(GENEVA, SWZ) I rarely share my adventures with readers simply because… who cares what a Canadian does (beer… blah, blah…. Hockey... blah, blah…. Doughnuts… its all been done before)?! However, I’m going to make a special exception today because people need to be warned – the world needs to be warned about Gare du Nord.

I’ve been through Gare du Nord (GRD), the preeminent rail station in Paris, a half-dozen times or so in the last couple of years. Traveling to and from GRD via Eurostar is a breeze; other rail lines are a little more chaotic, but manageable if you’re not in a rush; the RER is a f—king nightmare.

Yes, I swore on this blog – for the first time in the nearly four years I’ve been writing it. Let me repeat myself for the record – just in case you thought I was drunk or just slipped on the keyboard –the Gare du Nord – RER combo is a f—king nightmare. (Caveat: this Swiss beer I’m presently drinking – only my first today so I’m quite lucent thank you – isn’t helping my mood, nor is the Geneva Airport, one of the most annoying in the Western world… good thing I’m not in Tampa drinking Busch Light).

Where to begin…

1-     Behemoth - If you’ve never been through GRD then it’s worth a look at some point. But if you’re traveling into Paris or traveling by rail, it’s very difficult to avoid. As far as I know, it’s the biggest rail station in the World (I’m not a rail roadie though so I’m only guessing… it dwarfs Waterloo in London. If there’s a bigger one then I’m damned impressed.). GRD is a monstrous network and labyrinth of rail tracks, caverns, cafes and tens-of-thousands of people (I swear there was 150,000 people there today at 2pm when I was passing through) divided into multiple levels, untold sections, hundreds of platforms and spread amongst hundreds of retail outlets and ancillary services. You’ve heard of the 10,000 pound gorilla? This is the million pound uncle – whacked-out on baguettes and Merlot, and really friggin’ mean, smelly, and vengeful.

2-     Signage – Hartsfield (Atlanta) and O’Hare (Chicago) International Airports are behemoths. Last time I checked, they were #1 and #2 in the World in terms of total passenger and cargo traffic; phenomenally complex cities that are stunning in their magnitude. Despite their size and complexity, it’s easy to get around these two giant airport cities because the signage and layout is so well done, and the terminals are so well organized (yes, flight delays at O’Hare are unrelated and an entirely different blog). Bear with me here… I’m building up to a point before the Swiss beer buzz kicks-in. The layout and signage at Gare du Nord... well it sucks – it sucks eggs (oeufs en francaise… or ‘ass’ if you’re on the playground). There are signs on the floor, sandwich type boards, signs on the walls, signs hanging from the ceiling, sign posts mounted on the floor, television screens of all kinds and sizes everywhere, and signs waved in your face by drivers and gypsies begging for money (or out-in-out stealing it from your pockets… more on those urchins in a bit). But these signs don’t help… they confuse, distract, and bewilder. Oh, they also come in all shapes, sizes, colours and fonts too. The signage is so bad, and the layout and organization of all the platforms, tracks, levels, and lines are so garishly awful, that station employees and other Parisian’s are confounded. I waited 30 minutes on one track after two different people, and one station employee (security guard) had told me to do so… and they frequent the place… only to find I was waiting on the wrong platform. The locals were confused; and all I was trying to find was the line to one of the world’s biggest airports, Charles de Gualle!!!!!

3-     Pick-pockets – The pick-pockets are bad (though I’ve never been burned as I’m too paranoid and hawkish)… but the wandering gang types are truly wonderful: they make English football hooligans look downright seductive. Aggressive street types openly wander the areas waiting to make eye contact so that they can start up a conversation, usually initiated with a “Can you spare a cigarette, buddy?” But there’s nothing ‘buddy’ about the approach or their tone… the question is not so much a query as it is a statement: “Answer my question so I have an invitation to murder you for what ever measly Euros are in your pocket because I need crystal meth something bad.” One guy asked me for change and I just ignored him without saying anything (really it’s the best policy as you most definitely want to avoid physical contact, and absolutely don’t want to get into a conversation that could distract you while his buddy robs and rapes you). This particular Don Juan didn’t take kindly to the silent treatment and started yelling at me while following me through the crowd. I’m pretty certain he had a ‘shiv’ and was gonna shank me, but I wasn’t too worried as there’s always an elite commando squadron close by. “Hah, ha Toby, very funny…” You’re thinking the Swiss beer has finally kicked in and I’m exaggerating for affect, but no, I’ve now switched to Carlsberg (god bless those Danes) and I’m quite sober thank you. In all seriousness, there are combat squads patrolling the station… multiple squads. Not single guys, or pairs, but they patrol in formations of three – two in the front, and one in the back. And they have machine guns; not on their shoulders, or over the back, or in a case, but guns-in-hand, at-the-ready, with their fingers on the trigger guards. Full fatigues, battle-ready, army personnel. You ever see Aliens (not the first, but the sequel)? Those are the bad-asses prowling GRD, and they’re everywhere. Okay, I’ve painted a bit of a canvass for you and I’ve barely scratched the surface…

4-     Tickets – God this one is painful and maddening to write about; the dentist or a Barry Manilow marathon are joyous holidays in comparison. I don’t know who in the hell is in charge of ticket systems at GRD, but they should be fired – instantly. Do they still have the guillotine hanging around from that little revolution they had…?!?!? I’m going to spare you most of the details here but I’ll summarize: their ticket machines don’t take credit cards (most of the time; they work some of the time… but most of the time they ask for your PIN or reject your card outright. PIN?!? For a credit card purchase?!?! Who in the hell remembers that?!?!). Your debit card won’t work either; the machines don’t take cash; and unless you have 12 euros in coins tearing a seam in your pocket, you’re S.O.L because there’s no change machines either!!!! The only thing these idiot boxes take is change and there are no change machines!!!! But they’re very pretty machines… wonderful colours. So they’re trying to sell you tickets, but you cannot buy them. But you’ll discover this after you wait in line at the machine for 15 minutes while all the other folks ahead of you try and figure out how to pay for a ticket and storm-off fuming with the frustration you’re about to wear like a Dick Cheney hangover from a hunting party. There was a couple with a child that up-and-left and went to hire a driver to take them to the airport… (the taxi line-up at GRD is another blog unto itself). Sadly, I wasn’t as smart. So now what…? You have to go buy a ticket from a human. Okay that’s reasonable, right? Get in line. The line is 30-people deep and your flight leaves from Charles de Gualle in 60 minutes – and you’re still in the purgatory otherwise known as Gare du Nord. Once you finally get your ticket, avoid certain death from a street thug, and survive the maze that could easily have doubled for the one that claimed Johnny in “The Shining”, now you’re ready to find your train…. That’s the funnest (go back and read paragraphs #1 and #2 again).

I could go on but I think you get the point: the next time you’re in Paris, take a taxi to the airport.

PS – The Danes make good beer, the Swiss don’t… but they’re all owned by the Belgians. But now that I’ve got the aforementioned off my chest, I’m just a happy Canadian on my way to Portugal. Cuidado!

PSS – I normally read history and business books, but my Kruschev biography is too big and heavy for this trip… so I bought and am half-way through the autobiography of Slash, lead guitarist for Guns ‘N Roses and Velvet Revolver. In a word, it’s frigging awesome! What insanity and debauchery… it doesn’t matter if you don’t like the music or disapprove of the scene or rock n’ roll lifestyle, this is a must-read look into the music world without the MTV filter, make-up, and half-rate PR shroud. Anyone read Nicky Sixx's book? Recommend?

BOOKMARK THIS:

 Digg this     Post to del.icio.us     Post to Slashdot     reddit     

Facebook     StumbleUpon    Add to Technorati Faves