Paris in Winter

''Janet Loh-moment'' happened the very evening I arrived in Paris via Barcelona.

The airport shuttle I had booked on the internet did not show up. The ‘’toll-free number’’ I rang was not answered.

Oh heck – I should have just taken a cab and not bothered with the shuttle – I have had a long tiring week, a heavy suitcase, a bulky hand-luggage and a laptop. And it’s windy and freezing cold at the waiting area.

The next morning, I rang the shuttle company. The guy who attended to me, Emile, was very patient; he promised to investigate and to return my call, even if it was an overseas mobile number - in Italy they would not have called overseas - “of course I’ll call back’’, he said when I asked if he would. When he rang later, he asked if I had seen the ‘’confirmation email’’. I said yes. ‘’Well, the date you booked is for today, madame, did you know that? Good thing you called – or we would have sent a driver tonight!’’

How could that be? How could I have gotten the date wrong?! The only reason I could think of was – I was over-exhausted and perhaps in a state of half awake-ness at unearthly hours in the middle of the night or very early morning (at the hotel room trying to clear work emails, make such bookings, etc).

Since my credit card has been charged, I tried to negotiate for a pick up from the studette I am renting to the airport on the day of my departure. Emile readily agreed and promised to call back again after checking on the availability of his vans.

When he rang, he said he would ‘’guarantee pick up at 6 pm – the latest time the company could manage’’. What?! My flight is at 11.15 pm, and I had requested for pick up at 8.30 pm! What a good marketing chap he was, using words like ‘’guarantee’’ and saying that I could call just the day before to see if they have vans available at a later time. “I have put a special note here to say you request for a later time, you can even call to ask for me…’’

Too tired to argue, I asked what was the percentage of chances of changing the pick up time (he had replied ‘’good chance’’ but I had pushed him for a more precise answer!). ‘’About 80% chance you can change’’, he assured. I said OK and hung up, unconvinced. The minute I did that, I regretted and felt so stupid. I had forgotten to flirt, again! How many times male colleagues and friends have advised me to be less tough and to ‘’act the weak woman’’ and how many times have I simply refused or forgotten.

With Emile, I should have tried. Ya – do some whining and pleading and telling him how miserable it would be waiting for hours alone at the airport, how it was a mistake in the first place due to my carelessness and how he could please please please try and help me out...

After all he has been really friendly and reassuring and even jovial at times right from the beginning. ‘’Don’t worry, I’ll investigate’’ he said, when I told him about the non-arrival of his shuttle. ‘’No, I am not worried, I am just calling to say it did not turn up and since it’s over and nothing could be done, I wanted to negotiate for a return pick up on my departure instead,’’ I replied, very business-like, very logical, very no-nonsense.

‘’Of course, blah blah…’’ he went on. And even after fixing the 6 pm pick up, he rang a third time, to ask if I knew that the email confirmation had been sent to a different email id from the one I had booked…

A Most Pleasant Cab Ride
Come to think of it, I don’t regret not catching the shuttle on my arrival. I had a heart-warming conversation with the taxi-driver. It’s a pity I did not ask for his name. In life, we meet lots of one-time anonymous people/ friends but I would want to be remembered by a name. It’s nice to be called, ‘’hey Janet…’’ rather than, ‘’hey, Mr Taxi- driver’’.

Well, this Parisian Mr Taxi-driver told me a lot of things. He mentioned it was the end of school vacations and hence many were returning to Paris, and hence the busy airport and roads. He asked if I was familiar with Paris and said I spoke French very well.

I told him I had forgotten most of my French since I had taken it up ages ago but he said he could ‘’sense that you know the language very well, simply by listening and talking to you; it’s just that you might have lost your vocabulary and it should slowly come back.’’

‘’In any case, French is difficult – with all the verb conjugations and tenses – subjunctive, plus que parfait, blah blah blah, ‘’ he continued. I laughed; imagine talking grammar with a cab driver.

Grammar, places to visit (he was telling me about Sacre Coeur cathedral’s wall being made of a special stone), some stories (related to the country’s history and economy) about busy highways full of trucks (he even told me not to take certain routes if I drive in Paris!), history of France and weather details aside, he started telling me practically his life story, even the year he was born. Maybe he was friendly with me because his ex wife is Vietnamese.

He mentioned how he had custody of his daughter since she was six and how he had to work 60 hour week (‘’I can’t afford to work 35 hour week like some others’’) to raise his daughter single-handedly, pay for her education and for the debts his ex wife incurred after leaving him.

“I am proud of my daughter - she is now 23 - she went to Sorbonne and is now in the best communications school studying journalism’’. I could not catch the name of the school but I asked for her name instead (strange – I did not ask for his but for the daughter’s!). ‘’Bianca – it means white,’’ he replied. ‘’I wanted three daughters, but I have only one’’, he shrugged.

I asked if education was ‘’free’’ in France and it got him all worked up. Ask any French man about politics and he would get all passionate, animated and critical. He started saying the slogan ‘’liberte, egalite, fraternite’’ is so ‘’hypocritical’’… I could not catch some of his words but he basically was saying (if I understood him correctly) that education is expensive if you want to go to a good school and it’s certainly ‘’not free’’. Then he dragged in Villepin the Prime Minister and said how he sent his own son to private school instead of public school. ‘’If he said our public schools are so good then they should be good enough for his own son, right?’’

But my Mr Taxi-driver seems quite fair. Despite his raves and rants, he mentioned how he appreciates the health care system here. One does not pay a single euro for medical treatment, he said.

Very soon we arrived at my studette and he said it was in a nice ‘’chic’’ area, something about Boulevard Hausemann and how he admired the Baron…. He helped carry my luggage all the way to the door and pointed out the door buttons where I had to enter the code.

We exchanged au revoir’s and well wishes. As I turned away to struggle with the door code in the cold, my heart felt very warmed by the pleasant encounter. To most people, it may be just a casual conversation, but to me, it was a nice welcome to a foreign city. Sure, every city has taxi-drivers. This taxi-driver reminded me he is human, an individual (and not to be ‘’generalised’’), and despite his hard work to raise his daughter, he managed to be cheerful, friendly and made me very welcome. I silently wished Mr Taxi-driver and his Bianca every happiness, and a very bright future ahead.