Friday, 20 September 2025, London to Paris through the Chunnel (Ibis Paris Opéra Bastille) /p>

Written 29 January 2026

Once the driver unloaded our bags and set them on the sidewalk, we had to say goodbye to having our luggage schlepped for us. It's been nice, but now it's back to trundling it around ourselves. We weren't even allowed to check in for our 11:31 am train until 10 am, so I had plenty of time to prospect for and purchase our usual train-ride picnic lunch—baguette sandwiches, a chausson au pommes (apple turnover) for David, and a pain au chocolat for me&mdashfrom a chain called Paul. Alas, neither Paul nor Pain Quotidien next door had our favorite jambon-beurre sandwiches, but David was very happy with the coppa and cheese (on poppy-seed encrusted bread) that I got for him. For myself, I went back to Pain Quotidien for smoked salmon, cucumber, radish, and cream cheese on dark, heavily seed-studded bread.

Like train stations the world over, St. Pancras has a vast central concourse with a glass roof. Among the businesses, it even had a Mark's and Spencer food store.

The Eurostar tickets arranged for us by trusty travel agent Bill said "Eurostar plus," so we were able to join a shorter line, and the minute a staff member spotted David's surgical boot, we were ushered to the head of that. (He word the boot whenever we traveled with our luggage, because it wouldn't fit in the suitcase.) All our baggage had to be x-rayed, so I had to hoist my 37-pound suitcase into a large tray on the belt (and off again afterward), but I made it. That left us with almost an hour's wait before boarding. The waiting room was standing-room-only. David scored a seat when someone spotted his boot and offered up one of those seats that say "Please yield this seat to the pregnant and walking wounded," but I (and a whole raft of other folks) had to stand the whole time. The train before ours was delayed, so nobody left to open up more chairs.

When they finally posted our platform number, 20 minutes before departure, we rode a long, inclined moving sidewalk up to platform level, and fortunately our carriage was right there by the top, so we wrestled our suitcases up the two steps into the train and stashed them in the cubbies provided for the purpose before making our way to our reserved seats. Departure was smooth and on time.

We almost immediately plunged into a tunnel, which we knew couldn't yet be the tunnel, and for most of the British end of the trip, we were in and out of tunnels. We only knew we were in France when we once again popped out into the sunshine, and the road signs were in French.

Somewhere along the line, we passed another train that had mesh-sided cars, each of which held an entire semi-truck, wheels, cab, container cargo and all!

Early in the trip, we were speculating as to what made our seats "plus," when to our surprise, a meal was served! We both took the salade Niçoise, which was pretty awful, but David did manage to get a miniature of red wine. We then just shoved the salad aside and got out our picnic, which proved to be absolutely delicious!

Here's David's coppa sandwich.

And here's mine, which was way better than it looks in the photo.

In addition to our picnic desserts, we each got a little neatly wrapped square of Cartwright and Butler salted caramel fudge that came with the awful salads.

At the Gare du Nord in Paris, we were once again ushered to the head of the taxi queue at sight of the boot—travel tip for the unscrupuous: get yourself a surgical boot and go to the head of the line everywhere, at least in France. The unrest in the streets we worried about had evaporated overnight, so we had no trouble getting a taxi or driving through the areas that had been in upheaval.

Here we are again in our bare-bones Ibis hotel with its tiny corner shower; quite a contrast with the Savoy. Still, it has served as well for several years. The lobby is still full of large, disheveled potted plants. Next time, though, we'll look for something farther west, closer to the restaurants and museums.

Once we were settled in, I walked down the block to the U supermarket for supplies. Mostly bottled water. Paris water has always upset David's stomach, but I never used to have trouble. These last couple of trips, though, it's started to bother me as well.

I got us a six-pack of 1.5-liter bottles of Cristaline water for 1.2 euros!

Dinner was at Le Tagine (normally a 15-minute walk from our hotel, but we took a taxi because of David's foot).

We started with brik à l'oeuf, crispy pastries with seasonings and soft-cooked eggs inside, but I forgot to photograph them.

Then had a couscous of beef merguez (skinny sausages) and a couscous special (meatballs, lamb, chicken, merguez) (right and below). Way, way too much food but delicious.

Then, as we waited for our taxi home, I got this shot of the exterior of the restaurant, including David, seriously backlit.

As often happens in these less formal establishments, we struck up a conversation with the couple at the next table, who even gave us some restaurant recommendations.