Paris: Go-Jetters (Sunday 22/10/2017).
There was a time when a jaunt to Paris required an appointment with the ruff tailor, overtime for the man servant and a change of horses every twenty miles. Since suspension was in its rudimentary phase, this journey was best avoided by anyone not partial to a week astride an over excited pogo stick.
In those days the Channel's choppy greyness only offered nauseous, wind assisted flotation as a means of passage; modernity has given us the added choice of going over it or more recently, under it.
The plane is undeniably quicker but even when you do get moving it is still a gamble. Keeping your feet on the ground largely avoids the check-in roulette, the baggage tombola and the scratch card security, all of which are prone to leaving you expensively disappointed and quite probably sick to the stomach.
After all, why else would they call it a Terminal?
The ferry has its charms, as our trip to Ile de Re in May demonstrated, but when time is limited, those precious hours seem better spent being there rather than getting there.
The final option is The Chunnel; that slightly queasy 80's red top contraction that preceded the bendy banana as a source phobic Euro-bile whilst simultaneously being hailed as a budget busting disgrace and totemic engineering wonder. With an 80% overspend and a £4.65 billion price tag for 23.5 miles of undersea tunnel, this comes in at a modest £37,500 per foot. Its cheaper than floor space in Knightsbridge but while the ferry costs £1 million per metre, it has the advantage of not having to be everywhere at once.
This may explain why, despite 19 million passengers per year and £845 million in revenue, profits barely keep pace with the interest payments. Surely, it was only accounting wizardry that ensured it was still a going concern on 22/10/2017 when we boarded the Eurostar at St Pancras, took our seats and slid effortlessly into what the children may have been led to believe was a trip to a rather large aquarium.
In the final analysis, the decision not to fly was probably less to do with the difficulties associated with getting airborne and more about economics. A trip to Paris had been on the radar for some time and whereas airlines withdraw the free child seats at two, the bullet train keeps the offer open until four.
Consequently, Eurostar was the adults' preferred option, but with the children wavering, I may have suggested that a trip under the Channel might come with a glimpse of whales and dolphins.
That swung it and implacable as ever in pursuit of a holiday, Clare ground into action, hit the travel sites and rapidly converted a diaphanous dream a cast iron reality.
It turns out that my reckless promises to the children were not entirely empty. Eurostar's on-board Wi-Fi, combined with a cardboard pair of VR goggles, handed out prior to boarding, offered a shonky but not entirely disappointing digital representation of the submarine world. The only suspension of disbelief required was that our chatty cephalopod narrator could keep up with us while we raced along, 75m below the sea bed; the fact that he was a talking octopus in a top hat, of course, goes without saying.
Alex wanted to go to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower.
It may sound a touch precocious when a 4 year old has travel ambitions that extend beyond a trip to the toilet but let me explain. Some time ago he and Sophie became devotees of Go-Jetters; a surprisingly satisfying tale of four tic-tac heroes and a disco dancing unicorn, who spend much of their time saving UNESCO World Heritage sites from the careless depredations of their nemesis, Glitch.
The episode in question, which sparked my youngster's wander lust, involved Glitch's re-purposing of the iconic ironwork in order to secure a better TV signal on board his hydro-carbon belching spaceship.
As plots go, its pretty thin but to a four year old this stuff is Shakespeare.
I don't think that Alex really believed that we were Paris-bound at first. Late night internet research and app based bar code tickets left very little physical evidence for him to digest. The line between animated fantasy and evidence based reality is a flimsy one in a 4 year old mind.
But eventually the date rolled around and fuzzy implausibility gradually came into more believable focus. The excitement mounted and the children egged each other on with every G-J episode until, eventually, the car was loaded and the possibilities were narrowed down to croissants for breakfast or a cruel but elaborate joke.
As we surged across the French tundra at 300kmh, Alex and Sophie gazed out of the window with the wonder of that sore-bottomed traveller of yesteryear, plucked ruff and all from his over excited pogo stick. Questions abounded. Why did the water not fill the carriage? How did the train driver know which way to go? Did EU subsidies to the ailing Eurotunnel owner represent unlawful state aid? And most importantly, Est-ce que les Français ont des Allez-Jetters?
I gave the rational response to each enquiry but I could see my boy was sceptical.
Pulling into Gare Du Nord, the perfect antidote was snaking across the concourse above us.
Seeing the long line of pointy-hatted witches, Alex turned to me with that wry look he has mastered of late, and wordlessly expressed a sweet contradiction; The eyebrow said "I'm growing up faster than you realise". The gleam in his eyes said something quite different.
"Magic 1 : Daddy 0!"
In those days the Channel's choppy greyness only offered nauseous, wind assisted flotation as a means of passage; modernity has given us the added choice of going over it or more recently, under it.
The plane is undeniably quicker but even when you do get moving it is still a gamble. Keeping your feet on the ground largely avoids the check-in roulette, the baggage tombola and the scratch card security, all of which are prone to leaving you expensively disappointed and quite probably sick to the stomach.
After all, why else would they call it a Terminal?
The ferry has its charms, as our trip to Ile de Re in May demonstrated, but when time is limited, those precious hours seem better spent being there rather than getting there.
The final option is The Chunnel; that slightly queasy 80's red top contraction that preceded the bendy banana as a source phobic Euro-bile whilst simultaneously being hailed as a budget busting disgrace and totemic engineering wonder. With an 80% overspend and a £4.65 billion price tag for 23.5 miles of undersea tunnel, this comes in at a modest £37,500 per foot. Its cheaper than floor space in Knightsbridge but while the ferry costs £1 million per metre, it has the advantage of not having to be everywhere at once.
 |
A meeting of mines.
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| It exists; just not on Eurostar. |
In the final analysis, the decision not to fly was probably less to do with the difficulties associated with getting airborne and more about economics. A trip to Paris had been on the radar for some time and whereas airlines withdraw the free child seats at two, the bullet train keeps the offer open until four.
Consequently, Eurostar was the adults' preferred option, but with the children wavering, I may have suggested that a trip under the Channel might come with a glimpse of whales and dolphins.
That swung it and implacable as ever in pursuit of a holiday, Clare ground into action, hit the travel sites and rapidly converted a diaphanous dream a cast iron reality.
It turns out that my reckless promises to the children were not entirely empty. Eurostar's on-board Wi-Fi, combined with a cardboard pair of VR goggles, handed out prior to boarding, offered a shonky but not entirely disappointing digital representation of the submarine world. The only suspension of disbelief required was that our chatty cephalopod narrator could keep up with us while we raced along, 75m below the sea bed; the fact that he was a talking octopus in a top hat, of course, goes without saying.
 |
| Why doesn't water get in Daddy? |
Alex wanted to go to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower.
It may sound a touch precocious when a 4 year old has travel ambitions that extend beyond a trip to the toilet but let me explain. Some time ago he and Sophie became devotees of Go-Jetters; a surprisingly satisfying tale of four tic-tac heroes and a disco dancing unicorn, who spend much of their time saving UNESCO World Heritage sites from the careless depredations of their nemesis, Glitch.
The episode in question, which sparked my youngster's wander lust, involved Glitch's re-purposing of the iconic ironwork in order to secure a better TV signal on board his hydro-carbon belching spaceship.
 |
| Go-Jetters! |
I don't think that Alex really believed that we were Paris-bound at first. Late night internet research and app based bar code tickets left very little physical evidence for him to digest. The line between animated fantasy and evidence based reality is a flimsy one in a 4 year old mind.
But eventually the date rolled around and fuzzy implausibility gradually came into more believable focus. The excitement mounted and the children egged each other on with every G-J episode until, eventually, the car was loaded and the possibilities were narrowed down to croissants for breakfast or a cruel but elaborate joke.
As we surged across the French tundra at 300kmh, Alex and Sophie gazed out of the window with the wonder of that sore-bottomed traveller of yesteryear, plucked ruff and all from his over excited pogo stick. Questions abounded. Why did the water not fill the carriage? How did the train driver know which way to go? Did EU subsidies to the ailing Eurotunnel owner represent unlawful state aid? And most importantly, Est-ce que les Français ont des Allez-Jetters?
I gave the rational response to each enquiry but I could see my boy was sceptical.
Pulling into Gare Du Nord, the perfect antidote was snaking across the concourse above us.
 |
| Plateforme Neuf et Trois Quarts |
Seeing the long line of pointy-hatted witches, Alex turned to me with that wry look he has mastered of late, and wordlessly expressed a sweet contradiction; The eyebrow said "I'm growing up faster than you realise". The gleam in his eyes said something quite different.
"Magic 1 : Daddy 0!"
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