3 Petite Stories From France

“Tip Up Seats”

After moderating a “panel” discussion (more like the audience debate) on convergence in mobile and broadband and internet networks (e.g. Triple Play/Quad Play) at a conference in London, my colleague David and myself headed to St. Pancras to catch the Eurostar to Paris for meetings (today) in Paris. It had already been a long day, and I needed to catch an earlier train to make an important conference call that was due to start at 2300 Paris time.

Of course, I had the discounted, non-refundable, non-flexible fare that would be difficult to change. After negotiating with the ticket agent in the train station, he was able to switch me to the 1730 train instead of the 1930. When we went through the automated ticket machine to board, my ticket was rejected and I was sent to the agent. She pointed out that I had a “tip up seat” and did I understand that? My first thought was this was some kind of upgrade and I was immediately happy. But wait, she explained that the “tip up seat” was the temporary jumpseat in the front of the train, and after I boarded and everyone had also – I could kind of run for any available seats, otherwise I’d be destined to sit in this temporary seat.

Luckily, David convinced me to grab an empty seat next to him. This was ok, until a man boarded at the only stop past London to Paris. I tried to fake sleeping but he knew I was just playing possum. David moved to another seat and squatted and let me take the seat I had next to the new man. This remained open the entire journey and I never got to experience the “tip up seat” – but if you ever do – just remember it is no upgrade!  Tip-up = bad idea!

Martine and Priva

After arriving at Gar De Nord station in Paris, we rushed immediately to get in the taxi queue. I had deferred going to take a piss, to run with David to try to beat the other travelers also trying to get taxis. No such luck. The queue was miles long, and with rain and cold and wind and a full bladder, it was an uncomfortable wait at best after a long day. We finally get to the front and the taxi that is assigned for us has three distinctions:

1) driven by a woman

2) cigarette smoke comes pouring out

3) there is a dog in the front seat.

Of course I had to know everything there was to know. I found out that

1) the dog’s name was Priva

2) he was 9 years old

3) he was a Cocker Spainel

4) he went everywhere with the driver – she did not leave him alone.

The driver’s name was Martine and she spoke some English but mostly French that David translated. We talked about dogs for awhile and she agreed to let me take a picture of her and Priva when we got to my hotel. Somewhere as you read this, Martine and Priva are driving the streets of Paris smoking and barking!

Hotel rooms that do not exist

OK, so after the two fun stories above, I finally get to the Concorde Hotel in Paris to check in. Now, I had booked a special rate on hotels.com but I did expect a room with a door and a bed (how unreasonable!). I got a room on the 2^nd floor (of a 30 floor hotel) which kind of worried me as I had stayed here a few times before. I’ve gotten lucky the last 2 or 3 times at least with a fantastic direct view of the Eiffel Tower.

I took the lift to the 2^nd floor and looked for the signs pointing to 0219. One way was like 0201-0207 and the other direction was 0208-0221. Except that 0208-0221 was construction door that was bolted shut – not a good sign! I pried open the door thinking this was weird and was greeted with the view of half-constructed rooms that were not really finished and the whole hallway was like a ghost town of no doors and no furniture and no bed rooms. Oh, and it smelled like paint and cleaning fluids and chemicals and everything that made me cough. I’m thinking this is not a good thing with the marathon coming up and a long conference board call coming up near midnight.

I gathered up my belongings and went down to reception, waited in the short queue again, and told the new cashier, “could I please have a real room?”. I then explained the situation and she said there were real rooms and that I just needed to find them. I told her to send someone to show me where they were. So, she got the manager and he walked with me to the floor. Where – we went through the “secret” service door, another fire door, past the pantry, down the rabbit hole, to a few rooms which had been reconstructed and indeed had a bed and furniture. The internet even worked and I was able to take my call and even get a few hours rest.

The morale of the story – some rooms really exist, not just in your mind! But make sure you take a guide …..

Footnote

I was writing the above on the train back from Paris to London and I ran for the earlier train like no one had ever run before to just get on board as the doors were closing. Sweat running down my shirt, panting from exhaustion and elation and shuttling my belongings on the train. Only to hear that dreaded announcement in French – which I could decipher was a “problem” and then in English that there was an issue with the train and we would have to deboard and take a new one. An hour later we did that. When my seatmate ordered red wine, I thought nothing of it as I was typing this post. Until I saw red liquid running down my left pants leg, which was the wine obviously. I stopped typing and said “Fuck!” and asked the stewards to get me some towels and stuff. Which they did and I put away the PC to finish on the way into the station in London, where this story will be posted later on Halloween when I get back to the hotel. Moral – always watch your seatmate and their wine!!!