Le métro

A week ago, my mom sent me an email checking up on how things were going, and telling me the dates of her visit to Paris. In closing, she asked, “Which do you like better: NYC or Paris? XOXOXO, Maman”

I never responded to that question, because it seemed impossible, given the completely different contexts in which I lived in each city. I saw New York in the summer, lived with people I knew, had a clear work schedule, and came home to Top Chef every week. In Paris, it’s winter, I live with a stranger, I’m adjusting to cultural and linguistic differences, and try to see a new museum every day. New York was comfortable; Paris is mind-blowing, in both positive and negative ways.

However, there’s one aspect of the two cities where Paris is the incontestable winner: public transport.

A typical morning in New York: I wake up too late to take a shower, so I put my hair in a ponytail and cover it as much as I can with a headband. I put on something that to me resembles something Cool People in New York might wear, grab a clementine from the refrigerator, and speed-walk three blocks to the subway while eating it.

Inevitably, as I approach the station, my train is at the platform; I attempt to get my MetroCard out, go through the turnstile and down the stairs in the 30 seconds the doors are open, all at a sprint while shoving people out of my way. Sometimes I manage to stick my arm in the closing doors (injuries be damned – this is the subway) and pry them open with all the force I can muster. But more often than not, the doors are slammed in my face, and I begin the wait.

It doesn’t matter that it is rush hour; the wait for the second train is interminable. I sing a Mika song in my head. I eavesdrop on the man next to me before realizing he is speaking Swahili. I think about throwing my house keys on the tracks, just to see what would happen. One particularly miserable night in Greenpoint, after waiting 45 minutes for the train, I began creating my own Sudoku, which I then solved. I also wrote a Petrarchan sonnet about … how boring waiting for the subway is. As last, when the train finally arrives, there are no seats, I am standing next to a woman who insists upon touching my hand with hers on the handhold-thing, and I realize that, as I do not own a pair of purple sparkly leggings, my outfit will never be cool enough for New York.

In Paris, the first part hasn’t changed. Ponytailed and hungry, I begin the walk to the métro. I speed-walk into the station, carte orange in hand. And then … my train is there. Or, if not, a sign informs me that it will be there in 1-5 minutes. I have never had to wait more than 5 minutes for a train, including in the suburbs and late at night. This makes everything more civilized: no running, no possible dismemberment. If you miss the train, tant pis. Just listen to the accordion player play the Amélie soundtrack until the next one comes.

The signs announcing train times is ingenious, and I don’t understand why they haven’t been implemented in every city with a subway system. In Psychology 110, Paul Bloom explained a study about anticipation: two groups of subjects were given shock treatments, in which one group received repetitive shocks at equal intervals of time and the other received less painful shocks at irregular intervals. In the end, the subjects who claimed to feel less pain were those who could predict when the shocks would arrive, despite the fact that they were actually more painful than those given to the other group. Lesson: events are less painful when they can be anticipated. This is infinitely truer for trains. New York: GET UP ON YOUR PSYCHOLOGY.

After I board, the routine is the same: no seats, disappointing clothing. Paris has even made explicit a rule that is only tacit in New York, which our exchange program director explained to us on our first day. “Ne souriez pas. Don’t smile,” she said. “Only crazy people smile.” It’s a rule I attempt to follow, in order to seem authentic. But sometimes, after stepping joyfully onto my promptly-arriving train, I just can’t help it.