These messages are from a series of e-mails written after our vacation to Paris and Italy, in the summer of 2002. The events recounted in this internet diary occurred overnight from Monday, June 24 to Tuesday, June 25.
--Jim McQueen
The apartment manager had given me the phone number of a taxi company with English speaking dispatchers. When I called them, they didn't have anything available, but a few minutes later I was able to hail a nice van-sized taxi right at our corner -- probably a stroke of luck at the height of rush hour. The ride to Gare Bercy took half an hour, through typically insane Paris traffic.
The station felt relatively modern, and somewhat small -- the equivalent of Burbank airport. We already had Eurail passes and reservations for our train, so there wasn't much to do during our hour-long wait. The main traffic at the time was for an "auto-train" to Rome. People would bring their cars to the station, which would be driven onto the train while the passengers climbed into ordinary railcars.
Our train showed up about 15 minutes before departure time. We were scheduled to leave at 8:00 PM and arrive in Venice at 8:30 AM. Our reservations had a car and compartment already designated on them. We looked for car #2, and found it was the second one behind the engine, all the way at the far end of the train from the terminal. During the long walk, I figured we'd be at the close end in the morning.
When I first saw our compartment, I was afraid that our luggage would fill all the floor space. But Nancy pointed out that we could shove the bags under the seats, and they all just fit. There were two big bench seats, enough for six people, that we had all to ourselves. Above the seats were the two upper berths, folded against the wall out of the way. The kids immediately began lowering them and fiddling with all the amenities. The compartment was comfortably air conditioned, and there were little reading lights by the berths.
The train began to leave the station on time, and as we pulled out I started to walk back to investigate the dining car. I had to walk back through several cars, and I passed a couple of large groups of college-aged kids travelling together. I was glad not to have a compartment in their midst. I found the dining car, and learned that they had one seating, at 9:00 PM. I asked to make a reservation, and instead of taking my name, they gave me a reservation slip from a pad of paper.
We all rested until dinner time, reading and watching the French countryside pass by. The sun was still bright late in the summer evening, and it was pleasant to see quick snippets of other people's lives close to the train tracks. At one point, the conductor came by and took our tickets and passports. The brochure had explained that they'd do the paperwork overnight, and return everything in the morning.
At 9:00 we got a table for four in the dining car, and ordered dinner from a price fixe menu. They gave Nancy and I each a glass of champagne, but the dinner was fairly ordinary. It was a wonderful ambiance, though. We had a young couple at the table across from us take a photo. They were American, a lawyer and a physician, spending the summer wandering though Europe. As we were eating some other tourists entered the car looking for dinner, but they were out of luck. I felt smug about having figured out the system.
This photo became the photo on our 2002 Christmas cards.
After dinner, we closed the door on our compartment, and resumed reading and watching the scenery. We'd had one bottle of red French wine left from our apartment, and Nancy and I sipped that until it was bed time.
The compartment came with sheets, blankets, and pillows. The berths were just long enough for me to lay straight, though I would have liked another couple of inches. We closed the window shade, and mostly went quickly to sleep. I only remember waking once, as we were moving slowly through a station in the dead of night. I could read "Lausanne" on the signs, so we must have been in Switzerland.
It's good thing Sean had chosen a lower berth, he fell out bed twice that night.
Love,
Jim