I served two stints in Agen, a small town almost exactly halfway between those two cities. As impressive as that was, late in my mission I had a TGV experience I'll never forget. My companion and I had gone out to a little village called Aiguillon to visit a member of our church. Aiguillon is about a 20-minute train ride from Agen, in the direction of Bordeaux. Our little episode occurred while waiting for our train to return to Agen.
Trains generally run precisely on time in France unless there's a strike on.
So there we were, alone on the little rural platform, in the eerie silence of the countryside. It didn't look like it was stopping, either, so I started to step aside. I had moved maybe eight feet back from the edge when the TGV blasted by me, a high-speed juggernaut that shredded the night silence, screaming like a banshee as its cannoned tens of thousands of tons past me almost close enough to touch, moving too quickly even at that distance for me to see the faces in the windows. The wake it kicked up tore at my clothes and lifted dust and paper as far back as the terminal building. And then it was gone.