The French National Sport

Don’t know why I thought we could spend almost two months in France and not encounter a day or two graced by the great national sport of France.  No, not soccer – but `la grève’  - a strike.

This time it’s the taxi drivers who are on strike, which wouldn’t disturb us at all were it not on the very day that we’re taking the train from Lyon to Paris, and had decided, in view of our heavier now suitcases, that we’d just take taxis to and from the train stations and relax. 

So when I asked the desk clerk at the hotel last night whether we needed to reserve the taxi the night before, she said, ‘well, normally, it’s no problem, except that there’s a taxi strike tomorrow.’

That’s the thing about French strikes.  They’re scheduled – and announced in advance – and so although the aim is to disrupt the normal flow of things, there’s usually some sort of alternative.  In this case, it involved hauling our suitcases to the tram stop in Lyon and riding the tram to the train station.  

And then, at the other end, figuring out what was the smoothest metro connection in Paris, with the least number of stairs, because of course,  it’s a NATIONAL  strike.   Not only are the Parisian taxis on strike too, but they’re out doing something called an opération escargot, which means they’re driving the highways and main roads into Paris six abreast at a snail’s pace, snarling traffic (and not picking up passengers.)

But thoughtfully, the metro and buses are running, though the buses had to alter a few routes to get around.

All of this is finished now and everyone's gone back about their business, the point having been made.  Till the next time.