The Dark, in this case, being the inside of my eyelids.
I slept really badly, so I spent a solid amount of the trip asleep, and it took me a while to figure out that the Channel Tunnel had happened, & we were in France; I eventually spotted a motorway sign which told me, mostly by being in French.

I got up early, at about 4:30, and checked out at around 5:30, though it did take me a while to find someone to return my room key card to, as they were in the back office.
Getting to St. Pancras station was fairly easy, as the pavements were clear & there was already enough light in the sky that I wasn’t worried about walking it; If it had still been dark, I might have opted for a one-stop tube trip, or gone with a Black Cab. (Many of which aren’t black anymore)

I’d already checked out where the Eurostar departure area was, so finding it was pretty easy, though I could have slept in for another half hour, as they only seem to open the gates for boarding for a given train in the 30 minutes or so before it departs.
I was expecting the passport check, by a frankly uninterested French border control person, but didn’t expect the metal detector & x-ray machine, so there was some rapid fumbling out of pocket change, wallet, cellphone etc.
I thought, for a moment, that I’d lost the pocket change once I got to the other side, until I remembered that I’d put it in the pocket of my bag, and not in the little tray.

The area “railside” (if it’s airside when you’re through airport security, then maybe it’s railside for the trains) was nice enough; I could get a breakfast sort of thing & sit down until they announced which platform to use.
The transit lounge sits under the platforms, and has a travellator which brings you out right beside the train. The very long train.
Did I mention my heavy-ass bag?

Once I got on the train & it was in motion, I basically kept falling asleep so I missed the Chunnel, or if I woke up, didn’t know it was anything different from any other tunnel. Fields look much the same in both countries, so it was only the big motorway signs that filled me in.

So I got to Paris.

I’d printed out the instructions from The Man In Seat 61 for getting across Paris, which made things so very much easier, though not noticing the little lit-up sign on the first Metro ticket machine did delay things a tad; Turns out it said something like “This Machine Doesn’t Accept Coins”.
I was not, however, the only person to miss it, and it kind of blended in with the rest of the branding.

Having dealt with the London Underground helped a lot, I found, as the in-station schematics showing where the trains go are basically the same, and I already knew which sort of train & which line & direction to take.

No idea what the old guy at the platform who was repeating the same phrase at me over & over again wanted though. Based on the gestures I’m going to guess it had something to do with tobacco, but whether it was a request for money for said tobacco, or some of mine, or a light, I have no idea.
He eventually wandered off, and the next person he asked just shook his head & ignored him, so I’m guessing my mistake was to engage at all.

I got the correct train, and made it to Gare de Lyon without incident.
Even found the correct Hall, merely by reading the signs & information screens.
I did ask, in somewhat remembered French, whether I was in the right hall. He answered in English, which tells me how good my French wasn’t.

So another train trip happened, this one in first class, where we got a cold meal tray, with a choice of salmon or duck terrine; The accent made it sound like ‘nectarine’, which caused … problems.

Amusingly, the couple across the aisle were from the Waikato.

I made it to Zurich without incident, and Jono met me at the station & guided me back to Dietikon.

We did pizza for dinner, from a place near the train station, because it was easier.
On a related note, Switzerland is kind of very expensive.