15 years ago, my first experience of Paris was the Gallieni international bus terminal in the basement of a 1970s shopping centre. I had said goodbye to my girlfriend that morning and was about to spend a year working in Hungary. I now had a 24 hour bus journey ahead of me and a couple of hours to fill, but all I could find in the vicinity of this soul-crushing location was a McDonalds. I ordered my food and went to sit down, but the heavy rucksack I was carrying overbalanced sending salty fries, gherkins and chunks of ice all over the floor. I wanted to cry.

15 years on and I think it must be time to revisit this place. I haven’t taken an international bus since, and certainly haven’t been back to this terminus. Why would anyone come here unless they have a bus to catch or a blog to write? Naturally, it hasn’t changed at all. It is still raw concrete, dimly lit by suspended florescent strip-lights, split plastic seating and groups of students laying on the floor with their heads resting on over-flowing rucksacks.

Travelling by bus is not a French activity. They will use them on short journeys in town, but it is one of the few countries in the world that has never had an organised city-to-city bus service. State run rail and airline services ensured that a national carrier could not be set up and offer cheaper fares, but the country is still part of the continent-wide Eurolines service. Being an organisation that uses price as its chief selling point, it should not be entirely unexpected to find the bus station is housed in such an unbeautiful location. 

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