heeeeeelp us, pleeeeeeze

Day 10 of the strike.
I have no words.
They LIE if they say it is over. My experience on the metro today tells me that those who say the strike is over are LYING b*st*rds.

honk my horn

Okay people, this is serious. All of this past summer's environmental initiatives in Paris (free bikes and anti-car days and bla, bla, bla) have just bitten the dust. Or rather, are choking on the pollution of hours of gridlock as every car owner on the Ile de France tears up their worthless metro pass and spends hours in their vehicle to cover 5 kms in 4 hours.

We are entering DAY 7 of the transport strike and for good measure, the teachers and postal employees are joining the fray. It'll be like a bloody bank holiday here tomorrow - except that normal people are trying to work, with very limited options as to how to physically get to work and nowhere to leave the kids!

I have been making use of the passenger-on-scooter mode of transportation. Luckily one of the owners of a voice-over studio I do a lot of work for lives near me and has a scooter. This evening we crossed the city from west to east at 30km/h, dodging side-mirrors as the cars turned Paris into a giant, idling parking lot. Here's what I've learnt about strike etiquette: scooters and motorbikes put on their hazards and then dash right through the middle, between the cars. In tunnels, the gleeful two-wheeled drivers sound their little hooters as they manouvre through the lines of cars: beep-beep, bip-bip-bip, beep-beep-beep-beeeeeeep and the cars REPLY. Yes! It's true! Car hooters are much louder and fuller than the tinny little scooter horns, so it's quite cool to hear the resounding BEEP-BEEP, BIP-BIP-BIP, BEEP-BEEP-BEEP-BEEEEEEEP reply.

I am amazed that in this crisis, people find the time to play eccentric little honking games in tunnels. Especially if you take into account how much bad feeling there usually is between the 'scoots' and the cars :-) People are weird.

Wipe out!

Been back in Paris for less than a week - my suitcase is not fully unpacked yet - and already I have fallen prey to a great French tradition. There is yet another TRANSPORT STRIKE going on. Those of you who were here for the RWC Final know what that means.... It was meant to last for a day - we are now on day 4. Plus, they have anounced another tansport strike for next Tuesday...what's not clear is if they will start an ongoing strike from the top (??) or remain ongoing in an ongoing strike?! The situation is simply ridiculous.

So, anyway, not one to sit around and bitch about the French and their particularities (hi, hi) I threw myself on my bicycle and cycled for a few hours a day to get to my voice jobs and announce the weather on France 24. And after two days of this, I am as sick as a dog. Sore throat, sore ears, cold feet, raspy lungs, scratchy cough - the works. Had to give my weather shift away this morning as a result.

Panicked that I won't be fixed in time for tomorrow's weather shift and Monday's voice-over, I've been asking around for quick fixes for a lack of voice. A fellow weatherhead suggested rose tea with honey and half-salted butter; oil and honey is my gran's remedy of choice; ginger and lemon was suggested from Britain and the list goes on. However, a lack of patience and faith in just one cure at a time sees me sitting here with a steaming mug of rosehip tea embellished with butter, pollen, honey and ginger. It tastes completely vile and looks even worse with buttery slick and crusty pollen floating around. I'll let you know how it works!

Pierre, my metro man!

Apparently I have the public-transport-driver-attraction gene. In what is becoming 'all in a day's work', I hitched a ride in the cockpit of metro line 6 early this morning. It was unintentional, I promise. See, I have a talking-point travel mug. Talking point because people always ask me where I got that practical, 17 ounce thermos mug . When I reply

"Etats-Unis (United States)"

I often get a raised eyebrow and wistful....

'Ah, quand même - they do have some good things over there."

So back to my morning. Seeing as I was catching the metro at 6h30 AM, I stood on the platform towards the head of the train, sipping my hibiscus tea from my quirky AMERICAN mug-job. Metro pulls in. Driver gives me a grin. I return the grin and think this must be about my mug. He pokes his head out the window and invites me into his booth. I wave 'no thanks' (was planning on napping in the metro!) and start to walk towards the first carriage. Metro driver opens the door to his booth and sticks his whole body out and says, in a Southern accent:

"Venez - come, you are charming!"

So I realise no nap is to be had on this ride and climb in the front with him. He asks me about the contents of my mug and we get chatting. I reveal the inside knowledge I have about the RATP and how everyone wants to drive the RER's, but has to spend a minimum of 8 years on the metro first and then there are still the waiting lists... he is most impressed that I know all this and confirms my info. Then I ask him if he is from Toulouse (given his accent) and this really impresses him, seeing as he couldn't place my accent. (Obviously, no-one ever expects South Africans).

Anyway, to cut a 22 minute conversation short, this time I got a first name and a phone number! And not because I asked for it either - it was offered to me and written on a scrap of paper in a station where the other poor-sod passengers couldn't figure out why we were stopped for so long!

I think I might just call that number... when I hear rumors of metro strikes.... (he, he, he)