I am in Paris after a very eventful journey on a really nice train. Most of what happened to me came about as a misunderstanding. The seats on the train are allotted but I didn't realise this. Added to the issues afoot were my bags and about 5000 other passengers all trying to board at the same time.
I got on said train. I stowed my bags along with scooters, cellos and unimaginable other stuff. Sat down and then realised that other passengers were checking their tickets for the seat numbers. At this point I should have kept quiet. I didn't. A rather authorative lady took charge and told me my carriage was about four down.
Whoops, I panicked, the whistle went, people were still surging forward into the carraige, I couldn't untangle my luggage and gave up. If I got off the train, it would have gone without me - a very reasonable assumption, I am sure. I sat in a free seat and look guilty.
Feeling half dead my first stop in Paris, I decided, was to visit the dead. I went to the Catacombs where 2 million Parisians are buried or should I say reburied. The queue was enormously long so I stood patiently in the bitter cold, again snuffling, sneezing and gerenally making myself unpopular with my fellow queuers. At least my personal space was respected.
Despite being the outcast, the miles of walking underground was well worth the trip across Paris 20 metres underground. When I emerged, It was dark and I was disorientated, a long way from the entrance, and hungry. I had not eaten much because of not being well. I found the metro, headed for the stop near my hotel and had a pizza.
You would think that pizzas should get better, the closer they are to home. I can say that the pizza I had in Laos outshone this one by a mile. The only saving grace is that I can't taste anything at the moment.
So Marmite, you are much better off in a nice warm country without me around to snuffle and sneeze over you. Just thank your lucky stars!!
Hugging you from a very far distance place.
Love
XXX
No comments:
Post a Comment