There my praise must end. The cars were dirty, with graffiti and chewing gum all over.
It was hot. They don't do air conditioning, because you don't need it-- when you're above ground and there's ventilation. On the metro, in your jacket and jeans, you are H.O.T.
It was crowded. The fact that I did not generally achieve a seat, and the fact that I don't have good balance, both lead me to some anecdotes.
Once I completely fell over as the metro came to a stop, and slammed into a middle aged plump woman, and felt awful-- she was French, we couldn't understand each other's language-- but she was very kind and cheerful. I imagine she was saying "Aren't you cute? Oh, no, dearie, it's fine."
Another time I needed a pole-- it was the pole or the ground, and I preferred the pole option-- and I grabbed the closest one. Turns out my desperate arm had flung itself between two lovers.
I have never felt so awkward in my life. They say the French are lovers not fighters, and my arm can attest to that. When once I had withdrawn it (as soon as I felt the slightest bit of balance might have been achieved maybe), the two were becoming one and that pole was no longer an option. No gaps, even for a desperate arm. They must have been taking a breather when my arm first broke through to the pole.
When it comes to falling on the ground or clinging to a pole in between two young, self-absorbed foreign lovers, I'll take the ground.
My favorite thing that happened while on the metro was when a skinny, unkempt man hopped onto the metro a few feet from me (only a few of us were standing that particular trip), took up his equally unkempt violin and began to play. He was really good; it made the trip for me.
