Seat 61 to Paris

(Backdated post. I’m falling a bit behind on these, but expect more soon)

Time to change countries!

We packed up our luggage and walked to Edgware Road tube, which we caught to St Pancras.

(Looking at this picture, I just realised I’ve misspelt Edgware in an earlier post. It only has two Es. Now fixed.)

Kings Cross-St Pancras is a sprawling complex of multiple stations and numerous platforms, but without too much trouble we found our way to the Eurostar check-in.

We had arrived with plenty of time, and it was pretty busy – people were arriving to catch the train before ours.

I’d allowed plenty of time because we were travelling a few days after the introduction of new EU biometric scans, which might lead to delays. As it turned out, it is being phased in over several months, and we weren’t affected. But better safe than sorry.

After the security checks/bag scan, we were waved through to a queue for passports with chips. Lucky Australians again.

Once inside, the waiting area was pretty crowded until the train before ours departed – after that it was fine. Inside there are toilets and a few shops, including a duty free shop, similar to an international airport departure lounge.

Eventually it was time to board. Coach 2 (towards the back of the train on this trip), for “Eurostar Plus”, the middle tier option in the classes on Eurostar trains – providing bigger seats and a cold meal for lunch.

I’d taken the advice of the very handy Man In Seat 61 web site, and booked… seat 61.

Our train departed on time at 11:31, and got up to speed, only to slow down again near Folkstone. But we didn’t mind – they served lunch and it was delicious – perhaps it seemed doubly so because we didn’t have to go and get it – it was delivered to our seats.

Once through the tunnel under the English Channel, we zoomed along through the French countryside. I tried to check the speed using a GPS app, but it couldn’t read it. No matter – the screens inside the train told us we were at close to 300 km/h.

Watching the scenery fly by was enjoyable, especially alongside motorways where the traffic was presumably hitting 100 km/h, but we were zooming past them. Mind you, the train windows could have been cleaner.

The served lunch even made up for the family opposite whose kids started moaning that they wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. Yeah kids, it’s visible on all approaches to Paris, on demand, just when you happen to glance up from gaming on your iPad. (It was fine, they went back to their iPads after that.)

We arrived at Gare du Nord just after 3pm, about 15 minutes late. The station platforms are… let’s be honest… a bit basic – not a huge amount of shelter, and platforms narrower than is ideal when a big crowd arrives on a 16 carriage train. No matter, it had been a great journey.

From there it was not a huge distance to our accommodation in the Pigalle district, so it seemed easier to walk than wrestle the luggage into the Metro (and figure out tickets – more on this tomorrow).

We met our travelling companions for the rest of the trip. But our accommodation wasn’t ready yet, so we wheeled our luggage down the street and found a cafe to rest up over a hot chocolate.

The street was buzzing. Narrow for cars but not for people. Bakeries and cheese shops seemed to be on every second corner. Except the corner with the carousel on it.

We worked out that a supermarket and Metro station were about a block away. And every so often a mid-size electric bus would roll past.

When the time came, we headed to our accommodation – an apartment one floor up above a busy street. I hadn’t been quite sure what to expect in Paris, but this all seemed very Parisian.

Perhaps less so was our choice of dinner an hour or two later – pizza. But it was good and quick – and recommended by the apartment owner, in a book of information left for us. This also included cautionary notes about some of the lights. (Eccentric electrics in apartments would prove to be common at a few places we stayed, as well as quirky shower controls.)

Both in the cafe and the pizza shop, and come to think of it everywhere else in Paris over the coming days, we found that every shop proprietor had very good English-speaking tourist radar. Despite our attempts at greeting them in French with a friendly “Bonjour!” they’d immediately revert to English. No doubt our dodgy pronunciation made it obvious.

Tomorrow it would be time to explore Paris.