I'm following up my last post with another word on train rides. Work has had me commuting into the banlieu. Actually, it's so far that it's more campagne than banlieu. I pass hundreds of houses, three river crossings, and one gypsy camp. There are things I miss about commuting into Paris, such as walking by an organ grinder every morning, but it is nice to be guaranteed a seat on the train every time. A far cry from the hell of the RER B the other day.

The ride is long but I get lots of reading in. These days, it's Gone With the Wind. Excellent story. Made me miss my stop once. Trouble is, Margaret Mitchell wrote all the slaves' dialogue in their patois of the time which is impossible to understand by reading- you have to hear it to get the message. So I'm on the train where people can hear me whispering to myself things like, "Tell Mis Scarlett ter res' easy. Ah'll steal her a hawse outer de ahmy crall effen dey's ary one lef'. An' befo' Ah gits started ker-bloom! Offgoes a noise an' he tell me twarn't nuthin' but de ammernition our gempmums blowin' up so's de Yankees don't git it." (If you had to read that last bit out loud to get the message, you know what I mean.)

In any case, here are some thrilling shots of what I see on the way: