I presume it was the cheese from last night's meal that made me have this funny dream -- mind you I think I've had it before.
Anyway, it involves passing by an airport to see a largish passenger plane (a 737, say) loitering. Only rather than fly in a loop the pilot decides to entertain himself by performing some stunt aerobatics including that one where you fly vertically until you stop then fall backwards (you know the one). There was also the special stunt where the plane suddenly becomes four tubes connected at the tail of the plane but are able to separate -- a bit like splaying your toes apart and proceeds to do some of the same stunts.
That's all well and good but the real problem was that it finally clicked that other people had dragged out their cameras and that was what I should be doing. So I went to look for my camcorder and, naturally, this was the first time I'd had to look for it so I was grabbing blindly at my bags whilst keeping an eye on the plane, all to no avail. Finally, I had to turn away and look through my bag directly to find the camcorder by which time the plane had called into land and I missed my shot.
I'm sure someone can interpret that.
In the meanwhile this is the last opportunity to use lappy (the cleverly named laptop) so any further entries from Paris onwards will be copied from the journal proper and typed in at a cyber cafe.
As a hint, those entries including the rest of today might not appear until late November!
Editors Note: It's now November 20th in Auckland, New Zealand. Time to start typing these 100 pages of journal entries...
Last minute jobs (eg. dropping my car off in Oxford) meant we were running late, we left Henley at 1.45pm. Helen was very nervous about starting the RTW flight with only hand luggage, expecting them to chuck us off for cheating. All of which led to some poor camcorder clips -- my narration was very poor.
The journey to Paris was fine but each 20 minute section adds up and it was not until 8.30pm that we emerged from the labyrinthine tunnels of Chateleh des Halles onto the banks of the Seine.
The accommodation plan was to walk towards the Gare de Lyon and look for cheap hotels. At our third hotel in the Rue Mahler we got the last room (just!) where the concierge insisted we speak English. I don't know why.
Out for some food in a busy little restaurant (no beer, only wine -- from a pre-opened wine bottle) then off to film some of the city of lights. The various minstrels have a habit of stopping as you start filming thus losing the ambience (quite often of drunkards staggering about). We did pass the most magnificent little hotel just off the Rue Riviola which I thought was a high class furniture/art shop with a few faded antique items in the window including a set of playing cards and table. I would have taken a photo but for a blokey on the desk. None of your modern chrome and glass glitz here.
Finally, I insisted on sneaking some cheap beer bask into the hotel but fell asleep on it (after two small cans). The bed has a bizarre plasticine consistency.
Copyright 2002 Ian Fitchet. All rights reserved.