Forget soaring through the clouds and fast-forwarding to your sunny destination. My next trip to France, at the tender age of 14, was an epic 20-hour adventure that unfolded entirely on land and sea. My family was to take its first holiday abroad in sunny Spain. There was one problem. My Dad was terrified of flying!

Picture a lumbering coach chugging from Leeds to Calais, a ferry cutting through the choppy English Channel, and a rickety train snaking its way through the heart of France, all culminating in a sun-drenched breakfast stop in the countryside. Talk about a journey!

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Sure, some might call it arduous, but for me, it was an enchanting odyssey. Every twist and turn, every rumble of the wheels, and every whistle of the train was a thrilling chapter in a real-life travelogue. As dusk painted Calais in soft hues, a pang of disappointment hit me. No bird’s-eye view of the French landscape tonight, I thought. But little did I know, the night held its own magic.

I clung to wakefulness, mesmerised by the twinkling lights of countless stations we zipped past. Each one whispered a story, a glimpse into another town, another life. Where were we? What secrets did these villages hold? My imagination soared, fueled by the rhythmic clatter of the train and the inky blackness outside.

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Then, like a curtain rising on a new act, the sun crept over the horizon, painting the French countryside in shades of gold and green. Rolling hills unfurled like a verdant carpet, dotted with quaint villages and vineyards bathed in the morning light. It was breathtaking!

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Our grand chariot finally made a pit stop at a charming stone restaurant nestled amidst trees. The air, thick with the fragrance of blooming flowers, felt like a warm embrace. Even at 6:30 am, the sun blazed with Mediterranean fierceness, promising a day of endless sunshine.

Stepping inside the cool, inviting restaurant was like entering a scene from a storybook. Rustic wooden tables and chairs adorned a beautiful tiled floor, while giant ceiling fans whirred overhead, chasing away the burgeoning heat. Baskets of warm bread, glistening with butter and jam, awaited us, alongside steaming pots of coffee and creamy hot chocolate. French chatter filled the air, a melody I longed to decipher. Though the rapid-fire words danced just beyond my grasp, I savoured the sounds, the rhythm, the feeling of being immersed in another culture.

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Looking back, most passengers were probably just eager to escape the train and get closer to their Spanish paradise. But for me, this brief sojourn in France was pure magic. Every detail, from the sun-drenched breakfast to the incomprehensible chatter, was a tiny treasure, a reminder that the journey itself can be the destination.

So, the next time you’re planning a trip, consider taking the scenic route. Embrace the slow pace, the unexpected detours, and the little moments that make travel truly unforgettable. You might just discover that sometimes, the greatest adventures unfold not in the sky, but on the ground.