Where is home?

This is a belated post as I have been busy over the last few days. I also didn't want to remember the particularly bad train journey I had last week.

It was time to leave Normandy, once again, to head back to England. Without sounding like a stuck record, I thought I might describe the train journey from Normandy to England.

The day started badly with a not very pleasant ticket clerk at Carentan. With the modern ticket offices, they have an intercom system to talk to the passengers. This is necessary as they sit behind three inches of re-enforced glass. Each time I spoke with the ticket clerk, she would switch off the intercom so I could not hear what she was saying to her colleague. I couldn't help getting a bit paranoid each time this happened. It is the sort of feeling you get when you walk into a corner shop that is run by Indians or Pakistanis. As soon as you walk in, they immediately start talking in their own language. You can't help feeling that they are talking about you. With the bout of paranoia over and done with, I now had my tickets for the next few journeys.

It is not long before we are advised that the train is delayed. Due to operating problems, the train is expected 20 minutes late. Not to mind, I have about an hour and 15 minutes to change in Paris for my Eurostar connection. 20 minutes pass and the train has not arrived. No more information and no idea when the train will arrive. I look across at the ticket office and I see the two ticket clerks talking to each other with no regards to the passengers. I can tell by the expressions on their faces that they are planning their next strike. I can see why they are behind re-enforced glass now!

Another ten minutes pass by and then we here the noise on the rails that indicate that the train is arriving. This is the only way we would find out as the ticket office blinds are now closed. Maybe the strike has started already!

Safely on the train, I bid my wife farewell and prepare myself for the 2 1/2 hour journey to Paris. I had come prepared this time with my laptop and 3g internet card. I am pleased with myself as I had remembered to bring the British to French power adaptor. I would need that as the battery on the laptop lasts for about two minutes, despite the screen telling me I have 3 hours of power!

The next dose of bad news. The design of the plug on the train prevents me from putting in my adapter. There is a metal lid that lifts up to reveal the plug. Unfortunately, the adapter is too bulky to fit in it with this lid. The next 30 minutes or so is spent trying to snap the plastic adapter to make it fit. The only thing I managed to do was smack my knuckles on the table by trying to hard. No Internet for me then!

In the process of trying to adapt the adapter, I hadn't noticed that the train was running very slowly. I also failed to notice that we were in Bayeux for quite a long time. Once again, no information was given for why we were getting later and later. Needless to say, the train was delayed just long enough for me to miss my connection in Paris.

On arrival in Paris, I quickly went to the ticket office in Saint Lazare to exchange my ticket for the next Eurostar departure. The lady was very helpful and was smiling as she gave me the new ticket. I knew that the next train left at 16:13 so I made my way to Gare Du Nord to check in. As I arrived at the station, I noticed that my ticket was for the 18:43 departure. No wonder the nice lady in the ticket office was smiling; she knew I would have to wait 3 1/2 hours for the next train.

What was I going to do for 3 1/2 hours? I could have gone sightseeing but with the rushing around, I was getting hot and sweaty. I also had a rucksack and a suitcase and I didn't fancy lugging that around Paris.

Having given it some thought, I did what all Parisians would have done. I thought about going on a strike march but decided on a long late lunch instead. I am quite used to eating at the table for long periods of time so a few hours would be a piece of cake. In fact, I had to order a piece of cake to kill the last hour of the lunch.

Finally, I am on the Eurostar and waiting for lift off. Just before we left, I was joined by a nice man who immedieately made conversation with me. Geoff, or Jeff, lived on the opposite side of the Cotentin Peninsula. Turns out that we are neighbours in France. There is about 50 miles between us, but we are almost neighbours. We chatted about the life in France, strikes, fosse septics and all things French until the train came to a grinding halt. We were politely told that there are operating problems and we will be delayed. These polite operating problems ultimately delay the train by 30 minutes.

Sitting at the table opposite ours, was a young family. It turns out that the man was Irish and his wife was Colombian. They had a long distance relationship before they settled in England. When I explained my long distance relationship for almost the last ten years, they were amazed. I think they felt some pity for me for having to do this, but were amazed all the same. As I tried to make my story sound amazing, I tried to look pitiful to get some sympathy.

This journey has taught me two things. The first is that although I love train travel, I hate train travel. The second is, if we talk to people around us, there are some great stories to be heard. I am not sure if my story is a great one, but the fact that a few people out there know what I am doing to make this life work, is quite reassuring for me. Don't ask me why but it is.

If the people I have met today ever read this post, for their information, I managed to make my connection in London with just two minutes to spare. I got home after 13 hours of travel. Where is home anyway?