Paris to Lausanne: Post # 2 of 2

The look that says it all.

Paris to Lausanne

Via Francigena #3 of 20

The thundering hooves of bullshit are stampeding my way, and there is nothing I can do to stop it:

“Look at the French Fry fields, Téré!”

“That’s wheat out there Sandy Brown.”

“Look at the French Toast fields, Téré!”

I suppose I should have predicted the Swiss version yet still Sandy caught me off guard when 4 hours later he piped up with:

“Look at the Swiss cheese fields, Tėrė!”

We are on a high-speed train from Paris headed to Geneva. The fields look much like what I grew up with in Oregon, yet every now and then I see a hamlet or old stone farm house that clearly “says” not at all like home.

I had been looking forward to this train ride for months, but we were assigned backward facing seats. There were expansive views, but there were also steep bank views close to the train which proved to be too much for my vestibular system and motion sickness ensued.

As a child I barfed my way through the Big Sir while in the family station wagon, which earned me a seat pronto in front between mom and pop. There’s nothing quite like the sight of vomit splattered all along the side of a Chrysler Station Wagon: I knew this by the look on the gas station attendant’s face, when fresh after an episode, we pulled in to fill ‘er up.

There was no possibility of reorienting on the train but somehow lemonade, peanut M&M’s and potato chips managed to fill in for the anti-nausea effect of a steady horizontal line. Go figure.

I’d forgotten France is a Pay to Pee country until we came to our first train change and a need for the bathroom. Seeing the euro tag I flustered but Sandy had change. I wonder about the natural consequences of this inconvenient revenue generating stream in a time-sensitive environment.

I managed to score a forward facing seat on the next train and we rolled along. I watch Sandy, studying him. He looks goooood. I can’t decide if that’s a measure of love, or if that’s what retirement from the ministry looks like. Slowly the terrain became more mountainous and I ponder the word bucolic, first in line for words that sound the opposite of what they mean, and I listen to a young girl speak perfect French until it strikes me: how would I know if she is or not?

Two planes and three trains since we left on Wednesday, we arrive at our beginning, Lausanne, Switzerland. Tomorrow we walk.

©Theresa Elliott, All Rights Reserved

Cool dining car.

Sandy In guide book author mode.