I Was On the Paris Train...

At 5am, I headed to the Gare du Nord to catch the Eurostar to London. Since I had been there a few weeks before to pick up Juli , it was actually really easy to find my terminal. However, I did have a little freak-out when my card didn't work in the automated ticket retrieval machine and then there was no one at the help kiosk. Le crap. Luckily I walked around and found another help desk what seemed like a mile away on the other end of the station where a totally grumpy guy printed out my tickets for me.

Since I was actually kinda early, I bought a sandwich for the train and then spent the rest of the time walking around the waiting area until they finallycalled boardoing and it was time to go through immigration. That process was a little weird since you go from one desk where you are asked questions in french, to another five steps away where they ask questions in english, and they're all "cheers" and "jolly good".

The train itself was awesome. The seats were large and cush, and there was a full rack of complementary magazines by each compartment door. And not like airplane magazines where you can buy garden gnomes and learn about how to get to your next terminal, but goodstuff like Bazaar, The Economist, and Numero.

And then cherry on top: there was breakfast service! Just as I was settling down to work my way through my new pile of magazines, the stewardess (or train equivalent) brought me tray with croissants, jam, orange juice, and coffee. And then when I was finished...she brought me an omelet with susage and baked tomato. Yay!

After breakfast, I dozed off while listening to the very bohemian and aromatic american parents sitting behind me in the compartment explain the perils of using non-organic soaps and the evils of shampoo to their kids. Dirty hippies.