On August 30th, we left York and England for Paris.  Moving to Paris was a monumental day because it marked the beginning of our official school semester and us entering the Schengen zone, the European visa territory.  It was also monumental to all of us because we were traveling there by taking the Eurostar which runs underneath the English Channel.

We first took a non-stop train from York to King’s-Cross station in London.  Before we left, Scott took several items and souvenirs to the post office and mailed them home.  While we were in England, we had tried to notice what we weren’t using. If it was valuable or special and we wanted to keep it, we would mail it home; if not, we would either donate it, recycle it or throw it away.  When we had finished packing, we left the apartment and had some time to pass before our train left.  On our way to get brunch, we stopped in a thrift store so I could look one last time for a sweater or jacket that I’d needed since we left home.  I found one at my last stop in England!  

At the restaurant, we ordered brunch, chatted and relaxed after the hustle of packing up.  After a while, we started watching the clock, wondering what was taking so long.    We finally asked the waiter about our food and he said it would be just a few minutes.  We waited some more, getting progressively nervous as the minutes passed.  We asked the waiter to have them pack it up for “take away” and waited a bit more.  Eventually, Arlie, John and I left for the station and left Scott and Abe behind to give it five more minutes.  We had been at the restaurant for an hour and had no food to show for it.  It was going to be a long day of travel and we were banking on having nice, full tummies when we got on the train for London.  In the end, we all ended up at the station around the same time, the food had come right after John, Arlie and I left and Scott and Abe had found a short-cut.  

The train to York was smooth and quiet.  We started out by eating our long-awaited food.  Mine had gotten soggy in the box.  I don’t know about Scott, but I eyed the kids as they devoured their gluten free pancakes and decided they had made a better choice than my Mediterranean egg plate.  John graciously gave me half of one of his; it was very tasty!

We arrived at King’s Cross and walked across the street to St. Pancras to check in for the EuroStar.  The boarding process for the EuroStar is similar to boarding a plane with security scans and equipment, as well as passport processing stations.   Going through security took quite a while and the waiting area eventually became so full, it was standing room only.  We finally boarded and found our seats on the packed train.  The ride was relatively unremarkable.   We were surprised that the train only spent about thirty minutes of the two and a half hour trip in the Chunnel.  

We arrived at Paris North Station around 6:30 p.m. (after changing time zones), exited the station and came out into the streets of Paris.  We were glad to be off the train, curious about what it was going to be like and ready for dinner.  The first restaurant we saw was Five Guys.  The second was Popeye’s.  The third, Burger King.  We laughed at the irony and I thought, “where is the delicious and gourmet food the French are famous for?”  We decided to pass on these less than stellar meal choices and first figure out how to get to Paris Saint Lazare, the station where the train to our AirBnB left from.  This started a series of unfortunate events.  

We walked over one block and up a street, then back to where we started again, looking for the right bus stop.  After we found it, we tried to get on a bus and found out the buses only take cash.  We had not gotten Euros before we left England and had no cash so we got off the bus.  We eyed the taxis and walked over to talk to a driver.  He told us they only take cash and wanted forty Euros to drive us a mile and a half!  We started walking.  We told the kids, “It’s not far; we’ll look for dinner on the way.”  At this point, they were tired, discouraged and hungry and it seemed like we might have a revolt on our hands, at least from the younger two.  

Story interjection:  These series of unfortunate events are not only how good stories are made, they are also what typically makes foreign travel so challenging and muscle building and one of the top reasons we take trips like these. In the weeks since we left home, we had had several of these types of experiences, but never in a country where we did not speak the language.  The kids had already grown some and were learning flexibility and problem solving in trial-by-fire situations, but they were not yet owners of the “It’s all going to work out” belief yet.  It was time for Scott and I to be patient and endure the griping and complaining and model what we were wanting them to learn.  I think we did pretty well.     

After walking for several blocks, popping into a market for a small snack to appease one of our children who believed he might die of hunger right then and there and passing up several lovely French cafes with elegantly adorned tables set up outside and bustling with people, we settled on a little hole in the wall Turkish barbeque restaurant where the chef looked friendly and the food might be fast.  Yes, you read that right; our first meal in France was MIddle Eastern fare from a spit!  That is not what I had imagined but it turned out to be delicious and fast.  We were so grateful!  With our hunger satisfied and our feet rested, we set out for Saint Lazare station to complete the next and last of our journey.  

Paris Saint Lazare station is HUGE.  There’s a multi-story, chi-chi mall, an above ground train depot with close to thirty platforms, and a large, subterranean maze for subway routes.  We entered and fumbled our way through buying tickets, finding the train area and deciphering the platform display, all in French.  The most perplexing part was the platform display.  In England, the platform assignments were posted long before trains were scheduled to leave.  At Saint Lazare, the boards list departure trains alphabetically with their scheduled departure time, but do not post the platform until moments before it leaves.  Everyone stands around like flies on a light staring up at the lit board.  When the board finally flashes up the platform assignment, the passengers riding that train take off at break-neck speed towards the platform assigned.  It was chaotic and took a while to figure out. We finally did and were relieved when we got on the commuter train bound for La Frette sur Seine.  

By the time we got there, it was close to 10:00 and we left the apartment in York twelve hours before.  La Frette was quiet and dark.  We came out of the station and walked the long way to the apartment building (as we realized the next day), figured out how to get in the building and climbed the four flights of stairs to get to our home for the next two weeks.  Thankfully, it was nice and clean and just as described on the website.  It was finally time to settle in and get some rest.  We had tickets for the Eiffel the next afternoon.