We leave our hotel room in Montmartre early Monday morning and head for the Gare de Lyon. The streets of Paris are strangely quiet and still wet from the evening’s rain. Our cab driver drops us off in an underground parking that smells like piss. People spend their nights here. People with nowhere else to go. SDFs. Reduced to an acronym.
We’ve got a seven hour ride in front of us. The TGV to Montpellier, then a hot and steamy regular ol’ train to Carcassonne.
As we speed southwards, everything changes.