Three Parisian Nights

The high speed Thalys train to Paris gave us giddiness sometimes. It was like aeroplane on the land. The compartment was filled with Indonesian tourists. It seems they have come to Netherland on a package. A man in black uniform, looks like a train staff, on seeing us folded his hands and said `vanakkam’ and then he introduced that he is a Tamil from Srilanka, came as a refugee now a French citizen, working here. Guessing us we are from India he welcomed us using Tamil word, the only Tamil word he knows.  The Thalys train took roughly four hours to cover the 800 km distance from Amsetrdam to Paris. 

 

 

We crossed over to Belgium passed through Brussels and on the way a signboard showing direction to Zaventum airport was seen. It was at Zaventum airport in Brussels , the deadly bomb blast took place  a month ago. Throughput our journey we had feared for such disasters, though luckily nothing happened.  All public places in Europe, security measures are not up to the threat the region faces. Throughout our train journeys from country to country, nowhere our passports were asked for. It was needed only when we booked ticket to Paris at the Amsetrdam station.

On reaching Paris’ Gare –de- Nord railway station things were entirely different. A temporarily arranged security checking was there at the station. The passengers alighting and boarding the international trains were thoroughly being scrutinised. Police personnel in Black uniforms examined the passports vary carefully. Their body language and seriousness in the faces show how much they are scared and shocked by the serial bomb blasts in Paris and tragedy in the neighbouring Belgium.

France is still under the emergency law. The atmosphere really makes our less confident. We approached the information centre. We saw unfriendly faces everywhere. It seems no one even cared of listening a question asked in English. It is French everywhere.  Finally with the help of gestures and English we convinced one person at the information centre and got to know the way to reach the hotel little far away from the station.

On arrival itself Paris, about which I have heard and read a lot since childhood disappointed me. I thought of Paris as the most beautiful place in the world. I have read that Paris was the centre of culture, fashion, arts, film, music, architecture; renaissance etc…and peaceful. But to me Paris resembled some Asian capital cities. The rush, the chaos and uneasiness, we can feel in Asian cities. Paris altogether gave me is feeling.

Gare –de Nord is in the neibhouhood of a sprawling Asian market in which an Indian can buy anything we think exclusive to India, including saree ,glass bangles and even sindoor. The shops are mostly run by Srilankan Tamils and North Indian business houses. Outside the station, it was raining and we were without umbrellas. We walked in the rain to the taxi stand. Here we have spotted our Saravanabhavan and which gave us a lot comfort. Since it was not mealtime and having  luggage we chose to eat there after settling down at the hotel

The taxi took us through the busy streets. The streets and the hustle- bustle reminded us of Bangalore. While passing a fly over we have seen refugees have taken shelter under it. The comfort, the serenity, the safety feeling and the cleanliness we experienced in Germany and Netherland were not visible here. It took more than half an hour to reach the hotel.  It was at the end of somewhat calm residential area at St. Denis. And our hotel was on the bank of huge canal. From our window we could see the busy traffic through the canal.

At the Hotel reception, it was a mess. Being Sunday, no one was available for any work. The hotel manager was running here and there to arrange rooms for the guests. His black curly hair and dusky skin made us guess that he was from some Asian countries. His urge to provide the room for the family first assured us that he might be from some neibhouring countries. He was from Srilnaka. Yes, two weeks of stay in Europe made us experts in this guessing game. Colour of skin, eyes and, demeanour would definitely tell us a person belongs to which race and which country.

At the reception we continued waiting. Meanwhile, made friends with a mother-daughter duo from Dominican Republic. The daughter Lumi is a student in Madrid , Spain. Mother came to visit the daughter and they had set out for a tour. They are waiting for checkout and heading to Italy. Lumi talked non-stop in her Spanish laden English. At the moment she looked at me she pointed out to the bindi on my forehead and stated `you are from India’. She was full of admiration towards India, Indians, the colours, fat Indian weddings and the family system.

She told that her mother had an Indian friend and she knew so much about India. She has seen her wedding album, hence knew the fat, colourful Indian weddings. She is not at all happy about her country and culture. She may settle down in Spain. I told her to marry someone from India and settle there if she is so fascinated by India. She laughed loudly and translated it to her mother. Their taxi came and they rushed outside saying goodbye.

By the time our room was ready. It was deadly cold and raining. Anyway we decided to go out once the rain subsided. Since it was Sunday, it was completely deserted. No shops were open and even tram and bus services were closed. This is a major problem in Europe. On Sundays, everything would come to a stand still. Even in Hotels, they would close the restaurants on Sundays just like Malabar region especially Malappuram during Ramzan. But Transport would be available in Malabar.

I was tired and Paris did not rouse any enthusiasm in me. We wished to have some warm foo and water. Cold juice, cold water, cold food and that too in such weather, how these people survive? I wondered.  Anyway, in the next morning we decided to go for the city tour and went to the underground metro station as per the advice from the hotel reception. They also warned us to be very careful since the security situation is grim and the refugees are freely roaming around. Many incidents of thefts and snatching were being reported every day. The unmanned, unchecked underground metro station scared us. The unfriendly faces at the counter spoke something in French when we asked for tickets. Somehow we spotted a lady who understood English and with her help we took tickets and swiped it and entered the platform.

 All sign boards in the platform were in French. With another woman’s help we got in to a train and she communicated to us that we had to get down the same stop where she would. We followed her. Once got out of the train she told us to catch another train to reach our destination from a different platform and then she rushed away. We left clueless and finally decided to come out of the metro trap and look for a bus which would take us to our destination. We reached the Asian market nearby the railway station, Gara-de -Nord and had Indian food from Saravanbhavan and recharged really.

 Next day we set out for the city tour. We took the bus to Opera and from where we got in to city sightseeing bus. The bus first took us to the Notre-dame church. The church premises were brimming with tourists. Security checking was in place. The medieval Roman Catholic church is important to Christianity since its reliquary contains broken crown of thorns, a piece of true cross and holy nail. Its architecture beauty must be the main attraction for the tourists.

We had a stop at the opera, French victory column and finally at the Eiffel tower. At Gare-De Nord Asian market surroundings we have seen posters in French depicting Eiffel tower with the Islamic State flag flying on top of it. The sight of Eiffel tower reminded me of those posters I saw yesterday. The packed premises of the tower and the vendors running after each tourists made us uncomfortable. Snipers were present here and there, may be in the background of threat to the tower. Still we felt doubtful about the security arrangement. People of all races and hues were freely roaming around. How could a few snipers manage a terror attack? . In fact this constant fear of imminent terror strike doused our spirit in Paris. We dropped the idea of going up to the tower since the long queue at the ticket counter and the drizzling despite Ritvik’s long face.

The last day in Paris on April 27^th we decided to visit the nearby mall , more than  a kilometre away from our stay. We did shopping and had `Indian food’ from a Pakistani restaurant at the Maques mall. From our stay in Europe we understood one thing the brand `Indian’ enjoys market value. We did not see anything loudly announcing ‘Pakistani, Bangladeshi,  Afghani,  Srilankan etc… Instead they also market ` the brand name` Indian’.

Early morning we were ready. Two international airports are there in Paris. We had to go to the Charles de Gaulle (CDG) airport which is half an hour drive from our hotel. While waiting for the taxi, The Srilankan manager who was at the desk, told us about a police raid that night after some suspicious activities were noticed in the Hotel and surrounding area. He told that every day something related with terrorism happens and that badly affects their life.

 The French are really terrified and psychologically affected by the terror strikes. The manager told us these are quite new to the French government and the people, India has been used with the threat of jihadists for centuries and it culminated in the formation of Pakistan. ` you may find it strange, but here we are scared and feel very insecure’ he concluded while saying goodbye to us.

On reaching airport, again we felt disappointed. Anyone can enter till the check in counters. No checking at all. Remember it was at the check in counter, the blast killed many in the Brussels airport. While waiting for our turn we saw two policemen were combing the area with the help of a German Shepherd, Ritvik called out `Sundari’. We really missed our ` Sundari’ in the long stay abroad.

Finally on board , thinking about the chaos in the Abudhabi airport, I tried to sleep. Hunger has already died. So no need to open the food packets which definitely would not suit our palate. Now the only wish is to have some brown rice and sambar. From Abudhabi we had to change flight. Till Abudhabi it was Ethihad and from there it was Jet. They have code share agreement. Abudhabi airport is a mess. No system was in place. It was as if we have landed some railway station in India. The worst airport I have seen in India is Kozhikode. Seeing Abudhabi  I retracted from my earlier conclusion. Landing Bangalore and completed the formalities we came out relieved. In Kerala, it was the election time. Once the border crossed we could get the heat of it. Police stopped our car and took the details saying that they have to ensure no liquor is entering the state.   The first thing we have to do after reaching home is to bring back Sundari. She must be waiting for us..