A DAY TO FORGET

I love Paris. I have visited this city more than thirty times over the last sixty years, and I will continue to love it even after today. I have a warning, however, that might alert future travelers to one problem that had never occurred to me. I can’t say that what happened was operatic but it felt as though it could have been.

The day could not have been more beautiful. The trees are turning here; it was very bright, sunny, and warm for October. All began normally by my buying the International New York Times and a croissant. The problems began when my wife and I, plus a good friend visiting us from London, began our daily exploration of the many treasures this city possesses.

We took the Metro (or subway) to the Bastille stop. Walking on the passage to leave the station, we were met by a line of transit police asking to see our cancelled metro tickets. In Paris one buys a Metro ticket, runs it through a machine that opens a barrier so that one can enter the station. On one ticket you can travel anywhere you want in the city’s environs. I rarely ever travel any other way, because taxis are both expensive and slower than the Metro, a subway system that dates back, I think, to 1900, and is as good if not better than any other big-city system.

I have always done what I have seen many Parisians do: throw away the ticket in one of the many receptacles before one gets on the train. Many visitors to Paris, who ride the Metro a lot, buy tickets in lots of ten; many Parisians often buy some kind of pass that allows them to use the train by showing it.  I have, however, seen countless riders, clearly locals, throw their tickets away before boarding. One reason to do it is that the machine through which one goes to get into the station marks the tickets very slightly, and it’s easy to think that a used ticket has not been used. So it always seemed reasonable to throw it away.

Let me point out that in London there are signs everywhere saying that you must keep your cancelled ticket and show it to leave the station. In Berlin notices are posted to keep your ticket so as to show it to plain clothes officers (of which there are many) who walk through the train to make sure that you are within the time period allowed on the ticket. Since New York, for instance, does not have a means of checking whether you deserve to be riding the subway, I never thought it odd that no one ever checked in Paris. I have never seen a sign in any Metro station that told me to keep the ticket; since this happened, I have gone back to several stations, and certainly in two or three of the busiest stations, there are no signs.

The men stopped the three of us and asked for our cancelled tickets. We had none. We were told that each of us had to pay a 50 euro penalty (a little more than $50 dollars) for not having the tickets. The officer, seeing that we were all of an age where it was extremely unlikely that we had jumped over the entrance machine (actually in most stations it would be very difficult to do so), reduced the fine to 33 Euros a piece. We protested to no avail.

My objection is not that they demand to see the used tickets but that there is not a single sign that I can find that tells anyone that this is the law. So I advise anyone traveling to Paris: don’t ever throw away a used metro ticket until you are out of the station. It may have taken fifty years for this to happen to me, but be warned.

My misadventures on this Halloween did not end there. We walked to see the sculpture garden along the Seine, and my wife and our friend went to see the Asian Museum. I decided not to go with them but to walk to our apartment. Halfway there, I suddenly realized that I did not have the keys to the apartment. I also had no cell phone with me. I rarely use the telephone in Europe because of roaming charges.

The outer door of our apartment building demands a key, then another key for the inner door, one to make the elevator work, and finally a key to the apartment. I had no means of notifying anyone of my predicament. I wandered back to my apartment building and walked up and down in front of it for two hours. I went into an optician’s next door to look at some glasses, and the sales person asked me why she had seen me walking up and down in front of her window. When she heard, she said, “Oh yes. It’s so rare that most of us forget and throw away our used tickets, but they can get you.” She kindly offered her telephone, and I managed to reach my wife who was at that time about an hour-and-a-half away.

She and our friend arrived as soon as possible. I had walked in front of the apartment the whole time because I didn’t know when they would arrive, and I did get to see a large slice of Paris coming home after such a beautiful day. We were supposed to go out to dinner with another friend; my wife and our friend went; I stayed home. I will remember this Halloween a long time.