Travel Reference
In-Depth Information
We arrived in Paris around dawn and descended from the bus, bleary eyed. I kept the two ag-
gressors in sight, watching them as they got their belongings together, though I wasn't really
wary of them as I was just too tired to be on guard. I then watched them with utter incredulity
as they ran off! They just scarpered! What a waste of effort. They had spent almost the en-
tire journey on some pointless crusade to intimidate and then they just disappeared for some
reason. Maybe on arrival they thought that a man who was prepared to wear a cravat on an
overnight bus journey wasn't actually someone you'd trifle with unnecessarily. Either way, it
was a surreal journey.
Even travelling on the Paris Metro was harder than usual as I got unwittingly caught up in an
accordion-busker turf war. I don't know whether it's the law, and it wouldn't surprise me if it
is, but buskers in Paris only ever play the accordion and apparently only have a repertoire of
about five songs. Normally I don't mind that. Accordion music is so much a part of the Parisi-
an stereotype that it feels comforting to have it wheezily bleating away in the background; I
know where I am and it makes a change from London buskers and their increasingly bizarre
'interpretations' of Simon and Garfunkel. The other difference with Parisian buskers is that
they are on the train with you; again that's not too much of a problem if the Metro is quiet or
if they're at the other end of the carriage.
This guy, though, was in my face. Literally in my face. Every time he pushed and pulled on
his accordion there would be accompanying percussion as the metal buttons on my coat got
caught up in his squeeze box; something he resented enormously, clearly regarding passen-
gers on the Metro as a hindrance to his performance. There was nowhere to go, though, the
tube was jam-packed, but rather than get off and wait for a quieter train he just ploughed on
regardless, breathing God knows what kind of fiery liquor right at me.
Just before the stop at Jacques Bonsergent he appeared to accept defeat and just stopped his
version of 'La Mer' mid-beat, but as he did so another accordion started up at the other end
of the carriage clearly causing massive effrontery to 'my' man who immediately dived into a
stirring, if slightly tuneless rendition of 'La Marseillaise'. This upped the ante from the inter-
loper who, like a DJ mixing tunes at a deck, seamlessly switched from 'Coeur Vagabond' to
'Sous le Ciel de Paris', barely missing a beat. This toing and froing continued for another few
minutes, each round played more aggressively than the last and sounding like a sweary row
between two drunken dolphins, until from the other end of the carriage came the killer blow:
'Je Ne Regrette Rien' played, it has to be said, with some skill - but not only that, the other
guy was singing too! My God it was awful, but as with most Edith Piaf songs, tune isn't the
point, it's the passion that counts and this bloke was giving it both barrels.
There could be only one winner and my man stopped playing, looked up into my eyes and
shrugged in acknowledgement of his defeat. As he did so his accordion got trapped on one
of my buttons, so not only did he lose in the duelling accordions battle, he had to suffer the
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