The night before a holiday, I’m just like a kid on Christmas Eve! Sleep was a no-go, my mind buzzing with excitement and a wild burst of energy. The main difference now is that I’ve learned patience and won’t be asking “Are we there yet?” every hour. My journey was to France, kicking off with the Eurostar to Paris. I only had a few hours to spare in Montparnasse before catching my connection to Cahors in beautiful South West France.

I’m not sure what I was thinking when I booked my Eurostar ticket from St Pancras for such an ungodly hour. St Pancras is a massive station, a true architectural and engineering marvel, juggling Eurostar, Midland Main Line trains, and Kent and Thameslink services. Fun fact: this whole magnificent station was nearly demolished in 1966!

From there, it was off to Gare du Nord.
Gare du Nord holds a special place in my heart. As a teenager, it was our gateway to Parisian adventures. My clique and I would arrive from our homes in the “banlieue,” the Seine-Saint-Denis suburbs—or “Neuf Trois” as we’d proudly call it. Gare du Nord was our launchpad for daytime Parisian mischiefs, punk rock concerts in squats, and, crucially, some of the best and most affordable shawarma. Arriving from the swanky shops, champagne bars, and restaurants of St Pancras to Gare du Nord, which always seemed to be a work in progress, could be a bit overwhelming. But for me, it simply brought back memories of a regularly awkward, but mostly happy, childhood. The station has undergone a major refurbishment for the 2024 Paris Olympics, a long-awaited transformation that has made it feel more accessible with more open shops, wider spaces, and a lot less scruffy.

My next leg was the metro to Montparnasse. A bus would have been nicer, especially with time to spare, but thanks to some mysterious, sleep-deprived decision, my suitcase felt like it contained my entire life’s belongings and weighed a ton. Thankfully, the morning rush hour was winding down, making the journey from Gare du Nord to Montparnasse surprisingly easy, even with my cumbersome luggage. From Montparnasse, I was to take a train to Montauban, then change for another train to Cahors. It was an all-day affair, hopping from one train to another, which gave me plenty of time to ponder the stark differences between the French and UK train and railway systems. It always strikes me how proud the French are of their efficient train network, while the UK’s seems to be run by profiteers with little regard for the passengers.

Ten hours after leaving St Pancras, and despite my earlier resolve, I confess I did ask myself “Are we there yet?” numerous times! But I finally arrived in Cahors, basking under a clear blue sky and a burning sun. The place I’m staying is only ten minutes from the Cahors SNCF station. I say “only,” but under that scorching sun, and dragging my “elephant” suitcase up a small hill to the town centre, it felt more like “miles away.” I could swear my left arm got longer from the effort!
Cahors is absolutely charming, with its cobblestone streets, stone houses, and tempting delicatessen shop windows. There’s so much to do, or, in my case for the next two days, so much not to do. My plan is to wander through the town, visit the food halls, find a terrace, sip on a cold drink, and feel like a warped version of “Emily in Paris”—but, you know, in Cahors. This will give me some much-needed strength before I properly explore the town and head off for some long-overdue family gatherings.

I wonder what delicious local treats I’ll discover first?