Finally, for the evening meal (not lunchtime) for €12 you get served enough food for two people, the food being some cold meats, cheeses, set in a bed (nid=nest) of salad. That would probably suit me just fine – a salad with cheese and ham. Not at all heavy, but filling with animal protein and fats.

The fixed price menu du jour; a menu du jour is not a plat du jour.

For a mere €14.90 (or about $21 Canadian) you get a three-course meal. Choose an Entrée (I think that they have the accent sloping the wrong way, but I am not certain of this) from the menu, be happy with sautéd veal, then choose a dessert from the menu.

Note that in Canada an entrée seems to have become the name for the main or big course.

Compare this menu-on-the-wall with that of the Restaurant Gambetta in Poissy .

Now if you are into trees ... I am wading through a booklet called "No need to go far to travel". It is a catalogue of about 40 sites of interest on the RER.

It is difficult to read, even from the original booklet, but ...

... almost all the 40 pages advise "About ten minutes Walk from the station"

Except for the House of cats; this one says "Take the bus".

Hah hah!

Here is the cover of the book. I collected a second, and different, version later in the day.

No, it's not about the cigarette butts tossed away from the tables outside the cafe; it's about me reminding myself to walk towards the sun.

After such a lunch a little walk will do me good.

So off I set. I love these little walks. I am not the only one in the street, plenty of opportunity to practice my "M’sieur" and "Bonjour Madame’s.

Of course, if you don’t have the time to get out hedge clippers every other weekend you can go to the garden centre and buy half an acre of plastic hedge-and-fence.

At the end of this street is a railway bridge. I contemplate walking under it. But then I think the bus came down the road off to my right, so I start climbing the hill. There I meet a man about my age and ask him if under the bridge is the way to the Fin d’Oise. Well, you can get there that way, but it's a long walk. Go back down the hill, then ...

I thank him. he says "Au Revoir", and I reply "J’espere que non!", and he bursts out laughing. I am pleased with myself for cracking an awful joke in French.

Is this the little road he meant, Toute Droite?

No. This is the one.

I reach only as far as the corner and realize again how badly the French sidewalks are for people in wheelchairs. Which I suppose is why we see so few people in wheelchairs getting out and about.

OK. Shoulder the bag and set off again.

A lovely mixture of the old and ...

... the new.

The railway bridge again. Or another railway bridge. There's a lot of it about.

Here we are at Rue du Marechal de Lattre de Tassigny

Here we are at Rue de l’Eperon. Getting closer!

And more confident. I know that the bus took me up this hill. I just can't recall whether it was today or five days ago!

And I think this is the roundabout where everybody stopped and got out because the truck driver thought his truck might strike our bus.

I remember this arch from my ride with the Three Little Maids From School

This tail-back looks familiar! Is that a bus I see nosing its way around the roundabout?

Yes! That's a construction crew ahead.

Another chance to practice my French. The thirty-year-old guy driving the front-end loader is trying to lift and move the concrete block. I ask him "Pourrais-je vous aider?", but he declines my assistance.

In the distance another (the same?) railway bridge.

Down there is where I wanted to be, but I am now committed to crossing the road bridge to the left bank of the Oise, right bank of the Seine.

Another view of the Oise debouching, I think, into the Seine.

Another view of the railway bridge upstream.

The dry docks. A better view soon. It will take me several minutes to get to that view, but you have only seconds to wait. Lucky You!

My next objective is a shady tree in the little park.

I am almost across the bridge. Have faith. We crossed this bridge on the bus two hours ago, so at least I am on a bus route.

And here is my #11 going home without me (sniff!)

Don't you wish you lived in a Ville Fleurie?

The line-ups are long in both directions.

Remember my description of the lovely meals in the café a few minutes ago? Why, oh why, would you patronize McDonalds?

Now this really IS a different railway bridge from the other one(s)

And that is a different bus going home without me. This is a good thing because it means I will have a bit of time to wander around the station precinct.

Or I can stroll the park in the blistering sun. The Oise is streaming in from the right, we are looking downstream on the Seine.

And upstream. Not a barge in sight, just two white swans.

The war(s) memorial at Fin d’Oise.

And there is the bridge over which I have just walked.

Seven minutes ago I promised you a better view of the dry-dock. Well, here it is!

I pause to read the names. The Amand - and many other families - paid a high price in the great war. Five members of the family in this town a hundred years ago would have been a huge loss.

It is not the only family with heavy losses.

There are nine full panels of names.

And about as many panels and names for the second world war.

Not as many family groups, though.

Mrs. Le Menven appears to have lost both her husband and her son.

Another swan comes to say hello, but appears not to understand my French. Tant Pis!

The photo at top-right shows the smaller Oise joining the Seine. I am on the point of land between the two rivers.

And I drag myself back to the bus station. I have time to kill, so into the cafe, a conversation, and then back to the bus platforms.

Another advertisement for the Galaxy S7 edge ; the ads are everywhere.

Into the station I go to discover that - what the heck! - there is a train to Maisons Laffitte in only two minutes. Maisons is only two minutes down the line, and Poissy is only two stations back up the other line, so I hop on the train as it slides into the station. Maisons Laffitte is where they had the world's biggest street sale two years ago.

We pass through the storage yards for the RER trains, parked two at a time end-to-end, for this is off-peak hour.

And here I am on the platform at Maisons Laffitte. A SNCF train hisses through and am I am so surprised, that it is long gone before I can whip out my camera and revive it from its sleep.

The street fair extended across the road bridge that crosses the station complex.

Trains leave in both directions every ten minutes. In mid-afternoon. This is not the peak-hour service. I almost weep. BOTH directions!

This street was choc-a-bloc with stalls as far as I could see.

The place outside the station was choc-a-bloc with stalls.

A view of the four tracks heading into Paris. I haven't worked out the scheme. From left to right we have (1) RER trains through Paris and out the other side (2) SNCF trains heading to Paris (3) RER trains coming through Paris and (4) SNCF trains coming from Paris.

At first I thought it made sense to put the RER trains together, say on the left-hand side, or in the central two tracks, but now I think it makes sense to have the inward trains share the same platform so that one track can still serve the same destination even if the other track is blocked.

This street was choc-a-bloc with stalls as far as I could see.

As I stand there, another RER train slides in on the extreme left (track 1) and an SNCF train hisses through at about 100 KM/hr. No kidding. Only five minutes have passed since I arrived here.

This street was choc-a-bloc with stalls as far as I could see.

This street was choc-a-bloc with stalls as far as I could see.

This bridge over the railways was choc-a-bloc with stalls.

These streets were choc-a-bloc with stalls as far as I could see.

The area outside the station was - well, you know!

Mid-afternoon, RER trains head through Paris in 4 and 10 minutes time, and arrive out of Paris in 2, 9, and 20 minutes time. And that doesn't count the SNCF trains that serve Gare St Lazare.

I wish that *I* lived in a world-class city.

The original station was built by the British around 1840, and rebuilt in 1892. This at a time when France was paying reparations from the Franco-Prussian war of 1892, saving every penny.

Here is the new station, built in 1892. Check out the lady's dress (in the foreground)

A plan of the complex as it is today. My numbering of tracks runs from (1) at the bottom to (4) at the top. This station was built in 1985, after I'd returned to Australia, then gone to Singapore, then Canada.

Oh Toronto!

Back downstairs on the platform. The man on the left is waiting for an RER to Paris on track (1). I am waiting for an RER to Poissy, just two stations up the line, on track (3).

The line to my right, track (4), has a steady stream of SNCF trains whistling through the station non-stop at high speed.

On this platform, escalators run upwards, in preparation for people arriving from Paris and heading home.

On this platform, escalators run downwards, in preparation for people leaving Maisons Laffitte and heading for Paris. The line/platform allocation is beginning to make sense.

Here is the RER for Cergy. I came in on that line about half an hour ago.

Pick a line, any line, and read across horizontally to see how frequent is the train service.

Now this is a rare sight during daylight hours - a freight train. Using MY passenger train tracks!

I have previously mentioned how low-slung are the carriages. The lip of the concrete platform is above the level of my window-sill.

And so home to the hotel. A quick shower and a 60-minute nap, then I head out to get my supper.

One last thing: I spent some time in the tourist office at Maisons Laffitte chatting and getting maps and learning that the Brocante or "Vide-Gronier" has been canceled this year. Lack of funds. Maybe a local political move.

The two ladies in the office didn't seem to understand my feelings about train service in both directions every ten minutes mid-afternoon. They seemed to treat it as a God-given right, and I forgive them. They were about 25-30 years old, and have never known anything but 10-minute service in Maisons Laffitte. But I came close to hating them!