Escaping by (French) trains

I’m writing this on the Toulouse to Paris train, a nearly five-and-a-half-hour journey. France is the only country in which I make long train journeys. In Australia the distances between the major cities are so vast that I usually take a plane.

I adore French trains. The famous fast-speed  TGV (Trains Grands Vitesses) render  journeys between Paris and the major cities a short, pleasant interlude. Even the ordinary trains are relatively fast, and equally comfortable. This route from Toulouse to Paris is via Bordeaux, so ‘ordinary’ speed for the first leg of just over two hours, and grand vitesse from Bordeaux to Paris, a distance twice as far as the first leg, but taking only slightly longer thanks to the much faster speed.

Most of my friends, being enseignants-chercheurs, or at least avid readers, find train journeys very productive, and I agree with them. Where else am I forced to sit at my desk for five hours straight with few distractions? More than that, there is something inspiring about being surrounded on all sides by such an abundance and variety of green: the trees, hedges and rows of crops; but also the farmhouses, villages small and large, clustered around a church spire, the occasional chateau in the distance.

If Sarkozy’s racaille* really do exist, they are not on this train. The loud one-sided phone calls to which I am frequently forced to listen on Anglophone trains are not here either. An announcement at the start asked us to switch our mobile phones to silent, and reminded us there are small sections between compartments where one can speak on the phone, and also recharge laptops. My fellow-travellers speak in low voices to each other, read or sleep. On the first leg, it’s so quiet in here that I hope the tap-tap of my typing does not annoy anyone. Many more people join the train at Bordeaux and the carriage noise settles into a low hum. Even two small children across the aisle from me are relatively quiet, their parents providing distractions and constant ‘shushing’.

So far, in one-and-a-half hours I have read several chapters of a novel, sketched a lecture outline for next semester, and written this blog post. Not a bad morning’s work.

* In 2005 when Sarkozy was the Minister for the Interior, he famously/notoriously referred to the young men who had rioted as ‘racaille’—rabble.