Logistics: Catching the TGV to Alsace

Schedule: 

8:30 Catch the Air France bus to Roissy CDG airport

9:15 Find #4 with his two children at the (you-can’t-miss-it) TGV Information Center 

9:40 Catch the TGV* bound for Strasbourg in Alsace

Joanna: Who thought this would work?

JJ: # 3, of course.

From Paris to Roissy CDG

Between Tuscany and Alsace there was a layover of a few days at the garçonnière** in Paris. It was during this time that we went to Roland Garros. But soon enough our rest was over and we needed to head back to the bustling life of a tourist. Being a tourist is work, exciting, but hard work just the same. Our next leg was Alsace, that province to the far east of France which has historically been tossed between France & Germany. Even though  Alsatians are pretty germanic-looking, & some even still speak a German dialect, they would rather be French. No doubt some of their Frenchness is expressed in their love for vibrant colors on their buildings and houses. As you shall see, they are a wonderfully strange lot. 

But for now, our travel logistics provide another short tale. First off, you need to know that just getting from the Arc de Triomphe in Paris to the major airport of the north is one helluva project. We had to get up at 6 a.m. to catch a specially provided bus, called a car. It’s not that the stop is so very far by foot from our apartment. In fact it is just one city block at a gentle incline of 30 degrees. Still for senior citizens, walking & pushing a couple of well-packed suitcases, it takes a bit of effort. But, as for every tourist, many things have to be done before the door is locked & sardine-sized elevators are twice taken to the ground floor. JJ must, absolutely must, have enjoyed his freshly baked croissants and baguette.  While he was moving at the tempo of “Sheep may safely graze,” as usual taking his time to savor every epicurean moment, Joanna, on the other hand, was pushing the unflagging rhythm of a Bach courante. 

We were out of breath & exhilarated at the top of the hill.  We were there at  8:15 sharp & our intention was to take the car which leaves on the half-hour or 8:30. The driver announced that he would be taking his morning café & that he & the luggage loader would be back in 20 minutes. Already that’s five minutes past the official departure time which we were counting on. Travelers on a schedule could just cool their heels. Well, their cafés took about 10 minutes longer than he said, & he was in no hurry as we paid our fares or presented tickets for composting. The car, which by the way is a luxury tour bus, was filling up with travelers eager to make a connection at Roissy. Most of us settled in, merely waiting to get rolling when an elderly man climbed on and began altercating with the driver. Everyone was privy to his case: he felt that he was entitled to free ride because he was a retiree of SNCF***, an unquestioned perk of French railroad retirees. But, our Air France car had nothing to do with SNCF. Everyone pays. No exceptions. He wouldn’t let it go. Oh, it was a long harangue. The retiree was loud and the driver was soft and patient. At last the driver called his supervisor. Yes, & we were all antsy and wanted to murder the retiree. But, we also thought the driver was too long-suffering. Couldn’t he just be rude like some Frenchies and send him on his way? We were all ready to shoot him, too, except that he had to drive us to the airport.  All of our connections were at stake! What were these two farts thinking anyway? Why was the bus driver being so nice?  After being informed by the supervisor (on speaker phone no less!) that he would have to pay, the retiree stomped off and we were free to go. But, we were so off-schedule! We began rolling at 8:55 and picking up more travelers at another stop! Miraculously, morning traffic flowed well & we arrived at Roissy at about 9:15.  

La Salle des Pas Perdus

Now, I ask you. How were we going to push our luggage through the maze to Terminal 2A, connect with #4 and catch our train by 9:40? It started out badly when two corridors diverged in an underground parking lot. As I was choosing the wrong one, I collared a woman in some kind of uniform to ask directions to terminal 2A. Continuing her fast pace she called out, “It’s the other direction. Just take the elevator.”  Actually, we were fortunate that the lifts delivered us right into the middle of the 2A Salle des Pas Perdus. (French can be colorful. A waiting room is called “The Hall of Lost Footsteps.) I told JJ to find a waiting seat and watch the bags while I crisscrossed a hall the size of a gymnasium to find #4 & 2 little kids. #3 had said, “Meet at the TGV Information Center. You can’t miss it” Yeah, right. Kiosks with travelers milling around, glassed in ticket counters with lines beyond the doors, free standing ticket machines with waiting lines, travelers pushing, carrying luggage everywhere, plenty of lost footsteps for everyone.  It was “Where’s Waldo?”, only in real life. I was frantic. Alas, we might not make our train!

Beginning to despair, I bumped smack into the Texas Trio! Out of nowhere they calmly strolled into the Salle: a tall young man pushing two enormous suitcases with his sturdy pint-sized side-kicks each pulling a miniature suitcase. #4 said he, also, was wondering how in the world we would meet at the you-can’t-miss-it TGV Info Center. We wasted no time finding the platforms for TGV trains which were mercifully adjacent to the Salle, visible & attainable on 2 levels by escalator.

From presto, we went to adagio. We discovered that neither the exact time, nor the platform number had been posted on the overhead panels. In my usual fashion I asked other travelers for a clarification. They explained that T.B.A.--To Be Announced-- had become the norm for trains leaving from Roissy. Old Europe, so renowned for running trains on time and efficiently, had changed. This last trip there were several instances in which the exact time and track were undecided until the last few minutes. As it turned out we had time to visit Madame Pipi**** & board in a timely manner. Miraculously, we made the train and we didn’t lose that many footsteps. 

Moral: In old Europe give yourself plenty of time for the unexpected. 

* TGV stands for Trains à Grande Vitesse - Trains of Great Speed

** Small apartment. This term used to be used for a tiny space where young men met with their friends & had freedom from adult supervision. But now we just think the word is cute.

***Societé Nationale des Chemins de fer Français - National Society of Railroads

****Pipi pronounced pee-pee. This is what we call toilets that are watched over and kept clean by a (sometimes nice) lady.