At least there was no strike three!

Aidan and Joseph (our grandson and his friend) arrived at Charles de Gaulle (CDG) Airport on June 11. They had an incredibly long flight from Seattle, with layovers in Chicago and Montreal. Little did they know that it would be awhile before they could rest!

Paris was hit with two labor disputes that day. The railworkers were striking, which reduced the trains to CDG by 80%, and the Parisian taxi owners were joining their counterparts in other European cities to protest the rise of Uber and other ridesharing services.

Kevin and I knew none of this when we set out from our apartment to greet our very-welcome guests and escort them to the city. At the Gare du Nord, where we planned to take the train to the airport, we encountered a mess!

There were two signs directing us to the airport trains, one to platforms 42 and 43, and another to platform 33. We went to platform 42 only to discover that we needed to go to platform 33, which was not that clearly marked, in the extremely crowded station.

By this time we had three more people in tow—an Alberta woman and her two sons, who were traveling on a visit home to Canada from Nigeria, where the wife and husband were teaching at an international school.  (Her husband, the principal, could not join her until later.) 

If we thought we had problems, hers were much worse.  Her youngest son (elementary school age) had just gotten out of a Paris hospital, where he had been treated for an overdose of a malaria drug.  He had a heart condition, and the Nigerian doctors had prescribed the wrong amount of the drug. To top it off, the airline had lost their luggage. She and her sons were scheduled to fly out of CDG that morning, but the ticket office wasn't open, and the ticket machines would not take her North American credit card.  (Before we left we got cards with European-style chips.)  We helped her get tickets using our card, for which she reimbursed us, and then we made our way together to the train.

At some point, when I was not looking, Kevin was accosted by another pickpocket. (Two in a month? I realize anecdotal evidence is not statistical evidence, but it does seem that Paris has a problem.) Fortunately, the pickpockets are not physically dangerous. My mild-mannered husband surprised himself when, without thinking, he shoved the guy into a trash can, but I think that's a normal reaction to nearly being robbed!

In the confusion, when we finally got to the right area, we saw a scene that looked like a film of refugees fleeing a war-torn city: people were stuffed in the train cars and hanging out the doors. A TV crew was interviewing the passengers.  We had no hope of getting on that train, nor would I have wanted to.

Then a train arrived on the adjoining platform, and we learned that it would  soon leave for CDG. We climbed on. Surprisingly, it was not as crammed as the other train, and after a few stops we all got seats, although it was the "milk run," which stopped at every suburb between Paris and the airport.  The Canadian woman was very relieved when we got to CDG with time to spare.

Poor Aidan and Joseph!  Their plane arrived on time, but the luggage was delayed, so it was nearly an hour before they emerged, somewhat wilted, into the Terminal 2 waiting area. We had purchased their tickets already, so we went immediately to the train and, of course, we got the milk run again, but it wasn't crowded.

Aidan (left) and Joseph (right) on the milk run and still in good spirits.
(Thanks for the photo, Kevin.)

We arrived at Gare du Nord, still unaware there was a taxi strike.  Although we went to our "double-secret" taxi rank, where we've never had a problem catching a cab, the three taxis at the stand immediately took off. When no others appeared, we decided to take the bus.

We're very familiar with Bus 31 that goes from the Gare du Nord to a block from our apartment.  However, when we got nearly  three-fourths of the way there, the bus suddenly stopped. There was an announcement, and we began asking other passengers if the bus was going to our stop. They shook their heads to indicate no, so we got off.  We soon caught another Bus 31, but then it proceeded on an entirely different route! We realized then that all the buses were being detoured. A woman explained there had been an accident on Rue Ordener. We arrived at a stop about a 10-minute walk from our apartment and got off, trudging up the street with the suitcases. 

Although it took us at least twice as long as usual to get home, we finally got there!  Aidan and Joseph got a long-awaited shower and rest, and we all felt relieved as we celebrated their arrival that evening at our favorite rooftop bar with the view of the Eiffel Tower.  All's well that ends well.

Just happy to be in Paris, in spite of all the delays.