Eight langoustines for £4 each later, and a sound night’s sleep, we were sorry to leave the Hôtel du Parthenay at 5.30am. But then, I don’t like getting up at 5 from anywhere. Jean the pousse-pousse driver was there as promised, despite being pushed to the back by his compatriots who tried telling us he’d sent them instead; he’d taken another fare etc. What a way to earn a living! But I expect he was none too distressed by our patronage.

The ticket office was heaving, but closed and when it did eventually open, each local ticket had to be handcrafted in quadruplicate by an artisan of the carbon art form. Tourist fares were almost instant, but that, and the absence of a loco conspired to delay a 6.45 departure until 8.20. The climb to the highlands was on occasions a bit of a struggle, and we had to take a couple of runs at one hill where a landslip had partially covered the tracks. Overall though, the track sides are extremely well maintained – stabilising planting, regular gangs of blokes clearing the undergrowth and overhanging stuff, drainage ditches kept clear and wide etc. Impressive. But they have to keep their hands in as it’s one of very few left: at every station, evidence of abandoned carriages, wagons, line – sometimes they are inhabited – one even had a T.V. playing!

The excitement of the passing train was genuine, not only evident in the children: it’s a real event and all work stops in fields, heads hang out of windows, waving is frantic and very welcoming. Some worldlywise larger villages say a few words in English all very good-naturedly. The scenery is no less impressive in reverse, especially when the rain stops, but eventually we got into the clouds.
The whole journey lasted 10½ hours, but was alleviated by being essentially a mobile picnic. Its moments of drama were also unexpected – like when the guard applied the emergency brake. Why? Because a ‘vazahy’ had got off at a village station, wandered off and missed its departure! The train driver very kindly took us all back to fetch him. Apart from being white, he was easily discernible by maximum sheepishness. Then we hit a vehicle on a crossing and then had to stop because a lorry had crashed over the line – a petrol tanker no less. Glad to be back.