September 17, 2017 (Travel day)
This bit might find me whining a bit – I apologise but this is how it was. This is your get out clause. You can stop reading now and move to the next chapter but no eye rolling allowed if you continue!
Sunday morning we opted for a mini cab since we were a little later than we hoped and the Sunday morning bus schedule wasn’t on our side. At St Pancras my ticket wouldn’t scan so I had to go check in to get a readable boarding pass. The adventure was meeting obstacles already! But all was well and there we were waiting for our train to be called.
The Eurostar experience in London is admirable. The lounge is clean and there are some shops and tourist counters. There’s a nice travellator carrying you up to your train, the carriage numbers neatly signposted from downstairs. I think the trains have improved since my last trip. They seemed cleaner and newer. We were facing backwards (oh no!) but the journey was smooth. We entered the Chunnel without any fuss and came out after 22 minutes. Krish slept through it all. On the other side France seems charming. Green, tidy, putting the urban sprawl of London to shame but then this is countryside.
In Paris, it all changes. The station seems to have no sense of anything. It feels confused and confusing. Part of this is the absolute foreignness of everything. Where to go? What to do? Here? There? And why is there no one to ask. I had copied out directions of where the bus would be – we had thought that a bus ride would be more fun, certainly more scenic, than the metro.
However, the directions, as detailed as they were, ended up in dead ends. This after asking a few people in the station about where to go (nothing matched the directions I had) and also meeting dead ends. So too were the directions of pedestrians, eager to talk English even though I spoke French (at least I thought it was French!). I was beginning to lose my cool and feel panic and by this time, Krish suggested the metro was the best recourse.
It was immediately familiar. The concrete, the strange mix of people, the sign letting us know that the next train was in 13 minutes. Thirteen! The metro (or is the RER, I don’t know) reminds me of Los Angeles. The trains remind me of a Go Train, only much dirtier and more crowded. I found a seat. Two stops later and the Gare de Lyon and our final train was in sight.
At the Gare de Lyon I looked for a departure board. There were many letting me know when the underground trains were leaving but it took quite a bit more looking to discover the board where the grandes lignes departures were.
Our train wasn’t listed. I asked about it and was told it would show up twenty minutes before it left. I went back to let Krish know this and suddenly it *was* twenty minutes to go. I ran back to check the board, noticed the train was on the platform and signalled to Krish to come. Down the platform and uh oh – the number of the train was completely wrong. Krish had hurried ahead and I ran (OK, walked as quickly as I could) to let him know, I think this is the wrong train. Oh no! Time was ticking. I stood in a short queue to ask a station worker and he told me it was the right platform but the train to Milano (stop after Torino) was in front of this one to Grenoble. Phew.
Our carriage was the very last one. Again, we were facing backwards. The seats are cramped and shabby. The people are surly. I think stupidly about London – St Pancras is so lovely and polite – and shake it off. I’m almost there and I’m determined to enjoy everything that’s enjoyable. I summon my sense of humour. Right!
I have the aisle seat and can’t see too much of the scenery but near the France-Italy border there are some interesting and veering towards pretty valley towns near the station. Meanwhile we are boarded by the Polizia or are they border guards. Whoever they are they are carrying black revolvers at their hip and they don’t smile. They are checking bags (eeek) and demanding papers. I think of world war two for some reason. My imagination goes there, oh yes. Where do you live, Paris? No, London. Where are you going? Torino. Is it a road trip? No. How many days you stay in Torino? Two months. Business? It’s a holiday. OK. They hung about the train for a while, convening in the corridor between carriages.
Oh, the toilet. It reminded me of going to an event with Portalets. Is that how you spell it? Or the toilets on a campsite. I was overwhelmed by the smell and wish I didn’t have to stay. Then there was no soap. Well, best not to drink too much or I’d have to use it twice. And again I thought of the clean and pleasant Eurostar train.
I decided SCNF trains suck and I have to use one again to return. Best not to think about that until I’m on my way back then. Will plan some strategies!
I spent time watching the antics of the other passengers. Mostly young people and families. I walked through several carriages to find the café and thought the atmosphere near there much nicer and brighter. I watched Wonder Woman on my tablet – thanks, Tari. And I continued reading Big Little Lies on my Kindle – almost reached its climax I think. And although I wasn’t using my phone other than to read the time and check the map from time to time, I had now used the first battery and was almost half way through the second. I started to worry – what, me worry? – that I would have none left when I arrived.
Adventure, Janice. Focus – adventure! Thanks, sense of humour.
At Porta Susa finally! The station is now completely finished and it looks shiny. But the directions aren’t very clear. On the surface, where are the trams to get us where we need to be? Taxi then! Back down to the taxi rank, which is full of – yes, one Polizia car, abandoned. That won’t work. So back up. Texts to Cristina followed. In the midst of which Krish reported an abandoned suitcase. It seems the Polizia knew about it. Suddenly there were three cars and police tape. The road was closed and Cristina was on her way by car to rescue us.
Nothing seemed familiar until we hit the market. We had arrived near the building only to discover it too had a closed road. There were maybe a hundred people sitting at tables there – a neighbourhood dinner was on! It reminded me of Amsterdam but bigger. So we went around the block a time or two more and there was the market – all the stalls were empty of course and nobody was clearing them away yet but I felt myself relax a bit.
Cristina drove in through a door and then jumped out and opened another door. One car could fit in there, hers. I wasn’t sure how all this worked but it was pretty cool. Inside the building it was modern and clean. Not the traditional building Cristina lives in and we stayed in twice before. And now the apartment.
It’s so much nicer and bigger than the pictures. I’m a bit stunned. Three little balconies. A nice skylight in the ceiling above me. The kitchen is open plan and not much counter space but I feel I can do this. There are two large bathrooms. One is en suite. The second is near the living room and it’s enormous, probably bigger than my living room in London, with a very large shower and big jacuzzi tub. I may dare to get into it and hope I can get out again. I’ll no doubt include photos of the place and even a video once I get myself organised.
We’re both a bit stressed. In the night, after being nudged three times because I’m snoring (horrors!) I get up and move to the living room couch (there are two and they are long enough to sleep on, yay. I go the bedroom to retrieve a duvet and something noisy clangs to the tiled floor. I manage to sleep OK but my first thought this morning is I hope I didn’t crack the tile. (I didn’t).
I’m here!