Surviving the Train

Returning to Paris, there is a bit of time for a quick walk through the Tuileries. A roadside snack bar is the only dinner option which is both fast enough and cheap enough. So there really is a croque-monsieur sandwich, and they do serve them in Paris. All manner of French textbook minutiae have been seeping back slowly. Including that essay on the evils of l'alimentation rapide as the antithesis of French culture. A baker's dozen years removed from my last French class, a mere eight hours of total immersion has already started to take effect. But the process is rudely interrupted when it comes time to depart.

Gare du Nord

The American family is on the same train back to London. Their daughter is perfectly behaved. Just old enough to appreciate the visit to a foreign country, and even enjoy it.

I often wish I had travelled more as a child, but I still can't understand parents who drag along (multiple) infants on inter-continental long-haul flights. Maybe it's to visit the grandparents, or maybe it's just a foolish whim, but all the child knows is that he/she's tired/bored/hungry/thirsty/hot/cold, Mom and Dad aren't doing anything about it, and it just won't end.

I doubt think the challenge gets easier as the kids get older. Our evening train is packed with children, some off to vacation in London, others returning from a day of sugar and excitement at Euro Disney. They are all literally bouncing around the entire train compartment, completely ignoring their exhausted, pleading parents. Eurostar first class seemed like a huge ripoff for a couple of airline-style meals, but now could have been money well spent.

One particular scally is running up and down the aisle, flailing about and whacking things. I close my eyes, but am suddenly jolted by a punch to the arm. The mind boggles. Did that little punk just hit me?

The mind races. OK, what was that French word? Best not to say anything, lest it come out completely unintelligibly. The mind races again. How hard can I hit him back without getting into trouble? Does British common law or French civil law govern aboard the train? The default currency and billing system for the dining car depends on the country of departure. Does the same rule apply for the law, or does it switch over depending on which side of the tunnel you're on? What if you're in the tunnel? Can I surreptitiously push him off as we're going through?

In the end, all I can muster is a baleful glare, a toss of a camera bag onto the adjacent empty seat with disgust, and a long cold stare at the mortified mother.
The train finally arrives, and most of the other passengers not travelling with children hasten to disembark. As we flee, the American dad turns to me and says, "Congratulations, you've survived the train ride from Hell."