It’s cold this morning, still, grey and maybe two degrees. After a leisurely breakfast of bread, boiled egg, ham, cheese, yogurt and fruit, and farewells to our ever effervescent hosts (and extraordinary lakeview room), we’re strolling to the station for the 10:38am to Geneva.
Our first loss in Montreux. We’ve left our umbrellas at Le Museum restaurant of Gypsy King fame, and they don’t reopen till 6pm. Our contribution to Le Museum’s future customer service. First loss and second mistake. The first mistake was to by an Oyster card in London two weeks ago (Sydney ‘opal’, brisbane ‘go’ etc. Etc.). They cost ten pounds and offer zero savings. So we discovered from the helpful railway official at Oxford St. 10 seconds after we bought two. Oh well.
The train runs along the lake edge and offers spectacular views of both the lake on the left, and chateaux and vineyards on the right. A UNESCO heritage site, the vineyards’ steeply rising stone-terraced vines resemble Balinese rice fields more than the rolling vined hills of the Hunter (for example). The occasional river flows over the stone wall steps and on into the lake.
We pass a stone arched bridge, nestled between vines and a small wood just beneath the town where Di used to live in Cully when Colin studied at IMEDE
It’s a travel day. Montreux to Geneva, Geneva to Paris and Paris to London, getting us in at about 8pm tonight. It’s all rain and mist from Geneva to Paris. Countless wet green fields with hedge fences and swollen rivulets coursing into small dams and wetlands.
In Paris we navigate the tube from Gare de Lyon to Gare de Nord in peak hour, a clarinetest echoing the tunnels with jazz tunes as we’re carried by the crowd downstream to our platform. Although we’re contained in a veritable transport tunnel from Montreux to London, we’re unmistakably in France now; the accent, the fashion, the beauracracy…..
Paris customs is a little chaotic; manual photograph and finger prints, electronic passport and photo recognition followed by bag check less belt, watch, jacket, pocket contents, laptops and aerosols. Took awhile but we were an hour early so no problems. It’s run partially by private firms (securite privee), and they make it very clear that their job is to watch and command only. Find a tray, up to you, return a tray, on you etc etc.
The train is chockers and the stair down from the duty free shop drops us at carriage 18 – we’re looking for number 2. 46 wheely-bagged wielding passengers per carriage surging down the platform, queuing for pole position at the luggage racks.
I venture to use the 330kph dunny which is fine but the senso-matic soap, water and drier are too close together and I play handplacement wack-a-mole; dryer blasting when I’m under soap, soap coming out when I’m at the tap etc etc. Eventually a two handed maneuver delivers the right sequence and I’m home and hose.
The Eurostar is a French / UK joint venture and I’m confident that the French won the loo paper contract. Double ply rip-stop 300 weight sandpaper. French and Swiss same-same. We thinks its a ploy to encourage bidet use. But since the train doesn’t have those (smart move given the rock n roll motion), it’s a raw deal.
The train rushes on through the inky blackness of the night. Children sleep, business people ticky tack on their laptops and a very large pommy guy gets through two salami subs and a bar of chocolat while grinning at social media posts. The floaty-rocking of the train and the erie streaks of light passing in the darkness make it feel like we’re suspended in space, some kind of weird space travel. The conductor advises us that, ‘due to traffic rules’ our spaceship will be landing somewhat later than scheduled.
A short walk from Kings Cross station to the Howard Winchester and we’re greeted be a small, gravelly-voiced eastern European women having a smoke at the door. ‘Come in, come in, we’re open 24hrs. You have two rooms booked, no? Just one? Must be mistake, no problem.’ We dump our gear and head out to a little place on Caledonia Rd near St Pancras. Ten hours door-to-door.
