22 April 2010
The trains travelling east leave from Gare de l’Est. It’s a stone’s throw from Gare du Nord, the station I’m more familiar with. Compared to its bigger neighbour, Gare de l’Est is a citadel of calmness and serenity – that is to say it’s very low key – except, of course, for the perennial CRS police sporting their submachine guns. Eventually, I suppose they blend into the background – though I’m not sure they ever would for me. Their presence and, even more, the acceptance of their presence, is a strong statement that is both in your face and subliminal. But if you can ignore them and the many gypsy women who are the most tenacious beggars I have ever come across, then the atmosphere is almost tranquil. So there’s the contradiction of Paris in a nutshell – on one hand, the CRS parade around train stations brandishing machine guns while, on the other, the gypsies are free to harass tourists and are not rounded up (as yet). One could call this tolerance with an iron fist. Perhaps it’s in the French nature to balance repression with anarchy. Some find this sort of duality appealing; for others it’s a constant headache.
I arrived at the station early so I would have time to suss out the situation there as the first leg of my journey is divided into two: Paris to Stuttgart and then Stuttgart to Munich. To make my connections takes rather fine timing as the Munich train is due to leave only fifteen minutes after my arrival in Stuttgart. I was told this was not a problem here – though it’s something I would never attempt in England. However, since there is only one night train to Budapest, I must be in Munich by 10 PM. So, as a safety precaution, I booked the earlier train to Stuttgart.
The TGV is full – every seat is taken, so reservations are essential. I am seated next to a young German woman who has been teaching in Nancy and now is applying for a job as a supervising librarian back home. She, of course, speaks English very well and is keen to practice on me as (she thinks) her English isn’t that good - at least not as good as her French and Spanish. She tells me not to worry about connections as here the railways see to their customer’s welfare. I’m not sure what that means but I am willing to accept her assurances. And I feel quite relaxed until I find out that the train is going to be ten minutes late. One of the problems is that even if I take the later train from Stuttgart, I have seat reservations on the first. I asked my seat mate about that and she replies that in Germany seat reservations aren’t required. (That’s all well and good, I thought, but considering how crowded the trains are, a seat reservation would come in handy rather than catch as catch could.)
The TGV is fast and comfortable – perhaps not quite as sleek as the Eurostar, but certainly adequate. Time slips by as I chat with my train friend about her trip to New York that she took independently a few years ago. Quite brave of you, I tell her. She is pleased I think she’s brave. I ask what her impressions of New York were. She loved it, she said. It was an exciting city and she walked every inch of it from Central Park to the Bowery. But she was curious about America. Americans she found quite friendly – much friendlier than either French or Germans. I thought that a gross generalisation and told her that she was quite friendly and she was a German. Besides though Americans could be quite friendly, it’s not often that you could have an intelligent conversation on the train with them. She asked about Obama and why I thought he was more popular in Europe than in America and why so many people were opposed to national health care. I said that Obama probably could win another election in the States, but not by much of a margin. It just seems that he’s unpopular because the opposition to him is very loud. About health care, I said that it is curious how people could so easily work in ways that were against their own interests. But many Americans have a misguided notion of what liberty and freedom are all about – or at least have a curious and convoluted notion of those terms they brandy about like shibboleths to ward off the demons. Finally, she asked why I decided to live in England. I told her that ‘decided’ is hardly the word I would use – more ‘ended up’. People rarely decide things like that; rather it’s a combination of circumstances, some in their control and others not.
She told me that she had quit her job teaching in Nancy and was staking everything on getting the librarian’s post even though there were eight over people being interviewed. The requirements were high. She needed to be fluent in four European languages and know about library systems throughout the world. So she asked me about the British Library and I told her what I knew about it.
I could see she was a bit nervous, having staked so much on this position. And I told her, whatever happens it would probably be for the best. I’m not a fatalist but where jobs are concerned, if you don’t get a position it’s often because it’s not right for you. Whether she believe that or not, it seemed to ease her mind. She left the train after Strasbourg; I shook her hand and wished her well. I thought she was quite a remarkable young woman – self possessed yet intellectually open. But strangers on a train are often open with each other – they share a moment and then they’re gone.
