Monday, October 4, 2010

In the beginning...

Hmm... Let me begin by advising anyone who may be considering flying international economy with Etihad to RUN! Run in the opposite direction! The seats were not only the worst plane seats I've ever had the misfortune to sit in, but the worst seat seats period. I will quote Tori's description, "Medieval Torture Seats." To add to our suffrage, our end of the plane was absolutely freezing, as they only had heaters up the front. When we then asked a flight attendant for some form of blanket we were told, "sorry, they are reserved for first class passengers. Sufficed to say we got little to know sleep. We did however manage to counter this with seventeen straight hours sleep once we had made it to the hostel, but more on that later.

Abu Dhabi was interesting to say the least. The men push in and bump you and do not apologise... it was like we weren't visible to them. Very odd...

As Zombies we finally made it off and into the French airport where either we were so sleep deprived and pissed off at the world that we missed our transfer, or it never came.

I will parenthetically interject here, to put rest to a commonly circulated theory that the French are not a helpful people. In our case, this could not have been more incorrect. We met some absolutely lovely French people in our frantic airport escapades.

So, moving right along, we hopped a cab, and the roads!! Mum, you'd have cried. There were lanes, however they were completely disregarded, as were speed limitations and pedestrians. Picture this;

Large taxi driver, no knowledge what so ever of English, phone in one hand, dripping corn cob in the other, beeping at pedestrians (not slowing for them) and swirving around from lane to lane as if blinkers and other cars were not of existence.

As we did not die however, I can now say that it was very very fun, so no harm done.

Our hostel is in Mortmartre and so for the rest of our day we will be exploring the bohemian centre of Paris. I also plan to get my tattoo today but that all depends on whether we can find an artist who speaks English.

Our street, the Rue D'Orsel is, as most streets in Paris are, cobble stoned, with exquisite buildings and haberdasheries as far as the eye can see. I wish I weer a quilt maker in this moment. I'd be on cloud nine.

It truly is beautiful. They all say this, but really, it is. As I stand looking out my window I am already planning my return, so Trent, start saving my love.

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