Yesterday, I explored two different Metro lines—I had read that both promised either a new route or a more interesting one than the typical underground trains. Line 6, for example, is 60% above the ground, periodically dipping into the ground, then re-emerging to view some typically Parisian neighborhoods, and crossing the Seine in two different places. The writer insisted that the route was “stunning” with gorgeous views and also suggested that the best time to enjoy this ride is preferably on a cloudy day. Ooookkaay…yesterday was perfect! I boarded at one end, the Arc de Triomphe, and rode it (25+ stops) to the final station, Nation. I did see lots of different neighborhoods—and wondered about those people whose windows look right out over the tracks—plus lots of graffiti; and I did see the Eiffel Tower and one (of three) of France's Statue of Liberty replicas on an island but “stunning”…I wouldn’t have described it that way. 
After exiting the Nation station and exploring that historic and giant plaza , I rode a few stops to catch the newest Metro line, #14. This stylish, ultra-modern meteor-line (1998) is in the area of Mitterrand’s National Library, a complex of four L-shaped glass towers suggesting open books. The new trains are without drivers and have automatic glass platforms doors to prevent anyone from falling onto the tracks. The line has only seven stops and was comfortable and smooth. 
My Metro experiences have been dull, thank goodness. I remember more performers in trains in the past; there are still some in the larger stations. Most of them now have the little electric box to accompany their accordion, guitar, whatever—it seems to me that the “box” plays most of the music and thus, has most of the "talent." Which now makes sense why I don’t see them entertaining on the train as much… Ahh, let me plug in here... I’ve seen one guy twice on my main line who is selling a cooking magazine—more like a flyer. He boards a car and proceeds to make his presentation, some of which I’m beginning to understand. At least he’s not begging.Supposedly, there are more street musicians in Paris than in any other city in the world. As well as in the Metro tunnels, they are found under the arches of the Place des Vosges and on the romantic bridges across the Seine. I think they play as much for themselves--music must be their passion--as they do for their audience. I see the same saxaphone player on the pont behind Notre-Dame, especially on sunny days and his music is beautiful.
Yesterday, a lady went berserk and we all stared and wondered what would happen next. Evidently, she was upset about the lady sitting next to her who was talking on her cell phone. Whereas in the past, when the rides were usually pretty quiet—people absorbed in their own thoughts trying not to make eye contact with anyone (that part’s still true)—now you have people, like in the US, talking on their phones—quietly talking, usually, but still talking. When I first heard the short staccato outburst, I thought the lady had that affliction—can’t think of the name—where a person periodically, without any control, yells out something or makes a noise. No, this lady was PO’ed!! She wasn’t a bum—looked like a college professor in her 60s, well-groomed, yet severe in her hairstyle and manner of dress. She popped up from her seat to stand by the door and every few seconds let out another outburst with much flailing of her hands. She even whacked the talker on her head and tried to kick her foot…all the while the other lady (I could only see the back of her head) kept talking into her phone, probably trying to explain to the caller what all the yelling was about. This just provoked “crazy lady” more! After taunting her like an 8-year-old, we fortunately arrived at our next stop and she bolted out the door—everyone wondering what the hell that was all about. But no one said a word and no one did anything to interrupt the drama.That was only the second weird incident I’ve witnessed so far during all my Metro rides. The first one was a few weeks ago on a beautiful sunny Sunday afternoon when a very inebriated and angry man (40s?) boarded the car in which I was riding. He was carrying his bottle, taking swigs as he yelled and cursed (I suppose…), and banged his fist against a seat and on the wall of the train. That was the only time ever that I felt I wanted to move to another seat or get off the train. But since he was standing in front of my closest door, I was afraid if I tried either, he would lash out at me. At the next stop, a man and woman boarded—the guy bigger than the drunk, thank goodness. They stood in front of my seat so I decided that if the drunk tried anything, this guy would save us. Mr. Drunk finally staggered off the train after about five stations—but it was the longest five stations I’d experienced.
Today, I’m going to experiment with some bus routes to get to my destinations…. Time to try new things. The spitting snow has actually stopped and it’s much lighter—still white clouds, which I prefer to the dark ones—and still in the low 30s.
