The happenings of Sunday August 18, 2024 travelling between London, England and Paris, France
Sunday morning we finished packing with plenty of time to make a stop at Daniel’s Bakery. A tasty, kosher bakery that was up the street from us and highly recommended. The boys were so overwhelmed by the choices, it ended up taking them fifteen minutes just to decide what they wanted to eat. Two settled on the “Uncle Danny” cinnamon pretzels in honor of their Uncle Danny. They said the pretzels were amazing. We also picked up some sandwiches for the train ride later, lest our children say they were starving. Then we walked back to our flat to pick up our luggage and headed to King’s Cross Station.
We had several hours at King’s Cross, so Chaim took Amichai, Shai, and Matanel to see Platform 9 ¾. Eitan, less of a Harry Potter fan, opted to stay with me and the luggage so that he could read. When everyone returned they read while we waited to be able to go through border control. I had never seen border control in a train station. There is a section of King’s Cross that essentially is French controlled so that Eurostar (and perhaps other international trains’) passengers can go through border control before boarding the train to Paris. It was a strange experience to have everything switch from English to French and our passports stamped before we were in France, or perhaps before we were mentally prepared for it.
On the train we had First Class tickets. It was delightful and totally lost on the boys who only cared about the state of their WiFi, which was moderate to poor. I felt badly for them. They hadn’t had much screen time while we were in London, especially screen time with good WiFi. To date our WiFi connections had been pretty inconsistent. Chaim and I had told them they could have screen time on the train and they were being amazing first time listeners to make sure they got their screen time. Whoops. This was a promise we quickly learned not to make after the experience on the train. That being said, the boys had to figure out how to manage their frustration in a small space where they could not completely fall apart or tantrum. It was an important lesson for them and an opportunity to recognize that they could handle such a disappointing situation in a healthier way.
The train ride was about three hours. Our smooth and lovely experience on the train did not prepare us for our entry into Paris, which was much more fraught. The train station was very busy with a combination of police and soldiers holding semi-automatics, surveying and patrolling everywhere. The boys noted this and wondered why it was necessary. It wasn’t their first time in a foreign country with armed soldiers or policemen, but it also wasn’t part of their daily experience at home or up until that point on our journey. They concluded it was to stop all of the potential pick-pocketers we had told them about. Sure. We went with that explanation.
From the train station we took the metro to where we thought we would catch a bus. We should have opted for an Uber! The first challenge was getting through the ticket gates. The boys found the timing of the doors strange because you had to push your luggage through first according to the sign. One gate closed on poor Matanel who fell on his bag. He was so offended he just left the bag caught in the gate. The second challenge, there were no escalators or elevators. Carrying our luggage up and down the stairs multiple times as we navigated the subway system was a chore. The boys tried to be helpful, but they were exhausted from traveling and the packs were too heavy for them to carry up the many flights of stairs we encountered. After our metro ride, we paused for a moment to gain our bearings before heading up to street level. While resting, the boys noted several people jumping or squeezing through the turn-styles and not paying for their metro ride as the police stood their idly watching. Our boys were agog and aghast at such behavior and could not understand why the police did nothing about it.
The last set of stairs must have had at least thirty to forty steps. Chaim and I took all of the packs and carry-ons. As we made our way out of the metro up to street level, I suddenly felt my carryon get lighter. I turned around thinking one of the boys was helping me only to find two strangers who without saying a word began carrying my items for me. As we exited, they quickly handed my items back and quietly disappeared. Parisians can have a bad rep for being unfriendly. However, these strangers' kindness was a godsend and I began to wonder if Parisians were just misunderstood.
Above ground, the sun was beginning to set. We noted that the area was a little shadier than we were comfortable with and tried to move quickly to our bus stop. Our haste did not help us. After several minutes we realized we were waiting at the wrong station, on the wrong corner of the street. We returned the way we came and crossed the street diagonally to reach the correct bus stop. There we waited for the #320 bus. Several buses stopped, but none of them were the #320. It was getting dark, a child needed to pee (again), and we really wanted to be somewhere other than where we were with our children and all of our luggage.
My French is poor. Chaim assumed he didn't know French. I kept trying to read the sign at the bus stop that said something about our bus, thinking that it was saying something about a delay. Twenty minutes later, kind strangers told us that the sign said the bus route was interrupted and would not be coming. Thank goodness they said something. We were that silly, American family that would have been sitting there for Lord knows how long before accepting that the bus would never arrive.
With that, we called an Uber and took it the rest of the way to our new abode. An interesting fact about Parisian Ubers that seat six or more people: They all seem to be luxury vehicles. We were okay with that! We made it to our new home at 8:30PM and quickly settled in before going to sleep for the night.
