By Muhayman Jamil, Wheels and Wheelchairs Secretary
We completed an Inline Half Marathon last month with our friend Matthew.
It was actually called ‘Le Marathon des Grands Crus’; but let’s call it the Dijon (Inline) Marathon / Half Marathon.
We had GLORIOUS weather, and it was a beautiful route. It was a little hilly, and therefore a bit of a challenge; but doing the Half Marathon itself was soooo much easier than getting there from London. Matthew is a wheelchair user and public transport has a long way to go before it is genuinely accessible.
As an organisation that encourages all our members to travel and participate in sport, we have made our way across the UK and Europe. We know to plan ahead because accessibility is often promised but little practiced when it comes to travel. This journey was something else.
Four of us set off from London for Dijon via Paris. There was an attendant and a ramp waiting for Matthew at the St Pancras Eurostar platform. He and his carer, Jared, were pampered in Business Class, while fellow skater Alastair and I huddled in ‘Cattle Class’.
We arrived, unscathed at Gare du Nord, on time, with our helmets, skates, suitcases and Matthew’s Lomo wheel. This attaches to the front of a wheelchair, allowing greater stability and speed. Once fixed on it’s aerodynamic but when carried it is pretty cumbersome.
From Gare du Nord, we had a ten minute walk to Gare de L’Est. We then had an hour and a half to make the connection to Dijon
We arrived at Gare de l’Est soooo early; and as we were wondering what to do with all that spare time, I glanced up at the display screen.
The train we were waiting for was the very top of the Departures List, and flashing underneath it in big bold letters was the word
Supprimé
In English that means –
Your train has been CANCELLED
The next train from Gare de l’Est to Dijon was at 8.05 … the next morning.
We begged the Ticket Assistance Office. ‘Please, please get us to Dijon tonight!!!’
Luckily, my sister, had accompanied us to Gare de l’Est. She is a proficient French speaker, who has lived in Paris since the 70s, She pleaded our case with vigour and eloquence. Looking at Matthew, the woman on the other side of the counter dutifully assured us that she would do her very best to get us to Dijon that evening.
She did … but it took her forever.
There were no further trains from Gare de l’Est heading in the direction of Dijon that day. Even if we changed at a nearby station, we wouldn’t be able to make a connection. So she tried to get us onto one of the high speed trains heading south. It was possible, but she needed authorisation to transfer our SNCF tickets to TGV (high-speed network) tickets.
Twenty minutes later, a Regional Manager approved the request. We were on our way.
Well, not quite. The train was heading to Lyon, and we needed to change trains in Macon, and wait there for two hours.
‘Yes, yes’ we said. ‘We’ll do it’ … but now another problem emerged. Because Matthew did not have a FRENCH Disability Travel Pass, it was not possible to request any assistance, nor would it be possible to book him into a seat allocated to a wheelchair user.
‘Is he able to walk a few steps with assistance?’ the woman asked.
‘Oui, oui’ we confirmed. Between the three of us, we were even prepared to lift Matthew AND his wheelchair to get him onto the train.
The train’s final destination was Lyon, so it didn’t leave from Gare de l’Est. It departed from … Gare de Lyon.
Not a problem. Gare de Lyon was a mere 4km away … and we had 55 minutes to get there.
So out we staggered to the taxi rank.. The drivers eyed us and our luggage with disdain. They told us dismissively that there was no way they could take us all in any of their vehicles. One gentleman with a larger vehicle stepped forward and offered to take us … for 70 Euros!
Uber quoted a far more reasonable 30 Euros for a seven seater. So we booked it, and waited, and waited and waited. On the Uber app, our allocated driver seemed to be getting further and further away. Apparently, there were anti-vaxxers protesting at Place de la Republique and the Uber driver was struggling to get past them.
In desperation, we cancelled the Uber and ran back to the Taxi rank. ‘We’ll pay the 70 Euros’ we condeded. ‘Please take our money, just get us there …. Pleeeez!’
Luckily, the man at the back of the queue was happy to take us all. We clambered in, and he zoomed us across town. Zoomed is a bit of an exaggeration, but with a bit of creative Parisian driving, he managed to get us to Gare de Lyon 10 minutes before our departure time.
We ran to Platform 13, made our way through the ticket barrier, and smiled as we approached our ‘Promised Train’. But no … things couldn’t possibly go that smoothly. We found our path blocked by an imperious-looking railway official.
‘You cannot board this train,’ she declared.
‘But, but …we have our tickets, Madame’ we implored as we waved them hopefully in the air. ‘It is your colleague at Gare de l’Est who issued them just now’
She snorted in derision.
‘Wheelchair users have to be booked in 48 hours in advance. We cannot accommodate you on this train.’
A lot of begging and grovelling ensued, and eventually Madame relented and struck a deal with us. If Matthew could walk a few steps with our assistance, and transfer from his wheelchair, into one of the seats on the train, then she would let us on.
‘Oui, oui …’ we assured her; and as we were about to start helping Matthew out of his wheelchair, she said dismissively ‘Non, non!’ She pushed a button, and as if by magic, the ground floor inside the train started to rise upwards, until it was level with the platform.
Amazed, we wheeled Matthew’s wheelchair onto this enchanted chariot. A few easy steps later, and Matthew was ensconced in one of their luxurious seats.
The train whisked us to Macon. We were now a mere 45 km from Dijon. It did however take us to the Intercity station, where all the fast trains stopped. Our next train, was the slow stopping service to Dijon, and as it was the local service, it set off from the OTHER train station, the one in Macon Town Centre. So we clambered onto the shuttle for the 10 minute bus journey; and we got there a whole hour and a half before our departure time. We went for something to eat and returned to the station.
We had seven minutes to reach platform one for the Dijon train. We followed the arrows as they guided us round the corner … then stared with horror at the sight that confronted us, Two flights of stairs leading to the underpass that would take us underneath the railway tracks. From there, another two flights of stairs that would take us up onto platform one, which was on the other side of the station.
‘The lift, the lift’ we asked the Station Attendant, with a hint of desperation in our voices.
‘There is no lift at this station, Monsieur’ he replied.
‘But we, but he, but …’ we stuttered as we pointed at Matthew, seated in his wheelchair at the top of the staircase.
‘Did you inform us 48 hours in advance to let us know that you would require assistance?’
Words failed us. We just ran back to Matthew’s side and offered to help him to his feet as we heard our train pulling into Platform 1.
I grabbed a suitcase and the Lomo wheel, and ran down into the underpass, hoping I’d be able to delay the train. As I attempted to negotiate with the guard, I looked across to try and work out what was happening on the other side of the tracks.
Matthew was still seated in his wheelchair, and being pushed by Jared. Alastair had our skates, our helmets and all the remaining suitcases, and they were following the station attendant. They were heading AWAY from the stairs that lead down into the underpass.
At the very front of the station, the attendant flung open a set of double doors that lead out directly onto the railway tracks. Over here was a concrete ramp that went all the way down to the level of the railway tracks. At this end, Matthew would be able to access Platform 1 without having to use the underpass … but of course, they needed 48 hours notice to open that set of double doors.
I stared in amazement at the distant row of tiny figures, as they marched in a single file across the railway line.
‘I’m with them’ I told the guard on the train, pointing to the four little specks in the distance.
‘Jump on,’ he said. ‘They’ll be using the very front of the train.’
Tired now, I dragged the suitcase and the Lomo wheel up into a carriage. Slowly, and in stages, I finally made it to the front of the train where I was reunited with the others.
I honestly have no recollection of how Matthew made it onto the train – whether a ramp was provided, or if he had to climb up the two steps to get onto the train.
That slow-stopping train got us all the way to Dijon, and I’d love to say that everything went smoothly after that … but it was not meant to be.
By the time we arrived in Dijon, it was 10.30pm, and at that hour, there was only one taxi outside the deserted station. It was obvious that he would not be able to take us all, so we decided to split up. Matthew and Jared went ahead with the luggage, while Alastair and I stayed behind, debating whether we should walk the remaining 1.5 km to where we were staying, or try for an Uber out here. As we were trying to decide, another taxi pulled up. A few minutes later, we were standing outside the building where we had booked our Airbnb.
The flat was on the first floor, but we had been reassured there was a lift. We had also been warned that were three little steps between the main entrance and the lift.
‘Pas de problème’ … Matthew had overcome much more substantial hurdles over the course of the day; those final three steps paled into insignificance.
Finally; we were outside our apartment. We located the key safe, unlocked it … but it was empty. There were no keys inside.
I will not burden you with the details of what happened next. We did eventually manage to get into the flat that evening. It was 11.30pm local time. We had all left our homes around 7 am that morning. It had taken us over 15 hours to travel from London to Dijon. With very little thanks to the public transport and the cab drivers of France, we’d made it!
The next day, we had a Half Marathon to do … but that is a different story.
ENDS