Casey Jones

We were sitting outside the elevator door, one floor above the platform at the TGV station at Charles de Gaulle airport. Two carts overflowing with luggage. Two kids precariously perched in a stroller laden with carseats and backpacks. We must have looked... what's the word? Pitiful? Sad? Bizarre? Freaking ridiculous? THAT'S IT!!!

The fact that we'd even made it that far was a feat of human accomplishment that I'm still not certain I believe. You see, the French, in their sublime wisdom and infinite brilliance, have placed a TGV station smack in the middle of Terminal 2 at Charles deGaulle International Airport. From this center of modern transportation, travelers may make their iron-wheeled way to every corner of the French Republic and beyond. It's perfect; simple; convenient; and close.

...unless, of course, you land in Terminal 1.

Should you find yourself so cursed by the fates of the ground traffic controllers that choose your arrival gate, fret not -- you have but to alight upon a swift inter-terminal rail system to whisk you to the awaiting train. Unless, of course, you actually have luggage. Or, in the case of some, a lot of luggage.

You see, those clear-thinking French have taken careful steps to ensure that you won't have the misfortune of accidentally taking a luggage cart home with you or, for that matter, on the inter-terminal shuttle. Rather, they have quite wisely placed barricades around the doors leading to the shuttle platforms so that you may avoid making such an embarrassing gaffe.

So what is a young American couple with 15 inanimate objects in tow, together with two additional items requiring periodic sippy cups and diaper changes to do? Two words: conveyor belt. Just past the barricades was a moving sidewalk that moved uphill... sort of a flat escalator. With a pile of luggage at one end and a waiting parent with two kids at the other, we commandeered said moving sidewalk for our own personal conveyor belt. Utilizing a similar proceedure on various elevators, we finally found ourselves at the train station, ready to convince someone that it was perfectly reasonable that we should load our cache aboard the pride of the French Rail system in the middle of a Saturday during the busy holiday season. Say it with me now: Good Times.

Through several half-jibberish, half Frenglish conversations with various quasi-helpful information booth attendants and SNCF porters, we determined that, with a little creative classification, we could characterize our burden as within the "two plus one" per person luggage theory. Sure we had 15 things but really, the stroller doesn't count (see previous post... just go with it) and the car seats are going to be on the seats with the kids on them, so you can't count that, right? That leaves 12 items. As proud holders of four first-class seats, we boldly strode to our appointed car, stepped aboard and saw...

A wee tiny luggage area, already chock full of bags.

The monologue that ran through my mind and quite possibly past my lips is not suitable for printing in this family-friendly forum. What followed was a frantic few minutes that included: hailing the Conductor from the platform and trying to explain our predicament while hoping that the children were adopting their most forlorn-yet-adorable visages; displays of exasperation that I personally had yet to witness; the words, "s'not posseebeel!"; sprinting up and down the platform lugging 49.95 pound bags; complete strangers sprinting up and down the platform lugging our 49.95 pound bags; and finally, as the train rolled away, a stern admonishment that bordered on an arse-chewing as to what is and is not appropriate luggage for passenger rail service. In case you were curious, ours was not.

Somehow, amazingly, preposterously, we were aboard. Our luggage was stowed (sort of... the conductor told me, I think, that at some point I might see my bike on the platform. Um... okay...), the kids were in their seats, and we paid but a single 45 Euro supplement for the experience. Pas mal, as they say in these parts. South of France, here we come.