Tag Archives: Metro

The Road to Diamond, Day 323: The Goodwill of Immigrants

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Posted by on in Community, Historical, Inspiration, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

October 16,2025, Le Havre– I left Metz, after a sumptuous breakfast in Hotel Escurial’s fine restaurant. The train ride to Paris Est was uneventful, though the French countryside is always a tonic for the soul. Once in Paris, I asked an African immigrant, a security guard, where to find the bus to Gare St. Lazare, from which trains to Normandy and Brittany are dispatched. He personally favoured the Metro, but with baggage to handle, I was in no mood for the grifters and pickpockets who hang out in all too many Metro stations. He then directed me to the area south of the train station, where buses arrive and depart.

After a few minutes of asking around, I spotted the bus that goes to St. Lazare. Another young immigrant was getting set to start his driving shift, and invited me on, sans ticket. He maneuvered swiftly through Paris traffic, and we were near St. Lazare, with plenty of time to spare before my train to Rouen and Le Havre was set to depart. His “price”? I had to get off two stops later and walk back. “No one can have everything”, he said, knowingly. It was no big deal.

In 2014, I was on another train to Rouen, and we passed through a suburb called Mantes-La Jolie. My seat mate pointed out that there was little “jolie” about the town. This time, though, Mantes-La Jolie presented a clean, upbeat appearance-even lacking the graffiti that seems to be universal elsewhere across Europe.

Rouen, too, seemed a tad happier a place than what I saw eleven years ago. For that matter, at least in the above-ground gathering places and along surface streets, I felt perfectly safe in Paris as well. The hype about “crime-ridden France” seems to be just that-a false flag. The train strikes of two weeks ago are a blip.

It was in an upbeat mood, bolstered by the kind, if snarky, immigrants who I encountered everywhere, that I found myself in the shiny port and university city of Le Havre. I had half expected a gritty seaport. There was none of that, and I walked a short distance to JOST (Joy of Sharing Together) Hostel. It is the closest lodging to any train station thus far, except for Helsingor. It also has a Food Court, with six restaurants under the auspices of one bar. I chose a northern Italian option.

The University quarter of Le Havre is a place of great modern art and architecture. Here are a few scenes.

JOST Hostel. I was “only” on the fourth floor.
Pole- Simone Veil. This social and sport event center is named for the late magistrate Simone Veil, who was a survivor of the Holocaust of 1941-45. She became the first President of the directly-elected European Parliament, in 1979. In her years of recovery from the horrors of war, Simone Veil was a champion of women’s rights in France and across Europe. She died in 2017, at the age of 89.
Enclosed arbor, Allee Aimee Cesar. The great social activist from Martinique offered a thought which is apt for people like me, who visit different places, almost with abandon. “Beware, my body and my soul, beware above all of crossing your arms and assuming the sterile attitude of the spectator, for life is not a spectacle, a sea of griefs is not a proscenium, and a man who wails is not a dancing bear.” It is indeed the duty of the traveler to show empathy with those visited.
Rue Le Sueur
Sidewalk cafe, Place Le Sueur
Torso in Action, Place Le Sueur

Le Havre has indeed cast off its former image as a gritty port, and is fully embracing the vibrant commercial culture that has continued across the English Channel, despite BREXIT and largely because of, rather than despite, the Chunnel. I will have time, tomorrow morning, to more fully look around this energetic port.

The Road to Diamond, Day 293: The Freebie

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Posted by on in collaborating, Historical, impediments, Personal Values, Social, Spiritual, Striving, Travel

September 16,2025, Nynashamn, Stockholm County- The monitor scratched his head, when I asked where I should tap my card to pay for the train ride from Stockholm to here. “There ought to have been a green gate”, he said quizzically, “but you are here and did not get stopped. It appears you have a free ride.”

This is unusual, but as it turned out, he was correct. No one who looked to be over 65 was charged for the train ride. I will take the bonus. There was likely some point in this journey where I overpaid for transport. Thus, there was a rebate from the Cosmos.

Stockholm, with its ornate buildings, well-curated parks and celebrated heritage, is for now a genial memory. The impossibly crowded hostel of Saturday night became more manageable, almost empty on Sunday night and mildly occupied on Monday. As I checked out of my room and organized my bags, a large group came in. The day manager’s scowl only deepened, but his dissatisfaction with the place and the situation, whatever the cause, can only be helped if he speaks up.

I made it from Radhus Station, about 300 meters from the hostel, to Nynashamn Train Station, in about an hour. There was one Metro Train, a 1/2 mile walk and clear instructions to the commuter train that brought me here. The language may be different, but it is not unintelligible. Besides, there are enough people just about everywhere who can speak English.

Nynashamn is a small city, with my hostel about 2.3 miles from the Train Station. I was let off at the top of a hill, near some apartment buildings. After waiting out the rain by standing under a tree, I asked an apartment maintenance worker where First Camp was. He led me to the trail that took me the rest of the way. I was able to connect with the manager, after ten minutes, and am now the sole guest of First Camp Hostel, for the next day or so.

A walk to Nynashamn’s center led to upholding a tradition-Taco Tuesday! Taco Bar is open and thriving-and while there is no discernible salsa, beans or rice, the tacos and enchiladas are faithful to my expectations. First Camp definitely meets those expectations as well. Time with friends will follow, tomorrow, rain or shine.

The Road to 65, Mile 350: What Paris Taught Me

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Posted by on in Assistance, Community, Inspiration, Travel

November 13, 2015, Phoenix- I spent a good part of the day here, taking my third and last Elementary Certification Test.  While my day, to and from this bustling city, was peaceful, Paris’s Friday was the opposite.  DASH, or IS, or whatever the relics of medievalism call themselves, cast the City of Light in mayhem and blood.

With 129, or more, innocent people slaughtered, I am on my knees in homage to the great city, which welcomed me in June, 2014.  My adulthood has been late in blooming, and Paris gave me some key lessons, in that regard.

I learned:  Two very different places, within the same city, can have the same, or very similar names.  So, I trudged up the hill, to beautiful Montmartre, only to have a tourist office clerk patiently explain that my hotel would be found on Rue de Montmartre- down the hill, in central Paris.

I learned that French people can be quite annoyed with a visitor’s foibles, yet still provide fine service- this at my hotel, and again at the France Pass counter, in the west train station.

I learned that, even if one is slightly less than punctual, a tour guide is willing to take one into the group- once.  I didn’t chance being a few minutes late, the second time, though.

I learned that I was fully capable of catching, and dodging, the various ruses used by the “Gold Ring Grifters” and the subway “Card Swipers” (whose “service” consisted of swiping one subway ticket through the card reader, in hopes of a 200 Euro tip.)

I learned that Paris, with all its majesty, its splendour, its sheer humanity, has room for one more, regardless of background, status or appearance.  I also learned that its Metro cars are not like those of Tokyo.  There are no pushers, cramming people in.  On the Metro, the one more must often wait for the next train.

Still and all, when I return to Paris, perhaps in the summer of 2018, or five years hence, I will find a welcoming presence, expecting one who is a bit wiser in the ways of La Luminee.  We shall not disappoint each other.  I feel your sorrow, your pain, mon coeur.