Each metro line in Paris is distinctive.
Carriages in various states of disrepair and odour depending on the age of the vinyl or linoleum.
Whether a new line or old the colour schemes vary, as does the pace, the seating arrangements and even the way the doors open.
My old line, bright yellow line one, is new and shiny and clean with a sombre lady's voice announcing famous names as it stops along the way. She repeats them too which came in handy for me with my pronunciation, although Tuileries is still lost on my Australian tongue.
Line seven is a rose pink line on the metro map, but inside is all shades of 70's blues.
Royal blue seats and light grey-blue acrylic painted interior, even the button you have to press to release the doors is a rounded-edge blue square. Or wait, maybe it's green - eeek I can't remember! Actually I think it's green... either way line 7 is predominantly blue, if you get my drift.
It's my last Friday night in Paris and I'm on line 7 heading from Censier Daubenton in the 5th up to la Chapelle to meet a friend for a dhosa dinner in the 10th. No one tells you what stop is coming up next but I find it such a pleasure watching the stations roll by. I adore some of the metro stops in Paris, they even make their metro stops pretty those aesthetically acute Parisians.
I've sat myself down on the three seater banquette au fond du carriage and opposite me are two stunning French-African women. I guess they are on their way to a party all dressed up with bags of goodies at their feet. They chat and giggle unselfconsciously about boys, a topic that is rarely exhausted between girlfriends.
I put my headphones in to let music accompany me on the ride although I can't help but stare at these women, their beauty and animated conversation is hard to ignore. It seems as if they have dressed to complement line seven all together, melding blue hues. I keep stealing glances at them as the stops roll by; Pont Neuf, Palais Royal, Opera.
The girl on the left has fluffed up her afro so that it creates a halo of tight curls all around her. Each time we pull into a station the light from the platform illuminates her as if Glenda the good witch has touched her with her star shaped wand.
She's wearing a French cliché classic, the wide necked blue and white striped, long sleeved t-shirt and hit it with American Apparel type shiny deep blue leggins and white high top trainers. Her eye lids are dramatically awash with a cornflower blue shadow that glitters against her perfect dark skin. The effect is mesmerising.
Her friend's close cropped hair is all Grace Jones like and suits her angular features perfectly. She also has blue shadow on her eyelids, but high-lighted it with sparkling gold and added a deep red gloss to her lips. A pair of bright neon lime and dark green zebra print tights clash perfectly with her silver brogues and simple dark blue tee.
I suddenly feel like I'm in first year high school and these girls are the cool girls in final year.
It flashes me right back to that 'Clark's' bus in 1989 when I used to stare at an older girl from a different school who had short black hair and wore a De La Soul daisy t-shirt and badges on her satchel.
A sudden burst of laughter and lunging-forward-thigh-slapping moment from across the isle brings me back to the present with a start.
As the girls regain composure they look to me to catch my eye and apologise for 'disturbing' me... ahhh Paris
