Experiential Paper

“Transportation”

As I passed through the Jules-Jorffin Metro station on the 12 line at 10:30 this morning an overweight man began playing his accordion and proceeded to ask each and every person in the train for spare change. Around the same time another man pasted two new high fashion posters along the sides of station, just like the man in Bicycle Thieves. The Greek couple across from me were too close and kissed each other for too long and the four American men across the aisle from me were too loud.

This metro ride was no different than any "metro" ride in America. Or any different from the other nine times I had been on the metro in the past three days. It is just like the Marta, the subway, the el or the rail of the same name in D.C.  But the metro in Paris seems to run faster, less smoothly and more wildly—like a terrifying roller coaster. The doors open at the manual push of a button and I have witnessed locals pressing that button before the train even begins to stop. They calmly hop out of the still moving train with ease and my peers and I stare in both shock and amazement. 

Diana told of a story when she first came to Paris as a child when she and her mom watched a man shoot up heroin in the center of a crowded metro platform. That kind of wild energy is the way all of Paris felt—terrifying. The history and the architecture of the city cannot compare to America, even in the slightest. But, the old beauty is still victim to the same poverty and disillusion of the states. On one side of a mostly empty street in Paris stood a model holding a Louis Vuitton bag and multiple bouquets of flowers and immediately across from her was a pair of men sleeping out on a dirty mattress in the middle of the workday.

Likewise, while “Ubering” into the city, I noticed that on a bridge across the Seine there was an elaborate wedding photoshoot to the right. Then to the left, there was a lone man huddled against a pole in full winter gear, despite the 90-degree weather. Not to mention the overwhelming stench that seeped out from the river itself.

This past month has been my first experience outside of the country. France was always at the top of my list and I had severely high expectations. When I watched 2 Hours From Paris on the opening day of Cannes, I laughed at how often the characters sat silently in some mode of transportation. Then, this past weekend, I realized why so much of that movie took place in a car. In an estimate of extreme exaggeration, I estimate that half of this entire trip has been consumed either waiting, boarding or actually riding a train, bus, plane or car.