|Paris Métro - World Wandering Kiwi|
I am at work, which is admittedly some hinderance to my desire to sort and refresh, but it is a quiet day with little else to do so I pull my bag out from under the desk. I fish out my wallet and start pulling items from it, laying them out on the desk in front of me. I find bank cards, loyalty cards, coupons, and receipts. I also find my old library card, railcard, and a multitude of pieces of paper with shopping lists and notes scribbled on them. I honestly have no idea where this huge collection of rubbish comes from, or why it seems to be magnatised to my wallet of all places.
When I finally think I have removed everything and thrown away the junk I do not wish to keep, I give the wallet a final shake to dislodge the dust lurking in the pockets and folds. Something else falls onto the desk in front of me; a small rectangular card, which is no longer than my thumb, with a black strip lengthways across the back. I turn it over and see the familiar markings; 'Optile', 'RATP', 'SNCF', 'Ticket'. It is an old métro ticket, much smaller than their orange and green British counterparts, and much more easily lost.
I hold it up between my thumb and forefinger and look it over, searching for some indication as to what journey it represented but I do not understand all the symbols printed on it. I think back to January when Emily and I took our Honeymoon in Paris. We travelled several times by Métro, no doubt our awestruck expressions were the tattooes of 'les Anglais'. Trains running on-time? Unheard of! Space enough to stand at the very least? Outrageous! It costs less than a two course lunch? I simply don't believe you!
We made the unconcious decision to walk as much as we could while we were there (between the monuments, in these back-stage areas, most cities have a tendancy to all look alike, but every inch of Paris could only be Paris), but sometimes we were just too exhausted or the trip was just too long. That is when we would hop on the métro.