44 Nights in Paris: BlaBlaCar

Something that apparently happens each Christmas, is that the trains go on strike in France. I had just bought a first-class seat to Angers on Christmas eve. Fun game.

Antoine messaged me to advise of my train time and number, and to warn me that my train route may be cancelled. Again, (not) fun to get wind of this, a couple of days before I was to take said train.

Lydie was my guest for dinner that night. It would be the last that we’d see each other until after New Year’s. I hadn’t wanted to be a stress case, and gratefully since she’s an angel, she offered to help with the use of an app called BlaBlaCar.

BlaBlaCar is a rideshare app, is very popular, and safe to use. Lydie was kind enough to find a woman who was driving to Angers on Christmas Eve and looking for a passenger. Lydie wrote a note in French, explaining my situation, and it appeared as though that would be a viable option if my train was cancelled. I only had to stand by and see if the woman approved and would confirm my request.

Lydie stayed until the last possible minute with me that night, delaying some plans of her own and when she finally did leave, I was grateful beyond measure. I sent her home with my fresh-baked cookies and homemade passion fruit curd, wrapped as my Christmas gift to her and her man Lionel. (Very soon after I received the most gorgeous foto of them enjoying the treats with huge smiles.)

By morning I received an email that said – in French – that my request had been declined by the BlaBlaCar woman. I believe that was because in the middle of the night I had received an email to confirm my information, and I didn’t respond immediately. So now I was kicked out of the BlaBlaCar opportunity. This was Friday, my train was Saturday.

Gratefully I had also learned that trains leaving midday and earlier were going to be OK; my departure was 10:30am. I had already surrendered this to the Christmas train gods anyway. They knew as well as anyone that I absolutely needed that train to take me to my precious goddaughter. I did my best to relax and flex my trust muscles. I baked the last of my Christmas cookies, packed my things as calmly as possible, and slept well that night.

In the end, which story is coming up, my train took me safely and on time to Angers. Antoine met me there as promised. My first French Christmas was about to begin.

There was no love lost between me and BlaBlaCar. I just hope that the lady who dissed me had a Joyeux Noel.