Too many countries

I can’t say much for the shower in my room last night. It reminded me of all those nights spent in mobile homes when we toured with the theatre company. Except smaller. It was so small, it was almost impossible to bend over. At least I was never at any risk of falling over. The pressure was pretty shit too. More a dribble than a stream. Temperature was fine, though.

I guess, being in a hostel, albeit not in a dormitory, you have to expect a fair bit of noise through the night. And that’s what I got last night. For some reason, they were playing chasings up and down the corridor outside my room. This would have been fine had they not been bouncing off the walls.

Okay, that sounds like I’m moaning but, I’m not really. I realise how rambunctious youngsters can be. And, to be frightfully honest, I rather enjoyed the funny looks I got from the usual occupants when I walked down the hall and out of the building at 9am. I guess they are not use to seeing old men in hostels.

Train #6: Paris Nord to Montparnesse via M4

Mirinda would not have liked the Metro train I caught this morning. It was super crowded. I almost didn’t get a seat, but a very kind lady offered me hers. Given the trip was going to take over half an hour, I gratefully accepted her generosity.

And, to be fair, she managed to get another seat shortly afterwards when a few people left the train.

It’s amazing how many times it’s a woman who offers me her seat. Okay, men will invariably ask if I want help with my suitcase but they are loath to give up a seat once they have one.

By the time we reached Montparnesse, the carriage was almost empty. I left and joined the masses heading for the main station. That took almost half an hour as well. It felt twice as long as going from Bank to Tower on the London Tube. Still, eventually I arrived and started looking for somewhere to have a coffee.

I made the woman behind the counter laugh when I said “Tack, danke, thanks, merci!” I got there eventually. As I took possession of a grande cafe creme, I apologised saying I’d obviously been through too many countries.

Having filled a caffeine hole, I headed over to Hall 1, which, coincidentally, was where my train was due to arrive. Apparently there are three halls, but I didn’t see any others. I just walked towards the crowds and found the right one. Pure luck, I have to say.

Train #7: Gare Montparnesse to Toulouse Matabiau

My train was very comfortable though I was on the upper level which meant hauling my suitcase up the stairs. Not a problem unless you’re in a hurry. Still, very comfortable once you’re in your seat.

I was on the aisle seat with no-one next to me until Bordeaux when a lady indicated it was her seat by the window. That gave me over two hours of sitting alone.

I even used the onboard ordering process for some lunch and a coffee. And I have to say, the TGV INOUI version is better than the one on the German ICE trains. Okay, both of them allow you to order via their website and they deliver your order to your seat (much better than carrying food and drink back to your seat, if you ask me) but, on the ICE trains the person who delivers then has to take your payment. On TGV INOUI, you pay before you order. Makes way more sense.

Anyway, the entire trip was uneventful so, sadly, I have nothing exciting to write about.

We arrived in Toulouse a little ahead of time. I walked off the train into a beautiful sunlit day, a stark contrast to the grey, drizzly morning I’d left in Paris.

After checking in to the very close yet covered in scaffolding hotel and having a bit of a rest, I headed out for a bit of an explore. I’d noticed on the photo above the sign indicating that there was a Metro stop named after Joan (my favourite mad saint) so figured I would go and find it and work out why. She wasn’t really known for her train travel, opting, instead for either walking or riding a horse. I hadn’t heard of her connection with Toulouse and had to find out.

It was a bit of a trek but so totally worth it.

The Metro station, it seems, is named after the Place Jeanne-d’Arc which contains the Jeanne-d’Arc underground car park. The reason it is called Place Jeanne-d’Arc has nothing really to do with Joan. Rather it is because of the massive bronze statue of Joan on a horse that was placed there in 1920.

Originally it was called Place Matabiau and had been since the 11th century. For reasons unknown, a Catholic newspaper decided the square needed a Joan so they asked for donations and eventually there was enough to entice local sculptor Antonin Mercié to give it a shot.

He did a fine job and the statue was loved by all.

Then, in 1942, the municipality decided to change the name of the square in tribute to Joan. All a bit prosaic really. Still, it’s a great statue and I really love the fact that they named an underground car park after my favourite mad saint.

And that just about wrapped up my final travel day. Tomorrow I will get picked up from the bus station and taken to the château for my cooking retreat. I think an early night is in order.

But, before I go, this photo is especially for Mirinda.

I reckon this would be a very long train trip.