I WRITE this as I wait for that inevitable bane of traveller’s lives to finish: the laundry.
It’s amazing how something that’s so simple back home – add dirty clothes to washing machine, insert powder/liquid, close lid, turn on – can turn into a mission when you’re out and about. Here at St Christopher’s in Paris it’s a two-minute walk to the laundromat, where everything (washers, dryers and laundry powder dispensers) is run through a central payment thingy. Once you know how to work it it’s actually quite easy, but it is a reminder that metaphorically, we’re not in Kansas anymore Toto!
Of course you tend to realise this when you fly for over 24 hours from Australia. Flying Emirates I left Brisbane at 2am on April 29, had brief stopovers in Singapore and Dubai before arriving into London Gatwick around 2000… on April 29, which works out to something like 27 hours in transit (and about 3 years in imagined time when you’re surrounded by screaming children). Fortunately the food was good, immigration was quick and before too long I was tucked away in bed dreaming of the day when someone pays for a first-class ticket…
London itself was a chilled time, visiting friends and paying a first-time visit to the British Museum. In the two years on-and-off I lived in London I’d never made it to this very impressive museum, home to the Rosetta Stone amongst other things. Knowing the popularity of this one exhibit the museum has very thoughtfully put it just to the left of the also-impressive grand chamber just after walking in, which then drags you towards the Ancient Greek exhibit, containing a number of artefacts from the Athens Parthenon that the Greeks would very much like back.
To leave after just seeing these two rooms would be a shame though. Although many rooms were closed the day I went there, I managed to spend a couple of hours wandering aimlessly through rooms detailing Ancient Egyptian life – and death; perused Italian history pre-Roman domination; then finished up with a spot on Enlightenment. All this… for free (although they do have boxes asking for donations).
After this there was a failed attempt to catch Afghanistan playing India in the World Twenty20 Cup, a May Day march through the Strand, and possibly the best steak pie I’ve ever had at the Sussex Gardens near Chiswick. Seriously chunky pieces of steak in a rich gravy with an astounding pastry on top… it’s amazing how much you can fit in even when you’re not hungry!
ALL good things must come to an end though, and on Monday it was off to Paris on the Eurolines bus. This wasn’t too bad, apart from the inevitable hour wait at French immigration as they went through 40-odd passports, had a cuppa, watched Days Of Our Lives, had a smoke, then finally gave us our passports back – in my case minus entry stamp. Not cool.
Here in Paris so far I’ve managed to head across to Cemetrie Père Lachaise, final resting place of Oscar Wilde, Heloise and Abélard… and a singer called James Douglas Morrison. Jim Morrison’s grave was the busiest by far, with a fence around it to stop over-eager fans from getting too close! No such problems with Wilde’s grave, which is covered in lipstick marks; Heloise and Abélard’s merely covered in authentic medieval scaffolding.
There was also the excitement of watching the first coaches of the season pull out and head on their way to Bruges and Amsterdam. Tomorrow I’ll be jumping onboard Big Blue myself to head to Bruges, but later today it’s off to Hôtel des Invalides for another tomb – this time for the most famous short man in history.
Which I’ll do right after the laundry finishes…
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