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Life aboard was good again after several reversals of fortune regarding my first class upgrade. One time, first class -my class!- had even been sold out. Nevermind that I was able to ride for “free,” my seat reservation in second class already paid in full by my eurail pass. “Let them eat cake, I sniffed, as I waded
through the rabbit warren of second class, on my way to the Desolation Row of
my “free” seat assignment.
But my reservation to Marseille signalled a
return to the ancien regime. Carriage 1, seat 75 my
reservation heralded from the rooftops. Which is precisely when it nearly all
came crashing down like the Bastille.