While traveling last year between Paris and London by the Eurostar high-speed train, I came to think: I bet the French wish they had more things they could name after Francois Mitterrand. President of France from 1988 to 1995, Mitterrand's name appears all over Paris, like, for example, Avenue Francois Mitterrand and the Bibliotheque Nationale Francois Mitterrand (the latter is an end stop on the metro, which ensures its prominence on every sign throughout Paris' venerable transit system).
During my stay at the 396-room Sofitel Bercy, a modern, four-star business property on the outskirts of Paris with a sublevel conference center, I visited an outdoor mall called the Village of Bercy, where low stone buildings, formerly wine warehouses, now house restaurants, boutiques, and a giant Club Med complex. It struck me that the Village, while wholly "French," was also sufficiently mall-like to be familiar to Americans, and would make a great event venue for an evening reception.
At Bercy, I was on the "Mitterrand metro line." My actual stop, Cour de St. Emilion, was an express ride to the center of Paris, so I was able to access all the famous districts, restaurants, museums, and gigantic department stores like Printemps and Galeries Lafayette. But just as I was getting used to the commute, I was due to transfer to the 116-room Le Parc Sofitel Demeure, close by the Trocadero, which is as central to Paris as you can get. Diving into the Cour de St. Emilion station for the last time, I emerged—with a few twists and turns—at Place Victor Hugo, and walked down Rue Poincare to Le Parc Sofitel Demeure. Le Parc's meeting space and eclectic, deluxe room inventory make it a special, if challenging, incentive property: The hotel is not one building, but four historic buildings circling a courtyard—five, if you count 59 Poincare, which was formerly the home of the Nobel family and now houses a restaurant under the direction of Alain Ducasse. In fact, I dined there, which was a bittersweet experience, since I was alone and under the watchful gaze of at least five waiters. I quickly ordered a main course of sweetbreads, then went right to a dessert of wild strawberries with creme brulee ice cream. (When I told one of the waiters that the food was fantastic, he nodded and said, "He is a good chef, Alain Ducasse.")
As I was due to take the Chunnel Train to London, I took a taxi to the Gare du Nord terminal, where I again saw Mitterrand's name, this time on a plaque. "Mitterrand," I muttered, to which the cabbie, himself glancing at a sign for the Eurostar, replied, "He is responsible for this; without him, it would never have been built." Considering that Channel Tunnel cost nearly $18 billion (double the original budget) before opening in 1994, Mitterrand must indeed have been a strong leader—with an equally strong following.
Entering the Gare du Nord, I went to the special Eurostar section, had my passport stamped, and waited to board the train. Now, like a rube, I expected the Chunnel trip to be hours of harrowing darkness; instead, it takes 20 minutes to pass under the Channel—the rest of the trip is spent rolling past the French and English countrysides. While the experience is top-notch, the key attractions of the Eurostar are those of any train: speed and seamless travel (meaning you actually arrive in the city center of your destination). Groups are encouraged, and business travelers are wooed.
Arriving in London's Waterloo Station I grabbed a cab, simply intending to arrive at the 186-room Sofitel St. James. Instead, what transpired—traveling past Big Ben, the London Eye, the bridges, Trafalgar Square—could have been a Visit London tourist montage, set to the cabbie's BBC talk radio. Dropping my bags in one of St. James' impressive black-and-white suites, I went on a quick tour of the massive property—solid like you'd expect a former bank to be—from the lower conference level, to the executive rooms on the first floor, to the Royal Suite, with playful allusions to Empire. That night, I ate at the hotel's Brasserie Roux before heading to the now-closed Jerry Springer: The Opera. Glancing at a London Underground map the next day, I easily found my way to the Victoria and Albert Museum in South Kensington.
If Mitterrand sought to unite Europe, he certainly succeeded with the Eurostar. I was able to get from Paris to London. Once there, I was able to get around those ancient cities underground without too much foreknowledge—or forethought. Later, on a trip to Brussels, I remembered I could also get there on the Eurostar. Do you think it would be possible to visit the Comic Museum (and gawk at the mannequin pis—a fountain in the form of a cherub spouting water through his you-know-what) in Brussels, ride a barge on the Seine in Paris, and tour the Tower of London all in a single day? To throw in Euro Disney (Eurostar's Marne la Vallee stop) and make it a weekend? It sounds like something I might try myself—in fact, I believe I have a train to catch.