STRASBOURG

I love it when a plan comes together. Leaving Gare de Strasbourg, Kim googled Le Grand Hotel, "It should be close by."  "Do you mean that hotel there?"  It was just across the road.  Perfect.

You notice you are closer to the German border when the rail notifications turn bilingual.  The second clue is menus begin to offer schnitzel and krugelhopf instead of boeuf Bourguignon and Le Petite Dejeurner.  They are still there, this being France, but Deutsch is just over the border.  The sealer is when you go to the hotel breakfast and you are surrounded by robust couples in hiking clothes planning their day over a big plate of small goods and coffee with hot milk.

Our upgraded chamber deluxe room featured two BBC channels that offered Rugby League and Pot Black instead of Jai Alai and soccer volleyball.  We were informed that Britain is enthusiastically adopting solar energy incorporating electronics.  The latest development is municipal litter bins incorporating a solar panel that inform councils when the bins are full and require emptying!

French railway stations have a life of their own: player pianos, walking strips reserved for the sight impaired, high vaulted ceilings, a variety of security services, €0.80 toilet fees complete with turnstiles, marches and bars.  Sometimes you score a lounge reserved for Eurail passengers where you can follow the progress of the platform allotment of your train.  However, in most cases you will find yourself in a scrum equivalent to an under sevens soccer match staring anxiously up at a blue screen marked Departs.

C'est Tragique!!!!  We got on the wrong train.  We should have realised by the composition and livery that this could not possibly be our TGV to Stuttgart.  Unfortunately the train was moving before a fellow passenger informed us we were headed for somewhere obscure.  A quick turnaround at the next station and back to Strasbourg Central to throw ourselves on the mercy of French Rail officialdom.  "Unfortunately Madame, the next train to Stuttgart is full! " Not even 2nd class?" we implored. "You will have to speak to le tren manager."

Now there are some pretty important positions in French society ~ President Macron, top Michelin-starred chefs, your local boulangerist, waiters etc.  But raised to a level high above these mere mortals is Le Tren Manager.  Until you receive their tick of approval the rail network grinds to a halt.  Racing up and down from one platform to another enquiring whether a person in SNCF uniform is your train manager is guaranteed to raise a sweat, and your Eurail voucher to look decidedly soiled.

"Let's just get onto Platform 1 and we will board the next train into Germany and let God sort it out!"  I then noticed a uniformed gentleman adjusting his tie.  "Bonjour, Are you the train manager for the next TGV to Frankfurt?"  "Qui, your tickets s'il vous plait".  "We were informed your train was full, but do you think we could be squeezed on as 2nd class passengers despite our expensive 1st booking." "Qui, there are plenty of seats available in 1st class."

Just outside Baden Baden (so good they named it twice), Kim expansively waved her arms at the multitude of empty seats in our carriage.  "So fortunate they squeezed us in."  Our sole companions were two bright lady pensioners who must have chatted for France.

Bienvenue A Bord.