Trains have always fascinated me. My mother says that my first train ride was from Chennai (where I was born) to Hyderabad (where I would spend all my childhood) when I was 3 months old. I think we struck a bond then - trains and I. I have always dreamed of traveling by the world's fastest train ever since I heard about it, when I was eight years old.
So there I was, having unhesitatingly spent 108 euros (thats almost the price of a return air-ticket to Rome) on the one way fare between Paris and Nice (about 700 km away). Having located the right train, I went and sat in the least crowded seat could find. About minutes later, I decide to shift to the upper deck of the carriage, to get a better view of things. The train was bound to start in 5 minutes. As I sat happily at a window seat in the upper deck, soaking up the ambiance (the inside looks like an aircraft), a sudden thought crossed my mind. Included in the cost of my TGV ticket was something called a reservation fee, that other trains did not have. This meant that seats were reserved for every passenger. Though that is a good thing in general, here it meant that I could be siting in the wrong place. The ticket is quite complicated, and my French literacy isn't great, so I asked a lady who was seated nearby. She mumbled something in French, from which I gathered that I was in the wrong place. I couldn't understand too much else.
Then, thankfully, an English speaking gentleman intervened and explained that she was in the carriage too, and both me and her were in the same carriage. Hence, following her to the carriage would be the best thing to do. I did that, and after 10 minutes was seated in the right place, looking at the French countryside, and relishing as the train went really fast.
After about 3 hours, at 1700, the train came to a halt all of a sudden. By then I had begun conversing with an elderly French gentleman, who was on his way to Nice where he lived, and was quite friendly. The message on the PA system was that there had been an accident somewhere down the line, and the train would be delayed. I was quite worried, as I had made a reservation at a student hostel, which would become void if I didn't turn up there at 1930. Only later would I know what was in store for me when I got there.
So, as the train lumbered along at a much slower pace, the scenery changed from wheat farms to the coast and soon we were oing through hilly terrain. Finally the train arrived in Nice at 2030, as against a scheduled time of 1915. I was worried about the reservation, and made my way to the room, following the instructions given on the website. In about 10 minutes, I had found the fancy sounding Hotel Faubourg Montmarte, only to be quite stunned.
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