Lignes 3bis (Gambetta–Porte des Lilas) and 7bis (Louis Blanc–Pré Saint-Gervais)
Dug so that people living in the centre of the 19th and 20th arrondissements wouldn’t feel left out, these two short, link-up lines feel very toy-like, even though the carriages are much the same as on the other lines. The 7bis basically collects passengers up and takes them for a picnic at the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont.
FUN STATIONS
Botzaris on the 7bis, a little hole in the ground by the Buttes’ metal fence from which you emerge with your picnic basket.
Pelleport, Saint-Fargeau and Porte des Lilas on the 3bis, which all have ceramic-tiled entrances in a more sober, post-Guimard style of Art Nouveau, designed by the architect Charles Plumet.
Singing the métro’s praises
Architects aren’t the only artists to have been inspired by Paris’s underground system. The métro has been celebrated in some of the most Parisian of French chansons—Édith Piaf sang a song called ‘Le Métro de Paris’, in which she compared a train to ‘a gigantic glowworm spinning its silver thread across the rooftops of Paris’ (she seems to be confusing glow-worms with silkworms, but then she was an urban girl). Meanwhile, as mentioned above, Parisian crooner Serge Gainsbourg’s first hit was set on Line 11.
The métro has also inspired some fascinating literature. Franz Kafka paid a brief visit to Paris in September 1911, and even though the network was only a decade or so old, he was perceptive enough to make some telling remarks in his diary. He talks about the ‘unnatural indifference of the passengers’, and notes that you can identify strangers to the city because they are the only people who stop at the exit to get their bearings rather than striding out and ‘losing themselves straight away in the street life’. He also says how spooky it is to see lone passengers getting off at stations outside the city centre. A shame Kafka didn’t stay longer in Paris—he could have written a great novel about feeling paranoid beneath the city, maybe having his hero turn into a giant Parisian cricket.
One of the most Parisian novels in French literature, Raymond Queneau’s Zazie dans le Métro, uses the transport system as a central theme. The métro obsesses the young heroine, a provincial visitor to the city, as much as the Wizard of Oz enthrals Dorothy. Unlike Dorothy, though, Zazie doesn’t suffer the disappointment of discovering that her idol is a fraud, because the poor young provinciale gets so entangled in her uncle’s insane intrigues that she never actually sees the métro. According to literary critics, this is because Queneau is using the métro as a metaphor for an adult world that Zazie is not ready for (even though her uncle has just taken her to a gay cabaret club). Actually, the critics are right in a more literal sense, because anyone taking the Paris métro does need maturity to survive. It’s a place with its own rules of behaviour and coded language, and, even outside rush hours, it requires a high level of self-assertion, elbow-sharpness, breath control and spinal flexibility.
The following section may help readers prepare for the experience that Zazie never knew …
The rules of life underground
Here are some dos and don’ts to avoid getting into a Parisian verbal wrestling match on the métro.******
The first is, as in any city, to avoid certain lines during rush hour—that is, between about 8 a.m. and 9 a.m., and 5.30 p.m. to 7 p.m. The worst claustrophobia experiences are to be had on Lines 1, 2, 3, 4 … no, it’s just better to try and avoid taking the métro at all between those times, or at least to be prepared for shovers, grumblers, sneezers, gropers and pickpockets if you do so.
When trains are crowded and airless, especially in summer, I find it best to get on at the rear of the carriage. This way, with the windows open, you stand at least a small chance of gaining access to some oxygen. Further up the carriage towards the front, you might notice people passing out or frying eggs on bald men’s heads. This is proof that the ventilation systems on Paris métro trains rarely work. The exceptions are Lines 1 and 14, which, as mentioned before, don’t have separate carriages—they’re long, metal snakes—and are therefore better ventilated.
If you are standing on a crowded train, crushed up against the doors, and it arrives at a large junction, people are going to want to get off. They will probably start saying, ‘Pardon, je descends,’ even before the train has stopped. As soon as the doors open, you have to get out of the train, step to one side, and wait while hordes of impatient Parisians stream out of the carriage. Failure to do this can result in ruptured kidneys.
In the standing areas of most métro carriages, there are so-called strapontins, fold-up seats. These are subject to fairly strict rules of etiquette. They are only to be used when there is enough room for everyone to stand comfortably. At the slightest crush, the strapontin sitters are expected to get up. Some people play stupid and stay sitting, which can get them either moaned at or stomped on, and at the very least glowered at menacingly.
Sometimes, a person who seems to be completely ignoring métro etiquette—sitting on a strapontin despite the crowds, listening to tinny music on a phone, smoking even—will not be admonished by affronted passengers. This is because they know that the person is trying to choquer les bourgeois and is best left well alone.
If you get into a métro carriage and see that it is crowded except for one section of seating that is magically empty, it is usually not because a large group of friends have got off and no one has spotted the free seats. A more likely explanation is that the drunk sitting in the corner of the unoccupied area has just pooped
