Mouvement Social

Word(s) for the day - 'mouvement social'. I hadn't come across this expression until yesterday. I think it literally means labour movement but in fact, should you see those words, there will be little of either going on. In short it means 'strike'. There was (and still is) quite a bit of striking happening  in France. About 2/3 of the trains weren't running and taxis were blockading the airport. The disputes were different but the combined effect made for a frustrating day for us. Sadly that was the day we had organised to travel from Briare to Paris in order to catch our flight to Edinburgh. In an unusual burst of organisation, I had walked to the station the day before and bought the tickets from the machine. Perhaps if I'd gone into the staton and purchased them from the human in the ticket office I might have been given a clue that there was trouble brewing. As it was, I did look at all the notices up on the window detailing 'travaux' (works) and subsequent delays and cancellations but as far as I'm aware there was nothing regarding a strike.
We arrived at the station at 8am in - plenty of time for the train 20 minutes later. As soon as the station came into view we suspected there was something amiss; the shutters were down over the main door and there was a distinct lack of other passengers. In fact, there were only another 2 and they were standing looking disconsolate on the pavement outside. Feeling apprehensive we went onto the platform via the side gate and were immediately relieved to discover a rail employee on duty as there always is when a train is due -until, that is, our cheery 'bonjour' was met with that lift of the shoulders we have come to know signals bad news. A 'bon jour' it was definitely not to be.
The only words I understood from her rattled out sentences were no trains to Paris today. I don't know why it should be but some days I seem to understand nearly everything and others my mind goes into freeze mode and I just blank out. This was one of those times, so she phoned her superior who spoke English. "You must take a taxi to Montargis and catch the train for Paris at 9.04," he said, giving us the name of his prefered taxi firm who may or may not have been a friend, relative or associate. Outside the station we discovered that the only other 2 strandees were also from boats and one needed to get to Paris for a connection. The railway approved taxi had been summoned by them 10 minutes previously and as the clock ticked on (it was still working)  the anxiety levels grew - Montargis being about 40 km from Briare. Our young taxi driver eventually arrived, 'I can get you there in 30 minutes!' she said and, putting  her foot down, she did with minutes to spare (although we were quite a few euros poorer). The train, being one of the few to run that day, was packed and took the scenic, slow route but we were grateful to get there at all.
On arrival in Paris we thought our troubles to be over but no; the trains out to the airport were also affected necessitating deciphering the notice boards (  'mouvement social' - what's that?) changing routes and being crammed into hot carriages with some very upset tourists laden down with luggage. Could've been worse. Our travelling companion had decided to take a taxi. I hope he fared well.

Now the air traffic controllers have joined in. I don't know why but perhaps it was something to do with the lack of air condtioning in the terminals. People already stressed from the public transport debacle were passing out under the heat blasting from the halogen lights and the sun blazing through the windows and skylights - why do they have all those skylights?
We were lucky to get out when we did.
Written in Edinburgh where it is cool and calm and still light at 10.30pm. I'd forgotten how much I love these long, long summer nights.