Lyon to Toulon by train.

From the gastronomic city of two rivers to the city beside the big sea.

9 kilometres

Up early packing. We head to Part Dieu about 11:00 and wait with a very diverse crowd as trains and étages are posted on screen. Finally 20 minutes before it’s due to depart étage K! The lift ! The lift! It’s a good size and takes both bikes. Find train. Find bike carriage. Heaps of room as there are separate sections for bikes. As the train begins to move we take stock of our fellow travellers. It’s a little like the Dover coach scene of Tale of Two Cities I’ve been rereading- strangers brought together. Some more strange than others.

There’s two sweet faced, young Brits cycling to Albania- he from Newcastle, she Scot, worked in Auckland once. They’ve cycled in UK a bit, but this is their first European venture. Then there’s the Dutch and Spanish grape pickers, who look as though they’ve been picking for a few decades; they’re  going back to Corsica for a break. They’ve been cycling for years but haven’t quite kicked the fuming habit and get ready to jump out for a few quick puffs when the train looks like stopping.
As the train starts, a wild character of indeterminate age and hair pulled into a greasy pony tail , suddenly leaps aboard with his bike and mountains of luggage. From one of his bottomless bags he regularly retrieves cold cans of lager which he knocks back enthusiastically, downing them in a few gulps, until eventually he subsides into a heap. His only demand is to ask the guard to open the window.  He eventually alights at Avignon with his swags of bags including gigantic pack on his back. Two tall young blond women board at Valence, they confidently wheel on the bikes without removing the panniers and squeeze them into another compartment where they promptly go to sleep.

And so our journey goes. It’s a clear sunny day, and we are able to identify several features from our 2018 ride along the Rhone. Power points charge up our electrics. We have 7 minutes to change trains at Marseilles. No lift needed fortunately- just a few platforms down.  This next train is full of bikes but we squeeze in and the trip to Toulon is only hour.

It’s quite late when we arrive and we make a booking at The Bonaparte hotel- perhaps he stayed there, though they don’t test our credulity by claiming so. Our room has a great view and so it should, compensation perhaps for being on the 4th floor and no lift. The reception guy is on a high - he must be about 50 and is emigrating to Oz tomorrow. His excitement is palpable. Hope he likes it. Hope they like him. He instructs us to wheel our bikes into a dark, dank descending corridor off the office. He calls it ‘the cinema’ and from what I can make out, that, indeed was once its role.
Up on the 4th floor we dine and head for bed. Down below, it’s rubbish collection day, and they’re starting already. We shut the windows to block out both view and noise.

Heart

1

Comment

0

Link

Log in to comment or reply