When life hands you transit strikes...make pizza!

Back in October, while everyone at home was enjoying America’s National Pastime and watching the Red Sox win the World Series, the French were enjoying their own National Pastime...striking. Yes that’s right. America has baseball, France has social protest. And like all good sports, there are rules. (As much as I supported the concept, I think the stunningly rapid failure of the XFL proved conclusively that you lose something when there are no rules to the game...) The unions have to give a heads-up to the government that they are going to strike, so at least you know about it in advance and can somewhat prepare for it. I enjoyed listening to some of the first-timers at school talk in anxious/excited tones about the impending strike and the rumors and what would happen to the city without the metro. To Parisians, and anyone who has ever been a temporary Parisian, strikes are just a fact of life. They illicit exasperated sighs, rolled eyes, and a multitude of other gestures that are so French they are hard to describe to someone who has never seen them, but they don’t cause surprise or confusion. As I told some of the students during the methodology course in September when everyone was new to Paris: if you spend any significant amount of time in Paris you will experience a strike. It isn’t a question of “if”, only a question of “when” and “for how long”. I think the last time I was here there were at least 3 transit strikes and 1 postal strike, though none were major. This one, however, was supposed to be a big one: the first social test of Sarkozy’s presidency.

This particular strike started with the rail workers of the SNCF and spread to include the public transit workers of the RATP, as well as the major gas and electric companies. The problem was that Sarkozy is reforming the pension plans of the rail workers and they were none too happy about it. Since the French will strike over every little thing (getting their dry cleaning paid for, wanting to work 34 and not 35 hours a week, not enough free pastry in the break room...okay so I made that last one up, but you get the idea) I will give them credit for at least picking a more important issue as a reason to bring mass transportation to a halt this time around. See, back in the day when working on the rails was a very dangerous and demanding job, the French government, in all it’s socialist brilliance, decided to set up a “special regime” for the workers in these demanding jobs where they could retire by 50 and live on full pension the rest of their lives. This was all well-and-good back when the jobs were very dangerous and the men retiring at 50 usually didn’t live much past 60. However, since then, thanks to technology and health care, the jobs aren’t as demanding and the workers are living to 80+ years on a full government salary. It doesn’t take a rocket surgeon to realize that a state, even one with insanely high taxes, can’t possibly support that kind of financial commitment for long. So Sarkozy announced plans to reform these “special regimes” because it was costing the government billions of dollars. And honestly, the reforms aren’t even that drastic. (I’m simplifying since I’m sure there is more to it, but this is just the basic gist) It’s a step-by-step process and right now it was just a matter of requiring an extra 2.5 years before retirement on full pension.
The HORROR! Having to wait til you are 52 to retire?! It’s like slave labor!
At least that’s how the unions reacted. I was reading some of their rhetoric in the papers and the way their leaders talked, wow. One basically said that if these reforms go through, Sarkozy will have destroyed everything the “people” have been fighting for since the French Revolution. Seriously. He said that.
The problem with this strike is that it was an unpopular strike. Sometimes the strikes are effective because the citizens agree with or pity the workers and want the government to cave. This is not one such case. The French all want the reforms. They elected Sarkozy on a reformist platform. They recognize that it is a necessary step, and they don’t want Sarko giving in. He has very high approval ratings right now, and polls of people about their support of the strike showed an overwhelming percentage in support of the government. So that tells you right off the bat that it’s not going to be an easy battle since there won’t be any pressure on the government coming from the rest of the populace. And everyone knew that going in. Sarko wasn’t going to give in. He couldn’t. This was his first major strike as president. It was an obvious test of his mettle, and if he conceded anything to the unions he might as well pack his bags and head to Tunisia on a 4 year vacation because he wouldn’t be doing much more presidenting for the rest of his term.

I kept hoping that they would cancel class for the day of the strike. I mean, you have students who live outside the city with almost no way of getting there. But alas, t’was not the case. The strike started Wednesday night at 8. I only had one class Thursday morning and attendance is not taken so I could have just not gone, but we all know I am too much of a goody-goody to do that. Cassie is in that same class with me, and since she lives down in Sevres which is just outside the city limits, she was going to have a real hard time making it in. I don’t live real close to school, but it’s a lot easier to get there from my place than Cassie’s so we decided Cassie should spend the night at my place to make getting to school more convenient since we could walk if necessary. (When transit strikes happen public transit doesn’t shut down 100%, but it is severely reduced. Different lines have metros running at different frequencies. For example anywhere from 1/2 trains - 1/10 trains will be running. Which means that if you are going to try to take the metro, instead of waiting 4-5 mins, you could end up waiting 12-45 mins for a train and then it’s a crap-shoot whether or not you will be able to fit on it. Metro trains look like clown cars on strike days. More people than you ever thought possible in such a small space. So technically you can still try your luck with public transportation on those days, but it is better to avoid it if at all possible.)

So we decided since Cassie was coming over, we’d have a good ol’ fashioned sleepover. Cook dinner, watch a movie, have some fun... and then wake up real early to walk across the city of Paris in the dark and cold to get to our thrilling foreign policy class. My motto is: when life hands you transit strikes...make pizza. At least that’s what we decided to do this time around. We went to the Monoprix and Cassie discovered pre-rolled pizza dough. the only problem was that they didn’t have any of what we Americans consider “normal” pizza fixings so we had to improvise. No pizza sauce? A jar of Barilla Napoletana pasta sauce will do. No shredded mozzarella? Awkwardly sliced Tomme Noir des Pyrennes will suffice. No pepperoni? Smoked garlic sausage chopped into hunks. And some bell peppers for good measure. We weren’t sure our creation would turn out because 1) we were improvising with stuff we weren’t sure worked for pizza and 2) I had never used my oven before. But we figured at least it would be fun trying, and it was. That was some pretty tasty pizza if I do say so myself. I was glad to finally be able to put one check mark under the column of “Successful Paris food experiments” since I filled up the “Disasters” column then Lori and I tried to cook here in ‘05 with the “Mint-chocolate Mousse Fiasco” and the “Cambodian Rice Mush Incident.”
After our delicious homemade pizza, we settled down to watch “Funny Face” because Cassie likes Audrey Hepburn and I was horrified that she hadn’t seen it yet considering that it is set in Paris. (I highly recommend it for anyone who likes Paris/Audrey Hepburn/ old movies/musicals.) And then we crashed because class started at 8 and we had to leave by 7 since we didn’t know how long it would take to get there.

Thursday morning came and we rose and bundled up to head out onto the dark Paris streets to join hundreds of other Parisians trekking to work and school. We mapped out our route online the night before and determined that it shouldn’t take more than 45 mins to walk. I was glad for the company because the walk seemed to pass much more quickly with companionship and good conversation. It was really quite a lovely walk because of the landmarks we passed. We walked through the empty courtyard of the Louvre with it’s illuminated facade glowing gold against the still-dark sky, and emerged onto the bridge across the Seine just as the east began to lighten. I had to stop for a moment on the bridge. Standing there in the predawn chill, the view down the Seine was remarkable. The city still shrouded in shadows, the glow of street lamps and illuminated monuments, the spires of Notre Dame silhouetted against the first colors of morning creeping up from the horizon while the dark Seine swirled silently beneath the bridge. One of the most beautiful views of Paris I’ve experienced. It made walking halfway across the city at 7 in the morning worth it.

We arrived to Sciences Po at about 7:45, went and got our newspapers, and read until class started. Numbers were quite small, about 15 out of a class of 50. Afterwards I went and sat down in the cafe with some other intrepid students and hung out, ate a sandwich, fortified myself for the walk home, and told Cassie that if the strike wasn’t lifted that evening she was always welcome to crash at my place again.

I went home and decided that it might be cool to go check out the big rally that all the unions were having that afternoon. Of course I had to walk to get there, and it was a long walk, but it gave me a chance to see parts of the city that I probably wouldn’t have taken time to explore otherwise. I went down to the march route. They were going from Place de la republique to Place de Nation. I don’t know what i expected, but it was more like a street festival than a riot it seemed to me. The various syndicates were amassing around the statue in the square and street vendors were setting up, music was playing, big balloons and colorful signs everywhere. I walked down the route a bit with people handing me fliers and stickers explaining their grievances and reading the various organizations represented. It is so weird for me, coming from America where communism is still seen as the great evil, to adjust to a country where the communist party is open and active. When I see the communists in their red shirts and “pure left” signs, I have to resist my instinctive urge to start blacklisting movie stars and carpet-bomb Hanoi.

Anyhoot, I set up along the route and pretty soon here came the parade. They march with their syndicate and carry banners and chant things, and the rowdier ones light flares and yell while they carry half empty bottles of scotch. It is a smokey and loud affair, but rather entertaining because when you look at some of the people in the march you have to think that they don’t have any idea why they are protesting. I had my fill of social unrest and commies so I made the long haul home and tried to wash the smell of flare-smoke out of my hair.

The strike was held over and Cassie couldn’t get home easily, so she came to spend another night which was fine by me since I don’t have class on Fridays. The strike was supposed to be gradually lifting, meaning that traffic should be returning to normal throughout the day, but there is no guarantee.
Unfortunately, Friday was the Fall Family festival at Emmanuel and I had volunteered to help and I was in a quandary about how to get out to Rueil without consistent buses or RERs running. I asked around but no one who lived in the city with a car was going to try to make it out. I was getting disappointed because I had really been looking forward to such a typically American festival. Luckily, a friend called to say that another friend of ours who lives in Rueil and has a car was going to drive in to pick up the few of us who needed a ride. So that evening, dressed as Halloweeny as I could and still be warm, I went out to meet them on the edge of town. All the girls were there waiting, but our ride hadn’t turned up and he was pretty late. We called and found out that he was stuck in the traffic around the 4 lane round-a-bout that we were standing by and had been for about half an hour. Traffic was horrendous because everyone who doesn’t normally drive was driving because of the lack of public transportation, plus it was a Friday evening. Eventually Amadeo made it and we all piled into his car and held on as he exhibited a true big-city driver’s finesse while managing to cross about 5 ill-defined lanes of stop-and-go traffic at once without getting rear-ended or being hit by a motorcyclist. That was just the beginning though because traffic was horrible all the way out to Rueil and we were quite late, but not too late to help.

The festival was a lot of fun. Dozens of families, many who were French and aren’t members of Emmanuel, showed up with kids in a variety of costumes. They had trick-or-treating set up in the neighborhood and then games set up inside which is what we were in charge of running. I somehow ended up running the cakewalk, sometimes in 2 languages. That was interesting. And all I had was a radio and somehow managed to find a country-music station. So all the European kids not only got to learn about Halloween and American food (we were serving nachos, chili-chese dogs, sugar cookies, brownies, etc. and DR. PEPPER!), but they were also introduced to the wonders of Alan Jackson and George Strait. When we weren’t running the games, we got to snag some of the American junk food and candy and goof-off a bit ourselves. I tucked a Dr. Pepper in my purse to save for a rainy day. Actually, to save for a day when I am reeeeally missing the U.S. of A. Once all the little ghouls and goblins had taken their loot and headed home, those of us needing a ride back into the city all piled into Amadeo’s car again. We had more people than seats so it’s a good thing Miwa is from Singapore and small. We got back into Paris and it wasn’t real late yet so Amadeo suggested going to hang out. We were close to the Arc de triumph so he parked and we all walked down the Champs Elysee, stopped to watch some breakdancing on the street, and then found an all-night café where we got hot chocolate and sat upstairs and talked and joked around for a while. At one point we were talking about mascots and rugby and countries and such. This is how the conversation went:
Me: “Why is France represented by a rooster?!”
Sarah A.: “I don’t know. What does a rooster even do?”
Me:” They run around frantically and squawk at you.”
Sarah A.: “........yeah, that sounds pretty French to me”

Sarkozy didn’t give in. Traffic returned to normal. And that is how I spent the most “serious strike since 1995.”

A bientot!