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NO TRAIN COMING
From Paris to Turin, Italy, the
high-speed TGV covers seven hundred seventy-three kilometers in about five
hours and thirty-five minutes. By comparison, an Air France flight takes only
one hour and twenty-five minutes. Though faster, flying doesn’t hold the same
appeal for me. The TGV offers something unique: the pleasure of traveling in
comfort and style. Onboard, I can watch the nice French landscapes slip by,
enjoy a meal paired with wine in the dining car, and appreciate the blend of
speed and luxury. At the time of this trip, in the world along with the TGV
there were two other high-speed trains I had known: the Eurostar, connecting
Paris to London via the Channel Tunnel, and the Shinkansen which I experienced
on a trip from Tokyo to Kyoto. Each has its own advantage, but the charm of
TGV was undeniable.
On that Thursday, in the autumn
2008, I arrived early at Paris’s train station Gare de Lyon. Taking my seat
on the train, I watched the platform outside that came alive with Parisians -each
of them embodying a distinct energy. There’s something about Parisians that
sets them apart from people in London, Berlin, Madrid, or even southern
French cities like Marseille or Toulouse. Is it their style or their gestures?
The way they kiss? It’s hard to define precisely, but it’s undeniably there.
As the train departed, the bustling
city gradually faded into the peaceful countryside of Île-de-France. The
urban chaos gave way to peaceful farmland, dotted with rustic farmhouses and
the spires of ancient churches. The landscape transformed again in Burgundy,
offering views of vineyards and charming villages. When the train glided
through Chambery and into the Alps, the scenery turned really beautiful
-majestic peaks and colored autumn forests filled the horizon. By the time we
reached Modane, a border station between France and Italy, the journey felt
like a serene dream.
But at 6:30 pm, just as the TGV stopped
in Modane, the unexpected happened. An announcement informed us that, due to
a problem, the TGV wouldn’t continue to Turin. We had to disembark, change
for another train or find another way.
Chaos broke loose. Passengers,
carrying luggage, sprinted toward the other side of train station. The scene
felt like a wartime evacuation. The station was desolate: no agents, no
signs, and no other train. The air grew colder as the evening darkened, and
frustration rippled through the crowd. A woman shouted protests, her voice
echoing uselessly.
Amid the confusion, I chose to step
away. Walking to a quieter corner of the platform, I found solace in the quietness
of the high mountains. I leaned against a stone wall, letting the chill sink
into my skin. Surprisingly the stillness of the mountains offered a strange
comfort.
Two hours passed, the cold
deepened, and hope wavered. Passengers huddled together, waiting desperately
in the dark station while the silent night wrapped itself around us, no train
coming…
Charles
Phan Hoang
(
Post 686, December 07th, 2024)
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