September 1 - Well, That Wasn’t the Train I Planned to Take

 September 1 — Well, That Wasn’t the Train I Planned to Take

Today was supposed to be fairly straightforward: breakfast at the hotel, walk over to Gare Montparnasse, find my train, meet up with the photography group, and head south.

Apparently, the trains had other ideas.

I started the morning later than planned. I thought I would wake up around 6:00, but apparently my body had a different opinion after traveling to Paris. I slept until 8:00 and decided there was still plenty of time to have breakfast at the hotel.

The breakfast buffet was very French and very good. I had the soft scrambled eggs that Presley loves, two pieces of bacon, a sausage, mushrooms, a small flat pancake, and a madeleine with jelly in the middle. And because one coffee apparently wasn’t enough, I had both an Americano and a cappuccino.

But what I enjoyed almost as much as breakfast was simply looking around the dining room. Near me were two men I thought were American, two men whose German conversation I could understand well enough to know where they were from, and an Asian couple whose country I couldn’t place. It was one of those little reminders that I wasn’t sitting in a hotel dining room in Phoenix. I was in Paris, surrounded by people who had arrived here from all over the world.

Then it was time for my first real French train adventure.

Finding Gare Montparnasse

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This was my first good look at Gare Montparnasse. I particularly like the names running vertically down the concrete wall: Bordeaux, Angoulême, Poitiers and Châtellerault. And there was Angoulême—my destination—literally written on the station.

There were travelers everywhere, many of them pulling suitcases just like mine.

I had actually tried to take a shortcut into the station, only to discover that the escalator at that entrance wasn’t working. So I turned around and walked to the main entrance—which, naturally, was exactly where my map had told me to go in the first place.

Note to self: sometimes Google Maps knows better than I do.

Once inside, I discovered that Gare Montparnasse is not simply a room full of railroad tracks.

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It’s enormous and multi-level, with halls, shops, stairs, escalators, ticket machines and departure information seemingly everywhere. The departures are projected high on the wall, while travelers move through the levels below.

I found a place to sit with my luggage and started doing what everyone else seemed to be doing: watching the board.

I also discovered another little travel mistake. My phone was down to about 40 percent. I should have charged it to 100 percent overnight, but since I thought I would be awake at six, I hadn’t worried about it.

Fortunately, I had brought my little portable travel charger. So there I sat in Gare Montparnasse, suitcase beside me, charging my phone and watching Paris go by.

And there was plenty to watch.

My Generation Is on the Move

One thing really struck me as I watched the stream of travelers.

There were a lot of women around my age traveling alone.

Suitcase behind them. Phone in hand. Looking at the departure boards. Figuring out where they needed to go next.

Exactly what I was doing.

My generation is on the move.

I hope it’s vacation.

There was something reassuring about seeing so many women independently navigating a huge Paris train station. Nobody looked particularly helpless. They were simply going somewhere.

Only in Paris

And because this is Paris, even a train station has macarons.

There is an actual Ladurée counter inside Gare Montparnasse, its pastel-green display filled with rows of colorful macarons. Apparently, if your train is late, Paris is prepared to console you properly.

The station itself was also much brighter and more modern than I had imagined.

Huge skylights flood the upper levels with natural light, and from where I was sitting I could look across several levels of the station toward Hall 1 and Hall 4. There are shops and restaurants tucked throughout the complex, so it feels almost like a shopping center that happens to have trains running underneath it.

Then the atmosphere changed for a few minutes.

A Very Visible Security Presence

Four armed men in fatigues came through the area and positioned themselves around the walkway leading toward Hall 1.

One stood very near where I was sitting.

They were extremely alert—watching the people, the walkways and the surrounding area. I don’t know what prompted their presence or whether this was simply routine security, so I’m not going to speculate. But when four armed soldiers suddenly appear around you in a train station, you notice.

And then, almost as quickly, life in the station continued.

People walked past.

Suitcases rolled by.

Everyone kept watching the departure board.

Which brings us to the part of the day when things became interesting.

Surprise! Your Train Is Canceled.

Our train was supposed to leave at 1:00 p.m.

It didn’t.

It was canceled.

Suddenly, all those carefully made plans disappeared and the objective became much simpler:

Find everybody.

There are nine of us traveling with the photography group, although at that point we still didn’t know who the other person was. So a collection of people who hadn’t necessarily met one another yet had to find each other inside one of the largest train stations in Paris and figure out what to do next.

Eventually, we did.

The new plan became the 4:15 train.

We all managed to get tickets.

We all managed to get seats.

And somehow, we were finally getting out of Paris.

The Best $10 of the Day

There was one unexpected bonus.

Our seats are in First Class.

The upgrade cost me $10.

Ten dollars!

Looking around at the wide seats, the generous spacing and the much calmer environment, I can say without hesitation that this may have been the easiest financial decision I’ve made in France.

Really, really, really worth it.

After hours of sitting in the station, watching boards, charging phones, locating people and rearranging travel plans, settling into that First Class seat felt wonderful.

And then we started moving.

For the first few minutes, the view outside was still unmistakably urban and industrial—multiple sets of tracks running beside one another, overhead electrical lines crisscrossing the sky, concrete buildings and the infrastructure required to move thousands of trains in and out of Paris.

Then Paris began to disappear.

France Outside the Window

The scenery gradually opened.

And then I started seeing these.

Wind turbines appeared beside the tracks, rising above the fields. They were an interesting transition point in the landscape—the infrastructure of modern France sitting alongside open countryside.

A little farther along, the view became even broader.

Fields stretched almost to the horizon, with wind turbines scattered across the farmland and just a few houses and trees interrupting the enormous open spaces.

This is the part of train travel I love.

You don’t simply arrive somewhere. You get to watch one place slowly become another.

Paris became suburbs.

The suburbs became rail yards.

The rail yards became fields.

And suddenly the frantic afternoon at Gare Montparnasse seemed very far away.

So here I am, finally heading toward Angoulême, sitting comfortably in First Class on a train I had absolutely no intention of taking when I woke up this morning.

Our 1:00 train was canceled.

We scrambled to find one another.

We still have a mystery member of the group.

We regrouped.

We caught the 4:15.

And we’re on our merry way.

I’m hoping the Great French Train Escapade of September 1 ends here.

But somehow, I have a feeling this trip is just getting started.