Stuff Happens To People With Blogs

… a day late.

We thought it was Thursday, but noooo dear readers, Thursday it wasn’t. We told everyone “Home Thursday” and through no fault of ours it just wasn’t Thursday.  It was Friday and parents expecting a visit had another thing coming. It really was their fault - they had a copy of the itinerary, and nobody ever bothered to correct us though everyone knew something just wasn’t quite right.

The Trials of Travel ends here. Until next time, Arrivederci, Au revoir and Auf Wiedersehen.  Should you wish to stay tuned to this blog you’ll have to suffer “Ramblings”.

… to be told, “We changed to a smaller plane, one that doesn’t have enough seats. Sorry, I can’t check you in. But here are two drinks vouchers.”

Unfortunately Cathay Pacific didn’t think that everyone would want the seats they’d paid for, so they changed to a smaller plane. Fortunately for us, some poor sods rocked up a minute late (luckily we didn’t see them), so we got the last seats on the plane. Literally - seats 70H and 70K, right down there in the galley. It was great, right down the end where nobody goes, except for mothers trying to shut the screaming heads on their babies. And the guys who decided to have a chat because they couldn’t sleep.

… of material to make pants, for you sir, we need two. You very large sir, ha ha ha.”

And so it went. “I’m sorry Sir, the Extra-Large belt will not fit you Sir. You are very large. Sir, our shoes we charge by the inch for leather, these will be very expensive.”

Apart from the extreme amusement of trying to find clothes, we caught the ferry across to the island, and the peak tram up to the top. Cool view.

… and slept. All day.

… doesn’t mean you have to eat it.

For once, we listened to common sense and just had muesli and yoghurt.  Yes, just once in four weeks we actually listened.

A fairly uneventful day really.  We found our way back to Frankfurt airport and boarded a plane ready for 13 hours of leg crunching, back spasming, non-sleep.  Of course, first we had to try and check in though for some reason the police had cordoned off all paths leading to the Cathay Pacific check in desk.  So we stood and waited.  Nothing.  I approached a man who was wearing an airport ID badge and gave him a little “Sprechen zie Englisch?”  and was greeted with a “I can’t tell you”, a shake of the hands and he walked off. Charming.

We still don’t know what happened but shortly after that they dropped the ropes and away we went. 

… except if you’re in Frankfurt on a Sunday and desperate.

With Jackson feeling somewhat unwell, we simply left our hotel and headed for the train station where we were catching a three hour train to Frankfurt.  It is quite interesting to see groups of drunken youths being casually eyed off by police, kit out in full riot gear, at 11am on a Sunday morning in a smallish German town.  We figured out that there was a football game on somewhere so I guess it’s just a normal Sunday for the police to wake up strap on their shinpads, helmets, bullet-proof vests and large wackin’ sticks.

The primary task for our day was to check into our hotel and head straight for a laundromat.  Having reached our “alert levels” of clothing, ie, underwear for just the next day we were somewhat dismayed when our concierge said, “The laundromat is over there but I doubt they’ll be open, it’s Sunday”. 

Given the urgency of our situation, we packed a bag of grungy clothes and headed off determined that this laundry would be open.  We quickly realised that our hotel was situated just near a red-light district and the laundromat was smack bang in the middle of it.  Is it wrong to stare at the men who wander out of dodgy den doorways putting their jackets on?  I think not, they deserve my stares.

We found the laundromat … it was closed. 

… of an attendee at the Christmas markets in Trier is a strange but beautiful thing.

Sure, you’re suppose to relax and enjoy yourself when on holidays, have a few more treats than you normally might but this is ridiculous.

Breakfast: muesli, yoghurt, bread, meat, cheese and coffee/hot chocolate

Snack: hot chips loaded with raw onion (ick, I avoided those bits!), ketchup and fat-man’s mayo

Late lunch: Potato and Mushroom soup with bread sticks

Dinner: Deep fried potato cakes with apple sauce, bratwurst and sauerkraut, mushrooms with aioli, steamed yeast pudding with vanilla custard and cherry sauce, and another chocolate coated pineapple kebab (ok, Jack didn’t have the kebab, just me), all obtained from the market stalls.

If after all of this, your body doesn’t disown you, you are lucky - like me - if it does, you are normal - like Jack.

… started with us catching a 6.30am train which, given we’ve taken to 9am starts and it was maybe 5 degrees outside, was a pretty big call. The idea of missing this train and having no accommodation booked for the night put us in a spot of bother so there was no choice but to do it.

To get to Trier, Germany we had to take 3 trains but we’ve become gurus at the train so it was a piece of cake. Next step, somewhere to sleep but thanks to the english speaking lady at the tourist office that was quickly sorted.

Guess what? Trier had christmas markets too and these ones had more food than Reims and we managed to have our entire dinner from market stalls!

Oh yes, Trier is Germany’s oldest city and we saw the ruins of Roman Baths, Ampitheatre and Fort thingy and had a walk along the river Moselle.

… for I have sinned.

It turns out Reims is the capital of the Champagne region of France, and we didn’t do any tasting! Oh, we looked at it, but during winter tasting hours are restricted. And two hours were wasted trying to figure out where the hell we were going to go tomorrow.

The European rail network is so easy to use, as long as point A or point B is a major city, or A and B are in the same country. Otherwise the computer recommends you travel via New Frickin’ Zealand. After Jack gives up on figuring it out himself (he mutters, then goes quiet, then gets loud as he comes to terms with the fact he can’t do it), we headed over to the train station to ask someone how to get to Trier, Germany. First suggestion, via Paris, 90 minutes in the opposite direction. Next option, says the lady proudly, is via Luxembourg. Jack breaks the news, “Our pass doesn’t cover Luxembourg.” Queue audible sigh. Next option via Belgium. “Sorry not Belgium either, can’t we just follow the almost straight line between them on the official Eurail map?” 45 minutes and two international phone calls later and she had us there by lunchtime. The lady did a great job because it really did seem difficult, we didn’t know if we’d ruined her day or made it.

Oh yeah, and Reims has a cathedral that’s almost identical to Notre Dame in Paris. The name? Notre Dame. Homework exercise - figure out who copied who.

… was on a felafel from the Jewish Quarter. The worst 4 Euros ever saved? Not buying one each!

Marais and the Jewish Quarter were areas we wanted to explore before leaving Paris. With our train for Reims leaving after lunch we snuck in a quick visit. Well worth the effort.

A short train ride in the afternoon landed us in Reims at around 5pm, having no idea of what to expect from a French town at the start of winter. As we walked towards the hotel, all we could see were lights! So this is why Christmas is the best time of the year! The Christmas markets that lined the main street, every day and night from late November were a welcome surprise and a great change from Parisian hecticness.

… in the same day is just weird.

I have always wanted to go to Versailles but have never had the time before.  So with three nights in Paris this time I ensured it was on the agenda.  Holy crap.  Talk about extravagance.  Some of the various rooms were closed but I think we saw the best two at the start, the chapel and, best of all, the Opera House. 

We headed out into the gardens and the drizzle and as Jack said, it was just as if ol’ Louis had said, “I want f*** off gardens as far as the eye can see”. Being the start of winter here the gardens weren’t much to look at and the statues all covered but we could use our imaginations.

From the grandeur of Versailles we headed underneath the streets to the catacombs. Basically, there was a graveyard in Paris that was infecting the living … Eww …so they moved them. Check out this link it’s even got a photo showing what’s like.

Catacombs of Paris

… except for dickheads and they have plenty of those.  For that matter they have plenty of those at Notre Dame Cathedral too, which was our first stop after a lazy start to the day.

They use a lot of diagrams here to overcome the multitude of languages but regardless people happily wander around the cathedral chatting, using their cameras with flashes, touching artwork and mind you, this is all while a church service is in progress! 

The same with the Lourve, which by the way is obscenely large and exhausting.  There are no photo/film signs with little diagrams on the doors to certain rooms yet staff still need to rouse on people for filming.  Dickheads!  I’ll stop now, I’m starting to sound like a cranky old lady writing to the editor.

Oh, we saw Mona, she was cool.  So small compared to the rest yet the only one looking mildly amused. 

Final stop in a very big day, up the Eiffel Tower.  Yes Pam, Jack went the entire way up with barely a cold sweat to be seen.

Oh, we went French for dinner and discovered that while Italians know you’re English when you speak, the French know when you look at the menu.  Bon Appetit!

… the city of romance, not!

To fall asleep in Italy and wake up in France is quite an adventure.  New language, new town, new everything.  The language is a problem as we lost our phrasebook somewhere in Italy so I just know how to say, “hello”, “goodbye”, “please”, “thankyou”, and thanks to my brother-in-law Stephane, “I don’t speak French, do you speak English?”

Thanks to a helpful French lady we found our street and got to our hotel about 10am.  We could leave our bags but not check in until 12pm so we wandered up to Montmarte and Sacre Couer.

Some general observations from Jackson’s first experience of Paris:

- He can not use a bathroom that looks like a salad bowl no matter how urgent the need;

- There is a general smell about Paris that indicates no one else is inclined to use a salad bowl.

We eventually checked in and the night train caught up with us in the form of a two hour nanny nap, oops.  We made up for that with a huge walf from the Eiffel Tower to Arc de Triomphe, down the Champ de Elyses to Place de la Concorde and then the metro back to the hotel.

First dinner in France … Indian, sorry but we’d been craving!

… or the bottom? 

The top you might fall out - it is a rocking train after all - but the bottom you might get crushed.  Despite Jackson’s concern that the top bunk of our compartment may not hold and see the entire thing fall on top of me in the middle of the night, we decided that he could also wedge all 6′5″ of himself into the top bunk securely whereas one sharp bump and I may fly out.

If you’ve been on a night train you would be aware that the cabins aren’t exactly spacious and, in fact, we needed one person to sit on a bed for the other to do anything in the floor area.  With lights out on my behalf I slept ok though the beds are so hard I woke every hour with one part of my body or another numb.  Jack however slep quite soundly (and noisly) discovering that reading until 3am like a naughty child renders you practically unconscious by the time you finally turn out the light!