Arriving to the majestic St Pancras International, I remember to stock up on snacks and drinks from Marks & Sparks before joining the queue to the Eurostar. The massive queue moves impressively swiftly, as do the security and passport checks. Sadly, this brings you through to the human holding pen which is the London Eurostar waiting area. It’s so crowded it becomes a game of labyrinth navigating between bags and bodies to move down the corridors of seats.
When finally finding some free standing-space next to a bin, I get the urge for some caffeine and spot Pret in the distance. I nimbly zig zag my way past a blockade of French school kids sitting on the floor and join the Pret queue. I order a flat white and get an apple, just to find out the printer is not working so I can’t claim this on expenses – no worries, King’s, this one’s on me! It’s comforting that Pret remains true to their flat white recipe: 1) pour machine generated double espresso into paper cup 2) heat milk to the temperature of molten rock 3) combine. My mind wanders again, “has anyone come up with a caffeine vape yet?”.
As the gates to my train finally open, shoals of people ascend the platform in a frenzy to find their car, grateful to escape the clutches of the human holding pen. Mothers sprinting for some reason with their babies in one hand and luggage pulled with the other, to their already assigned seats. Presumably to nick the last bit of luggage space, which there is always plenty of. Having decided against parenthood, I calmly walk towards my car, take my seat, take out my laptop and open the bag of sour Colin the caterpillar and let the relaxation begin.
A mere 2 hours later I find myself in the centre of Paris. The journey was incredibly smooth and passed quickly with the help of a new WW2 documentary hosted by Tom Hanks. I figured it’s probably time to at least have an overview of what happened during WW2, at the ripe age of 44. On the commuter train from Gare du Nord to Gare de Lyon (to get the train to Dijon), I spot a young man in his late 20s flexing white jellies. Are jelly shoes coming back - now as haute men’s fashion? Shall I get ahead of the curve and introduce them to London on my return? This grandiose delusion luckily passes quickly.
The Train de grande Vitesse (TGV, train of great fastness in English) zips across the French countryside from Paris to Dijon at blistering speed and surprising smoothness. “Why can’t we have this in England…oh yeah, HS2…*sigh*”. In just 1.5 hours I am delivered to the beautiful city of Dijon where I am greeted by 5 days of world-leading cannabis and cannabinoid science. Gorgeous weather, top-class conference lunches, too many pre-clinical talks, and stellar networking chats with international colleagues describe the days to come.
One day before my return, I’m informed my Eurostar train back from Paris has been cancelled because the ongoing heatwave in the Netherlands has melted the tracks, or something. Luckily changing the train tickets, both Eurostar and TGV, was shockingly pain free. Don’t they understand the joy and subtle art of crippling bureaucracy? Have they not read Kafka or tried to set up an experimental drug study at King’s?
Apart from a 5am departure owing to my Eurostar cancellation (melted Dutch tracks), the trip back to London was as smooth and pleasurable as my outbound journey. It included a few hours stroll around beautiful Paris, and I decided to be the basic tourist and go for a Croque Monsieur and Café au lait at a Parisian corner café rather than the Lenny Kravitz falafel.