Do not underestimate the Eurostar travelling from Paris to London. Standing at the platform in Gare du Nord, the 18 carriage train curls ahead out of sight like an endless silver snake striking for Britain. “Ze advice?” suggests the French steward checking his watch.
“Run.” Channelling the Chariots of Fire soundtrack and the Olympic spirit engulfing the city I explode into the 400-Metres-With-Wheelie-Bag-And-Coffee-Cup Sprint (sole competitor, test event) when suddenly a whistle blasts. Nowhere near the finish line which happens to be Carriage 1, this probably isn’t a race gun but a sign the train is about to leave.
It’s four minutes before departure (an eternity in normal cross-Europe train language) but mid-stride I’m waved into the closest door frantically. Inside the final carriages, the sprint slows to hurdles, jumping suitcases being stowed (“ Oops, excuse-moi, pardon !“), arriving at the pearly gates (glass doors) of Business Premier sweat-soaked like a double-dipped crumpled croissant. Just as I slide into single window seat 51 the train rumbles into life.
Even without Flo Jo-like speed I could’ve completed the platform sprint plus a pause to nonchalantly puff on an imaginary Gauloises. But the staff are less laissez-faire because, thanks to Brexit, this train has special status including border controls (both French exit and UK entry. Arriving there’s no paperwork, you simply skip off in central London) and luggage checks pre-departure.
Eurostar.