I passed the extra time watching the goats.
France’s high-speed rail system is known as the Train a Grand Vitesse (train of high speed) or TGV. Inaugurated in 1980 with a line between Paris and Lyon, the TGV has since grown to serve close to a hundred French cities and selected locations in Italy, Spain, and Switzerland. Over time, it has also been emulated by (and connected to) the UK, Belgium, Germany, and the Netherlands with the Eurostar and Thalys systems. My first travel leg of this day would be on the Atlantic line from Paris to Bordeaux.
Since my train was scheduled to depart from the same airport I had arrived at the afternoon before, I assumed I would once again have to go through security, and had included a requisite interval in my morning schedule. Once at the airport I learned the tracks were not the other side of a security queue but rather a quick elevator ride away. So here I was, positioned in a corridor near said elevator, gazing through the window, watching the group of goats (goats!) I had noticed while transiting to my Lisbon flight four short days before.
There were three of them, tan with dark legs and noses, and short curled horns. They were snuggled next to some hay bales in the back of a shed in a small patch of field between the rail lines and an aircraft movement area. The goats napped, I sipped coffee (from a très petit tasse papier), aircraft regally sauntered past on the taxiway behind them, as service vehicles zoomed to and fro along the road that bordered the goats’ sanctuary. It was a pleasant interval, an oasis of serenity surrounded on all sides by a scurry of activity. I stayed as long as I dared before I made my way down to la gare (the train station).
There, in a hallway between the station waiting room and a snack bar, was another gift: a piano! Tucked under an escalator, it sat lonely and silent for a short moment before two passing children broke from their parents, clambered up on the bench, and began to play. And when I say play, I don’t mean pick at the keys; these two little ones played actual pieces, though each their own selection, one on the bass keys and one on the treble. They were soon followed by another gentleman of similar age who played a classical etude, and then his mother (sister? aunt?) who played a more complex piece. Soon they were on their way, and, the piano silent, I continued on to the rail lines.
I reached the balcony overlooking the rail lines fifteen minutes before my train was scheduled to arrive. I watched the trains ahead of mine come and go, and as the time for mine neared, I schlepped my bags down to the platform. On the TGV, passenger seats are assigned (like on an airline); so I found the platform area where my car would be positioned and waited.
And with a hum and a whoosh it was there. A group of us herded at the door, helping each other lift our bags to and from the train. Just in time, we got them and ourselves on board; the doors swished closed and with a faint hum of the wheels we were on our way.