However, what I wasn't necessarily confident of was my ability to locate and board that train without having to have at least one conversation. Ergo, I got there early.
It wasn't actually that difficult, since Rouen is a fairly small station there aren't too many trains coming in and out – basically the one that goes to Paris and the one that comes from Paris and maybe one other. I double-checked that, like the ones in Paris, I had to wait for my train's platform number to appear and then go to that platform. There were a lot of people around, but I realised that was because I'd gotten there so early that the previous train to Paris hadn't left – so when the platform number for that one appeared, nearly everyone else there disappeared.
My rush to the station – and residual nervousness – hadn't allowed for breakfast, and I realised I was hungry. I didn't feel like scaling the language barrier to order anything particularly inspiring, so I perused the vending machines. Chocolate bar, chocolate bar, BAG OF MADELEINES! My choice was made for me.
I checked the departure board again I saw my train had been allocated a platform so, back into anxious mode, I found the stairs to my platform and descended. I'd just gotten down and seated myself on a bench when a train rolled in – and I say 'a train' because I wasn't quite sure if it was my train or not; there were no identifying marks on it (destination, line number etc.) and the one sign I could see on the platform wall had 'Le Havre' (another station further along the line from Paris) with an arrow pointing one direction and 'Paris' with an arrow pointing the other direction.
Consternation. Was this my train? I was at the right platform, but I was also ten minutes early. This was not a situation I was familiar with.
Switch to slight panic mode. I didn't know if this was my train or not. If it wasn't, where was mine and how had I misinterpreted something as simple as a platform number to end up here? If I did have to go elsewhere to find my train, how much time did I have? This is how my mind works, by the way. Which isn't usually a problem, but when I'm somewhere it's much more difficult to find answers, things get complicated.
It didn't help that there didn't appear to be any staff around. I guess as a general rule, people know what they're doing and don't have to ask questions. So, I had to try a regular person and ask "Est-ce que ce train va à Paris?" [Does this train go to Paris?]
"Oui."
"Merci, merci." I said. I think the relief was obvious on my face.
"De rien." [It's nothing – the French equivalent of 'no probs'.]
So, I got on the train – well, after a certain amount of wandering up and and down looking for the 1st Class carriage. At the time going in 1st class (there are 2 classes) seemed necessary, but having since experienced both, 2nd isn't that much different. Well, on the trains I've been on at least. I'm yet to take a TGV train (there are several kinds of trains, including Intercities (which is the one to and from Rouen), TGV (which I'd be catching a few of between cities in the days to come) and Navette (I think I'm on one of those at some point).
But I found it – completely empty – and sat down. Before long we started moving, and I could tell based on where we'd come into Rouen on the train on Monday that I was indeed headed back to Paris. Now I could relax again.
After I'd arrived in Paris, I had to get from one station (Gare Lazare) to another (Gare de Lyon), but that was pretty straightforward; just went down from the train level to the metro level and jumped on a number 14 and rode four stops before getting off and doing it all in reverse – though Gare Lyon is a bit bigger than Gare Lazare and has several banks of platforms (called 'halls'), so I had to find a board with my train on it, and when I did it said Hall 2, so I went there and waited. Saw a guy who had three adorable shelties with him (the third one you can't see 'cause it's behind him).
Anyway, stood around doing bugger-all for a while before my train was announced and I got to my seat.
[Stream of consciousness for a while]
Once again the train wasn't far out of Paris before the big buildings disappeared and we were in 'la campagne' [the countryside] – which is not unlike that of England, e.g. mostly flat with the occasional hill, primarily devoted to farmland, and (especially to the eyes of an Australian used to the default colour being brown) very, very green.
The downside to being on the train, of course, is that I can't take pictures. I shall endeavour while I'm in Dijon to get out of the town a bit to see some countryside and take a few shots. I guess I could hire a car and give driving over here a shot – it's not Paris, for starters; that would make things a little less nightmarish.
Further out from Paris and it's a bit more hilly, and there are lots of trees. Whether or not it's technically forest I couldn't say as I'm not qualified to make such a judgement.
Getting much hillier now. Given Dijon is not all that far from the Swiss border, it's probably not unreasonable to assume that it's at a higher elevation than Paris.
Oh, wind turbines. First I've seen this trip.
In a tunnel. It seems like quite a long tunnel. It's quite an odd feeling, given I've not experienced it many times. But I've got a very big one coming up when I go from Paris to London on the Eurostar. That'll be even stranger, since it'll also mean going under the sea, which I've most definitely never done before.
Many of the houses here are very basic, two-storey affairs without balconies or anything - they look like Monopoly hotels.
Dijon
And then we'd arrived in Dijon. After interpreting the tram line map I worked our where I needed to go, bought a ticket and set off in search of my hotel. Which didn't take too long; the nearest stop was only four stops from the train station - and the stops here aren't very far apart. I turned to Google maps to get me the rest of the way, and found the sign.
Turns out it's not a hotel. Well, not the in structural sense at least; it's what the French refer to as chambres d'hotes - essentially a bed and breakfast. And my place looked like this:
I was not prepared for that at all.
Anyway, after chatting to the owner for a bit, I put my stuff down and went for a wander. And you know what that means - pictures.
They have strange, tiny buses here.
Turns out the European cup was here in town as well. Apparently it's on soon, and in France.
There are stack of eating places in the centre of town, which I was not far from; I picked a place doing fairly traditional French food and ordered a local dish, beef bourguignon and a glass of local (Burgundy) wine.
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