Stowed Away

    Still playing catch up mode.  So I left Berlin on September 23 in the mid afternoon to fly to Paris to meet my parents.  Or, at least, I tried to.  The day did not exactly go as planned, even though I held up my end of the bargain.
I checked out of my hotel.
I took the Ubahn to the airport.
I checked in.

But, unfortunately France was slightly too preoccupied maintaining its Republican Values and exercising the right to civic spirit to go to work that day.  In other words, France, was on strike.  Why, you might ask??  Had someone been denying the people bread again?  Was absolute monarchy knocking on their front door?

No and No.  This time the evil crime was increasing the retirement age from 60 to 62 and pushing back the age from 65 to 67 for those who want to ensure full retirement benefits.  If hearing this doesn´t make you want to shout "Sacre bleu!", trust me you are not alone.  In case France hasn´t heard, the life expectancy in their dear country is among the longest in the world - averaging 80.7 (77.1 for men and 84.1 for women), which makes them just about tied with Israel, Macau and Canada at number 8.  The US comes in at an astonishing 38, with a life expectancy of 78.2 ( 75.6 for men and 80.8 for women).  (Germany, FYI, comes in at number 20 with 79.4 years and is tied with Belgium, Great Britain, Malta and the US Virgin Islands)  All in all, in my personal opinion, the French could stand to work a little longer - most of the developed world probably could...

 But, on this particular day I was much more bothered by the strike caused by this issue, than the issue itself.  In the US, we just don´t seem to use strikes so often, we prefer tea parties...  When I checked my flight before leaving for the airport, it was the only flight still headed to Paris - too good to be true I should have known.  It was canceled half an hour before takeoff.

As the mob headed towards the ticket counter to trade their flight in, I considered my situation.  Already checked out of my hotel, no place to stay in Berlin, family and hotel waiting for me in Paris.  I had to get to Paris.  Flights were out of the question.  I headed to the train station...

At the train station I initially met with zero help.  I was told that no trains to Paris (or France for that matter) would be leaving.  I asked about trains going NEAR France.   I was told that just getting near France would be a futile action.  So.  I asked someone else.

Another lady at the station told me I could take the train to Mannheim, Germany, then wait out the strike, and take the first train to Paris.  So, with her help, I bought a ticket that left for Mannheim at 10:30pm and arrived at 4:50 in the morning.  I didn´t have a reservation for a seat, but she assured me that was no problem.  I boarded the train, and decided to stay standing until a seat became available.  In the meantime I chatted with a man hoping to exchange his seat for one in a quieter location.  Then the conductor came to collect tickets.  I showed him my ticket, but of course I had no reservation.  That was when he told that I would have to get off the train.

WHAT?!?!  I had a ticket.  I had purchased said ticket.  It was 11 at night.  We were literally in the middle of nowhere.  My new friend argued on my behalf.  Who ever heard of throwing a young girl with a ticket off of a train in the middle of the night?!  Apparently... this guy.  The eyes of those around me seemed to say, we would help if we had any clue how...  Then around came an elderly gentleman who was working for the government surveying about satisfaction with the train.  WE ARE NOT SATISFIED, exclaimed my new friend, explaining my situation.  The government worker expressed his disapproval, but explained that unfortunately he had no say in the matter (apparently train conductor > German government)  I totally wanted to tell the conductor that actually HIS government was paying me to live in Germany to be an ambassador so that they would have a better relationship with my country, and he was honestly blowing it.  I also wanted to tell him some other things that I would rather not repeat on a blog that my grandma reads.  But, you get the picture.
It was a bad situation.

Luckily as I pondered my fate, the conductor had moved on the check tickets in the neighboring car.  The train slowed to a halt.  I ran to an empty seat, changed my hair threw a different jacket over my head, and just before the hood covered my eyes, the guy across aisle winked in understanding.  For 6 hours I switched seats, took looonnnng bathroom trips, pretended to sleep, and evaded the conductor.  Finally, I got out at Mannheim.  It was five in the morning.  Trains to Paris wouldn´t start until nearly 7.  I sat down in the station.  All the sudden I had this crazy deja vu.  It hit me.  I had been to Mannheim once before, at 4 in the morning.  Four years earlier, on my first solo voyage, I had made my way through Mannheim on my way to the Black Forest in the attempt to fulfill my dream of gallivanting through the Black Forest as if in a fairy tale (dream fulfilled, btw).  I sat for a moment and pondered the meaning of life.

When that was through I headed upstairs, where I was befriended by two Norwegians.  Apparently there are a lot of Norwegians in Mannheim.  They asked where I was headed, and I said Paris, so they said, us too!  It was feeling a little bit Wizard of Oz-y, until I realized they were just bored of being in Mannheim (so was I ).

When the ticket office opened at 6, I was first in line to buy my ticket to Paris.  That is, until the lady behind the counter told me all the trains to Paris for the day were sold out.  Something about a general strike in Paris... yeah, yeah, I´d heard of it.  Still, it seemed shocking that all of the trains were booked solid, I mean, even first class?!?!  OH, she said.  Well you didn´t ASK about first class (come on people, can we think outside the box a little?).  So I proceeded to buy the most expensive train ticket of my life (the Norwegians were obviously no longer interested in Paris), and learned that first class really IS better.  They feed you breakfast, and the seats are more comfortable.

And that was how I made it to Paris.  Only 12 hours later than planned.