I’m very excited because I had a day on the train. Send help.
Of course, everything is subjective. I’d booked a leisurey-time train for a Sunday rather than insane morning o’clock so that Host could drive me to the station in Roosendaal at a reasonable time. Also, I haven’t been there before (woo, an adventure!) and it’s closer to both homes than Rotterdam, so cheaper too.
In fact, it turned out that Roosendaal is a fabulous medium-sized station with plenty of parking and a hotel with a restaurant terrace just over the road where you can grab a nice coffee that comes with free lovely sugary biscuity things, either as you wait for your train or as you wait for someone to arrive. It’s the last station before Belgium on the line from Lage Zwaluwe to Antwerp, and I now think it’s better than Rotterdam and the metro to Akkers, despite the mind-boggling cheese possibilities afforded by the latter.
Roosendaal itself looks quite interesting and had there been more time, I’d certainly have enjoyed probing the depths of the Roosendaal Passage.
Coffee consumed, the 12:21 to Antwerp was already on platform 1a when I got into the station (not much to see) which, after a mild panic I’d forgotten the finger pupper, left sufficient time for boarding, choosing a nice place to sit and then a relaxing hour watching the world trundle by.
It was not a fast train and it seemed that we stopped at every station, so it was nice to entertain myself by trying to photograph people on bikes at level crossings as we rattled through Belgium. It was hot, but the air-conditioning was working and the breeze from windows that could be opened was most refreshing. I had the carriage to myself for a good while, though that luxury was progressively eroded — along with the silence — as we approached Antwerp and home-goers and their devil-spawn filled the empty space.
At Antwerp I had half an hour to sit and gawp one last time at the station while waiting for the 13:37 to Kortijk. A few people on the escalator were clearly having the same reaction I had last week as the edifice hove into view, and I wondered whether to suggest they take a good look round but got distracted by marching purposefully to platform one to make it look as if I wasn’t at all a teeny bit excited myself to be there.
The Intercity 713 to Kortrijk left on time and also, sadly, contained some children who were louder than the adults they were travelling with should’ve allowed them to be. I’m not sure whether this irked me more or less than the persistent reminder that having spent so much buying a smartphone, people now can’t afford to buy headphones. I made a mental note to have them sterilised when I rule the world.
Thankfully, the train emptied at Ghent and calm was quickly restored.
A quick change onto the 15:13 Courtrai to Lille Flandres later, and I found myself wondering how to fill an hour and fifty minutes until my TGV to Paris.
The Parc des Dondaines is a large park just between Lille Flandres and Lille Europe — turn right out of the station and follow the signs to Lille Europe, it can’t be missed — where I sat at at table in the shade and enjoyed some water and a quick snack.
The TGV to Paris left about ten minutes late because a train coming into Lille Europe was running late and the passengers needed time to change. That was nice of the SNCF, I thought, but I was slightly concerned by the shortening of time to change between Nord and Austerlitz.
The TGV was an oasis of calm and I was almost overjoyed to see that people were respecting the happy-making “quiet phone” sign. I also became excited to learn that seat 61 on the upper deck — and presumably seat 121 — has a special button on the side which opens the door.
Much joy.
Changing trains to Austerlitz from Nord was not as fraught as I’d worried and I arrived with lots of time to spare before the Intercités 3685 left for Limoges.
The train was full, perhaps because there’s a bank holiday on Thursday which means that for the majority of France, this week is a three-day week. Most of the coach was quiet, save for a couple of the worst type of Parisians — him swearily Gainsbourg, her slightly orange — audibly and continually amused by their rebellious descent into the provinces. Their dinner was good, I’ll grant them that; they had sparkle-fizz, but only paper cups. I waited until they’d finished before producing my pre-preared feast, which also contained a gin and tonic and coffee freshly-ground at my seat, for extra pettiness. Thankfully, both fell asleep half-way into the journey and we were all the better for it.
The train was slightly delayed pulling into Limoges, but the contrôleur had rung ahead and had the 23:10 train to La Coquille (the last train of the day) held — for me, I like to think — and it was sitting on the adjacent platform when we arrived. The train fairies were clearly in a good mood because we’d made up the lost time as we pulled into La Coquille on time at 23:44.
Today must’ve been a hateful day outside the trains; it was still 22°C in La Coquille and so humid that I drove home with the air-conditioning on.
