Last Train to Gare du Nord

 LAST TRAIN TO GARE DU NORD

May 6

Last day in Dunkirk for the Jerks

Supposedly bad luck comes in 3's. As we told you way back on Day 1, Frog and I started strong on the first of the three -- the very first leg of our flight to begin the trip was postponed 3 times, the last of which resulted in our missing our scheduled flight to London. But we made it fine a couple of hours later and had time to take the Thames cruise we had planned for that first afternoon, so no biggie. Then the boat cruise in Dover that would give us the vantage point of seeing the White Cliffs from the water was canceled due to anticipated bad weather. But that cancellation enabled us to see the Fan Bay Deep Shelter tunnels, a true diamond in the rough ... and we saw the White Cliffs from the ferry as we were leaving Dover. No harm, no foul there. To complete the troika on the last day in Dunkirk we received an email saying that our train to Paris the next day had been canceled, and we had been booked on a later train. 

We had expected to arrive at the Gare du Nord train station in Paris in plenty of time to check in our hotel, hop on the Metro (Paris subway), and visit the Musee' d'Armee' (Army Museum) to see their WWII display and Napoleon's Tomb, plus anything else we had the time and inclination for ... like England, France has been some fightin' fools, so there's been no shortage of wars and battles for the Army to pack into their museum. (From having seen the WWI exhibit at the Imperial War Museum in London we knew, for example, that there would be a whole new world to show us dawdling Yanks regarding the Great War, should we be so moved.) Now we'd arrive in Paris too late to visit anything but the bar that afternoon, so something would have to give the next day.

Having proven our mettle at adjusting to adversity, we Dunkirk Jerks decided that at our advanced ages we would just chill and enjoy a leisurely morning in Malo-les-Bains. It was another cool (50 F.), windy morning, on the plage (if I haven't mentioned it already, beach in French). After another nice breakfast we strolled out and chilled -- in the traditional sense of the word -- along the wide walkway on the digue (dyke, if you've forgotten) first toward the harbour and E. Mole, then back eastward. Some morning sights to behold ...

Digue du Canal Exutoire

Risban Lighthouse

Dunkirk skyline from Malo

   

Different kind of Little Ships

Digue des Allies

After a relaxing morning just enjoying the magnificent, historic setting, eventually we had to check out of our rooms, walk a few doors down to Le Comptoir de la Mer with our wimpy $US for another dose of tasty seafood or a Flemish dish. Then it was time to catch our Uber for the short trip to the Dunkirk train station to make sure we were on the right train for the Gare du Nord. Here I must lodge my only gripes with the French train system, which is economical, seems to run pretty much on time, and is quite comfortable: 1) The numbering system for trains seems to literally be drawn from the random number table. Since our tickets were for Car 2, we got on the train car that was clearly numbered 2 (exactly the same symbol we use for number two in the U.S.), only to find that we apparently were not on Car 2. Instead at the last minute we had to frantically scamper (for 77 and 78 year olds!) down the line of cars to some seemingly random other car, which was numbered something different but apparently was secretly coded #2. 😕WTH?!? The same thing had happened to my wife and me in France 18 months ago. [Cue Twilight Zone theme!] 2) Although having not taken French in 60+ years did not handicap me anywhere else in France -- Normandy, Paris, Calais, or Dunkirk -- English speakers and signage are everywhere; the notable exception is train stations. The staff and the signs ne parlent pas anglais!! Not a damn word of it! Thank goodness that the French riders speak infinitely better English than most of my countrymen and I do French. Otherwise I'd be like Charlie on the MTA in the 1959 Kingson Trio song MTA. Again, same thing as a year and a half ago when we were in France. Je ne comprends pas. 😖

Enough whinging, as the Brits and Aussies would say. Once in our seats in the supposedly right car, we made it to Paris on time, and our driver was "Jean on the spot" to pick us up and take us to the hotel. Traffic was awful, as it was rush hour, and I was damn glad I wasn't driving!  We made it fine, checked in, put our bags in our room, found the bar and its personable staff, and recuperated from the trauma of riding in Paris rush hour traffic a bit. We had dinner reservations at a place less than a 10 minute walk away, and we had an enjoyable meal while all of the French around us cheered and watched a big soccer game between PSG and Marseille on TV. [We considered teaching them the "Go to hell, Ole Miss!" cheer, but passed.]

In a hasty plenary session we debated whether to begin our day tomorrow with the relatively new Resistance & Liberation Museum or the Army Museum. The motion was made, seconded, and passed unanimously to go with the former, which offered something we had not seen the likes of. So embracing liberte', egalite', fraternite', we turned in to prepare for a last day of seeing WWII-related sights. Vive la france!