Pt3 - 23 PARIS I parked the silver bullet at Chiswick and rode another bullet to Paris. The Eurostar left Waterloo at 9:53am and pulled into the Gare du Nord precisely two hours later. The ride was a little ricketty brocketty racketty bucketty on the English rails but the minute we launched into France from the Chunnel at Calais the ride was so smooth you had to look out the window to confirm the train was actually moving. In coach 3 an elderly gentleman sat between myself in seat 55 and the panorama window. He kept to himself until I spread my Printemps map of Paris on the fold down table. “Your first time?” he asked. I felt a bit like a schoolboy on his way to a brothel. “Yes, it is.” He peered at me through tinted bifocals. “You will enjoy it,” he said, a gentle smile on his kindly face. There was an American inflection to his accent, but he ordered from the refreshment trolley in fluent French. “You are a native?” I asked. “I’m American, but I’ve lived in Paris for m...
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