Technical Hitch

On the last day of this London trip, I have decided to pay the extra to return to France by train. Flying might technically be cheaper and shorter but it takes up a whole day. Factor in the commute to and from the airport and security checks, I lose time rather than make up for it.

At least this way I can squeeze in another appointment. And it's better for the environment too.

I have arranged to meet former colleague Diana near the Eurostar at St. Pancras, during her lunch break. Whilst waiting I have the, ahem, honour of listening to passer-by murder The Commodores Easy and other tunes.  Her confidence is not commensurate to her vocal ability. In her defence, she's a much better pianist than singer. I imagine she wouldn't sound as bad if it were her own material.

Diana has a packed afternoon schedule thus, it's another speedy visit.  She's kind enough to pick up the bill. I've been mightily spoiled on this trip, rarely paying for my own drinks.

Diana waves me off at the Eurostar terminal.

The first part of the journey is a nice'n'easy one-hour ride to Lille. Onward to Strasbourg.

All is well. For a time. The usual pastoral scenery flies past our window. The weather is fine, if not especially warm. Nothing seems out of the ordinary; not even when the train comes to a halt in the middle of nowhere.

I'm not expecting the driver to make a grave-sounding announcement.

One bemused passenger bursts out laughing. Something about a problem with the carriage.  At one point I overhear talk of a motor issue.  The minutes and hours bleed into each other. My hope of making it back to Strasbourg at a decent time drains away with them. And to think, I was pleasantly surprised that my train was due to arrive earlier than I'd thought. How easily such things are taken for granted.

A member of staff is walking the length of the train, updating travellers in each carriage. Don't shoot the messenger.

Another young woman becomes a self-appointed liaison, traversing the train to find someone official for an update when another is not forthcoming. Her pacing irritates me until I realise what she's up to.

Eventually the news reaches us that it's unlikely we'll have to retreat back to Lille.

We spend more time waiting for an emergency rescue train. Technicians arrive in a small van. If the relevant safety tests are passed, our train will be hooked onto the emergency vehicle and taken back to Lille.

But will we be able to catch another train tonight? I enquire of the messenger.

He's doubtful. There's no guarantee there'll be any more Strasbourg-bound journeys that evening. Other passengers enquire about reimbursement for alternative forms of transport from Lille such as car hire. No chance. It's not SNCF policy.

Thank God for bright late spring evenings. We'd have otherwise been plunged into darkness by now. I check my watch -perversely 25 minutes fast- and mentally adjust to the correct time. Almost 9pm. If all had gone to plan, we would have been pulling into Strasbourg.

One young lady is distraught; tearfully enumerating to the self-appointed liaison all her projets gâchés for that evening. Amongst them, a missed rendez-vous with the boyfriend and family from what I gather.

I know! We're all in the same boat. It's better we stop than have an accident, snaps the unofficial liaison. Irritation aside, she has a point. Better to lose time than a life.

Later, the same distraught young woman makes a weepy phone call to her expectant loved ones. I rub her arm in solidarity. She turns to look, slightly alarmed. I give what I hope is a comforting smile.  It transpires that we'll have to spend a night in Lille. I hope against hope that there will be a last minute reprieve. I'm on my way back from London; one of the world's most expensive cities. I've just paid my electricity bill. I'll be on a tighter budget than usual for the rest of the month. It's too late to start hunting on AirBnb, even if I had a smartphone. A last minute hotel booking might clear out my current account.

SNCF assure us they'll cover the cost. Something of a silver lining. We assume that they're availing themselves of the time spent waiting for the emergency vehicle to contact local hotels.

Thus it's a rude awakening when we arrive at Lille Flandres station to discover that the accommodation situation is yet to be regulated.   Roughly a couple of hundred inconvenienced passengers are handed an emergency lunch box. I try to avoid nibbling. I'm hungry, having eaten nothing since breakfast. I snack on some of the sweets and nuts and save the more substantial parts of the meal for later. I take a peek at the main course. Tinned rice-based Tabbouleh. Yuck. I give mine away and make a detour to a nearby cafe for an alternative. I'm not alone. Judging from discarded boxes, a number of rough sleepers are beneficiaries that evening of these emergency meals.

Meanwhile, it's chaos on the platform. Station staff are taking names and contact details for both hotel reservations and to make plans for alternative onward journeys the next day. I am informed that there is an half-8 train in the morrow. It will be a public holiday. No work. A saving grace of sorts.

Some passengers abandon the whole process and vanish; presumably already based in Lille. One woman has a heated discussion with staff about a flight the next morning she's almost certain to miss. It leaves at 8am. The next train heading in the airport's direction leaves around 5am. It's a 2-3 hour journey. She won't make it in time. The plane ticket has set her back €2000. My heart goes out to her. She wanders the platform for a while, suitcase in tow, before also disappearing into the night.

I overhear some anglophones struggling to communicate their concerns to personnel. I volunteer to translate. It's good language practice. The English-speakers are a couple of amiable Aussies. They're on a month-long excursion; visiting the most famous battlegrounds in France and Belgium. They had reservations for a hotel in Alsace, where they were to do a one-day vineyard tour en route to Avignon. They make their peace with jettisoning those plans. As not to tempt fate, friends have advised they  get to Paris ASAP to avoid missing their southbound connection.

I tentatively suggest the Aussies try the coach, assuming they won't be keen. To the contrary. Fortunately for them, there's a bus heading to the Capital within the hour. I help confirm hotel reservations in Paris over the phone. My fleeting Antipodean acquaintances are off with a thank you and 'cheerio'.

It's around 11pm by the time SNCF staff have sorted out our accommodation. We're separated into batches. A young and possibly inexperienced member of personnel uses his phone's GPS to direct our group to one of several Novotels, only to send us in the wrong direction. It would have helped if he offered to come along.

We grumble about the poor customer service as we're left to navigate our own way. I visited Lille a few years ago as a birthday treat. I have fond memories of the city and its friendly inhabitants. I wish I could have returned under more positive circumstances.

It's midnight by the time I arrive at my surprisingly spacious and pleasant chambers. I shower, eat my now lukewarm merguez sandwich and prepare for bed. With the thought of a morning train to catch, the chances of a good night's rest are slim indeed. I debate whether to go down for breakfast. In the end I decide against a full Continental during the week. It would be too indulgent. Besides, better to make sure I have enough time to get to Lille International.

Apart from the miserable weather, the next morning is off to a better start. On arriving at the train station I scour the concourse for what are by now familiar faces. One of them shows me where to have my defunct e-ticket tamponné for a replacement train.

By the time I arrive in Strasbourg the transport service is in full effect, as much as it could be during a holiday. I rearrange or cancel plans made for that day. I'm frazzled, not looking forward to having to return to a tense work situation that week having only had disrupted sleep.

A couple of weeks later I receive a profusely apologetic email from SNCF offering a full refund. Unusual but only fair in the circumstances. We are given the choice between cash or a travel voucher. The compensation procedure is reassuringly straightforward and prompt. An inconvenience has, for me at least, turned out to be a blessing in disguise.