Travel log 02-10-07

After only a couple of weeks taking the train to and from work, I have already settled into the rhythm of the rail. Most times I travel to work before the sun rises and return to Paris in the quiet blanket of early night. I have noticed a few common things already on the ride that I though I would share with those that have not had the pleasure of repeated train rides. Many people have taken rides to or from someplace, but until you travel the same route over and over you can't relax and see what is really going on. One timers are too concerned with missing their stop, and the uncertainty of what the protocol is on the train to notice the beauty of the commute.

The trains here are pretty good at being on time, and this allows a timely exit from the flat to the street so as not to have to wait too long in the station. Although trains are usually 20 minutes apart, it does get cold even that far underground (about 3 stories for the RER). The draft that an approaching train makes is a little different than a departing train. the air is pushed ahead of an oncoming train out of the warmer, damp tunnels that cobweb under the city. An outbound train sucks the air from the station, to be filled with the colder air from the surface, giving anyone waiting a blast of cool dry air to brace against. I found out quickly that it is best not to stand near the entrance and exit tunnels, but to travel away from them and to stay back against the tile walls as much as possible.

Once on the train it is usually very easy to find a seat, as the bigger stops have not been reached yet and the early morning hour hasn't brought out the true Parisian worker, who has their travel planned down to the second so as not to arrive too early. The Parisians have to make an entrance, no matter what else is going on, when you arrive, you greet everyone individually, kiss cheeks, and shake hands before ever starting to settle in. So if you are the first one at work, everyone greets you, and you really can't get any work done anyhow, so you might as well time your entrance.

The horn on the train always sounds like it is coming from some place else, like anther train down the rail or something. This signals the doors closing and there is always someone that makes the last minute jump through the portal after taking their last precious drag from the cigarette they flick under the train at the last possible moment. The train pulls away almost instantly and it is a little startling to realize how quickly it picks up speed with the concrete platform only inches away. This is even more discerning when you are on a double deck train, sitting on the lower level, your eyes are even with the platform, giving you a great view of potential disaster and the legs of anyone left on the platform.

It doesn't take long after the doors have closed for the warm still air to wrap around you and the rattle of the wheels and gentle rocking take effect almost instantly to lull you into a sense of comfort and security. A lot of people sleep, and even I have been able to drift off for periods. It is easier in the morning, while I am still sleepy and knowing that the last stop is mine, I have a pretty good chance of not missing my stop, so i relax even more.

On we travel through the dark tunnels. Occasionally there is a train in the station you pull into and you get to glimpse passengers going in the other direction. Blank expressions are the norm, as they pretend to not be doing the same thing. I always try and catch an eye for a second and if time permits, smile and nod and hope for some type of reacting, but usually none comes.
After a few stops we emerge from the underground and take to the surface and elevated rails that carry us over and under roadways. Unlike the U.S. there are no street crossings, everything is built to co-exist.

It is still dark outside, so the only way you know you are above ground are orbs of light that float outside the windows, sometimes above and sometimes below the horizon. Streetlights in unexplored towns and villages act as markers of your progress and the time of their passing gives judgement to your speed. The only hint of passing over a river is the flicker of light bouncing off the surface if there happens to be a building nearby. Rhythmic thumping and nondescript sounds lead to feeling of being trapped, but free and floating at the same time. Taking sideways glances, you see the flickering scenery reminiscent of an old stereophonic movie where a series of pictures is laced together to create a story. The occasional dip and twist of the track continues to rock the passengers gently. The jolt of a passing train is startling the first few times, as the pressure changes inside the train as the two massive structures whizz by each other pushing and pulling air along with them. Inside the stillness of the air returns and then the screeching of wheels marks another stop on the way. The warmth is intruded on by the opening of the door. The murmur of others, as they enter and exit the train is never disruptive.

After close to an hour we pull into the the my stop and just prior, I put away my CD's and gather my coat around me tightly, knowing that it will be colder here than in Paris. So begins another day. I often think of all those train songs, and now I remember again the magic of the rail.