Wearied by planes, Stephen Bailey explores two of Europe’s most attractive cities in a single day by travelling on a high-speed train – and enjoys the view with a bottle of red.

The TGV accelerates out of Paris, leaving the city of romance behind in a blur of train cables and crumbling buildings.

Northern France quickly reveals itself from the upper deck, rolling green farmland and quaint chateaus speeding past the window.

Other passengers smile and doze as I spread a picnic across the table. I recline the seat, open a bottle of red and watch France leave its indelible charm.

In just six hours this train will be rolling into Barcelona.

The TGV is Europe’s new flagship train, a high-speed connection between two of the continent’s most iconic cities. Started in December 2013, it leaves three times a day and I’m on the 4pm departure. But I didn’t start my journey in Paris.

The French capital is a high-speed rail hub for northern Europe. I left on the Eurostar from London, arriving with four hours to spend among hand-holding couples and enchanting buildings.

Another good starting point would be the Thalys high-speed train from Amsterdam, Brussels or Antwerp.

How much of Paris could I see in four hours? Surprisingly, a lot.

Exasperated by the metro system, I went overground at Notre Dame, where a French baguette festival providing subsistence as I started to wander along the Seine.

So much of Paris is along this immense river: Les Invalides, The Louvre and bridges that curve behind the facade of sculpted heroes.

Amateur artists paint with oil and pastel, streetside stalls become socialist book libraries, while bearded men scrunch their eyes at a backgammon board. On a riverside bench I opened up the picnic and tried to avoid the pigeons.

Almost every building in central Paris could be an attraction, but it’s just another regal home aching for yesteryear, a time when exhaust fumes didn’t spurt all over its intricate exterior.

Glimpses of a famous tower guided me downriver, past more famous sights that I didn’t have time to enter: Musee d’Orsay, Pont Neuf, a dozen cafe terraces promising croissants and coffee.

So much of Paris is along the immense River Seine

The Eiffel Tower marks the boundary between an enigmatic old city and sprawling new Paris. In just two hours I felt like I had glimpsed almost everything.

But I was going onwards, not upwards. So I crossed the city to the majestic Gare de Lyon station, getting off the metro for a three-minute gasp at the Arc de Triomphe.

There was just enough time for me to marvel at Le Train Bleu, a historic station restaurant with ceilings covered in golden cherubs and monumental paintings.

When it opened in 1901, who would have predicted that trains would one day travel at 320kph?

All that action in four hours and now the train feels like a lazy living room, a tranquil sanctuary for popping corks and drifting away.

As the TGV tilts around corners, the views keep my eyes from closing. Tiny villages cling to hilltops, stone farmhouses stand lonely on freshly-harvested fields and maroon-tiled roofs add another soft colour to France’s bewitching painting.

It’s 500 kilometres and over two hours before the first stop. I’m already in southern France.

A trolley does the rounds and small bottles of Bordeaux begin to pile up on the table. It’s remarkably comfortable on board, the soft seats belittling the €59 advance fare.

Parts of the train fester with the remnants of late-afternoon drunken revelry

Six-and-a-half hours sounds a long journey, but consider airport transfers, checking in, arriving two hours before departure, getting through customs, and then getting lost in duty free.

In reality this city centre to city centre service doesn’t take that much longer than flying, plus there are no luggage limitations and it’s infinitely more scenic.

At Montpellier the TGV hits the Mediterranean coastline, speeding past wading flamingos and villages lined with palm trees.

At times the train seems to float on the water, sea and lagoon separated by a track and eight carriages of content passengers.

Harbours flicker from the window, wooden ships sway on the breeze, and beguiling towns appear abandoned yet welcoming.

Sete, Beziers, Narbonne, Figueres Vilafant, nobody getting off and nobody getting on as Spain approaches.

Parts of the train now fester with the remnants of late-afternoon drunken revelry.

Men sleep with a capricious snore, small groups congregate in the cafe carriage and I begin to flag as the five-hour mark comes up. Spain keeps me going, the snow-capped peaks of the Pyrenees Mountains gently reflecting the sunset before dusk sets in.

Soon we’re speeding again, surging along the coastline towards the city of Gaudi. I left London at 9am, and I’m arriving in Barcelona just over 12 hours later.

I haven’t once had to queue or put on a seatbelt and my wine bottles weren’t confiscated by security.

A quick expresso onboard and I’m ready for a new city, charging off the platform and into a €10 taxi to the La Rambla.

Crowds meander and gather, I throw 50 cents to a painted ghoul, and cartons of Don Simon sangria add to the entertainment.

On the side streets I find a gloomy cafe, old men sat around the bar, free tapas with my beer order.

Breakfast in London, lunch in Paris, and now dinner in Barcelona, a culinary journey from fried bacon to luscious patisserie and now potato cubes dipped in spicy sauce. There’s always an energy to the streets of Barcelona, even if this is whipped up by tourist boards and locals looking to profit.

Nothing is ever quiet, even as the clock begins to tick towards tomorrow. Buskers deliver melodic Spanish guitar and street artists continue their frozen poses, maintaining a midnight vigil.

There’s always an energy to the streets of Barcelona

Soon all the travelling takes its toll and I must retire, sidestepping the drunken hen parties en route to the hotel.

In the morning I must pinch myself. Am I really in Barcelona? After waking yesterday in London?

It’s not that strange a concept when you’re on holiday, but the train’s gentle disclosure of France makes it impossible to believe that I saw so much in one day.

I’ll take the TGV over a budget airline any day...