Rabbits, Taxis and Trains

A rabbit hopped around the small green island. The only thing strange thing about that is that the grassy and tree area was in the center of a Paris Street.

I would have liked to point it out to my taxi driver who was taking me to the Gare du Lyon on my way home after my trip to Syria. This is the fourth time I have had this driver, and we have become friends. He is an Algerian Moslem that has lived for years in Paris and we first met when he picked me up at a friend’s house when I was on my way to the US. We began talking politics.

This trip he is upset about Tony Blair’s reelection. “Menteur (Liar)” he says of Mr. Blair. I offer that people voted on the English economy not the war, although at that moment I didn’t know about the reduction in Labour seats.

I don’t point out to him that in the past few months I have seen Israelis blame Palestinians, Palestinians blame Israelis, Sunnis blame Shiites, Shiites blame Christians, Christians blame Moslems. With everyone blaming everyone there is no time to look for solutions. Better to become entrenched in a point of view that closes off any hope of improvement in mutual interests.

He deposits me at the train station, not as a casual driver, but as a friend. “See you next visit,” we say to each other.

Because of my mega suitcase I cannot mount the stairs to my favorite spot http://www.le-train-bleu.com/page1.html to wait for my train. Do take a minute to look at the link of this wonderful restaurant with its paintings. If you have a window seat you can see the trains coming and going, like being in an Impressionist painting. Instead I opt for the Bleu-express downstairs for a traditional French petit-dejeuner, tartine, croissant, fresh squeezed juice and hot chocolate. I feel nostalgic for my Syrian breakfasts with cheese and olives and tea. There are few paintings on the wall in the same style as the main restaurant, but the ambiance of being in the station as it must have been in the early 1900s is lost.

My train comes and I am on my way home. I wonder about the rabbit on his green island in the middle of Paris. Unlike my taxi driver I doubt that I will see him again.