OCT9th-My first brilliant experience after removing myself from the eurostar is the dulcet singing voice of the french train announcements, it just made me feel so at home in their station. Which explains why it takes me an hour to actually exit the place, what with a distinctly foreign aspect to the signage and trouble finding a luggage locker. The coiffed spaniel riding up the escalator with her master greets me as I take my leave, and I realize I don’t believe ever having seen a dog on an escalator before, but it does have a ring to it. The corner bakeries are populated with baskets of conspicuously French bread. Obscure French words for search, thing, without, rise like ramparts from the fog of war, but do little to assist in the purchase of cheese. Better to have remembered the French for smoked, or cheddar; ended up with neither, just a wedge of something soft and smelling of moist earth, that spread proudly over heel of a baguette.
