Good Luck, Bad Luck and Patience

          I promised a quick post to confirm that I had indeed landed in Paris safely, and here it is : )  Travelling yesterday was an exercise in good luck, bad luck, and patience. The good luck was that even though my first flight was significantly delayed, we made it to Heathrow only 20 minutes after our posted arrival time. The bad news was that this left me with 40 minutes from touchdown (so… sitting on the runway behind six other flights) to clear security and make it to my (unknown) departure gate to catch my next flight. Ah but wait… more good news! The flight to Charles deGaulle was also delayed! I made a point of finding myself some victory waffles to eat, both because now I was going to make my flight and as a reward for my stunning patience with the group of small children who cried all the way to Heathrow. Possibly it was their first time flying?

            Once on the ground I did had an excellent time trying to remember my way out of the Gare du Nord on the metro, and definitely did my fair share of standing around looking silly and lost. In the end I made it to my hostel safe and sound, and woke up very early this morning to the dulcet tune of snoring from one of my dorm mates. I may now very strongly believe that snoring like a chainsaw should be punishable by law. The two other people in the room agreed with me, hahaha!

            Not a huge problem though, being as I am still adjusting to French time and was wide awake anyway, I went for breakfast and a walk around Monmartre, which is the arrondissement my hostel is in. Breakfast was leisurely, and the walk to the Moulin Rouge was very short. 

          Everything is turning green here, and guys… they make bunny bread! Yes, yes you read that right. There is a bakery down the street that bakes bread in the shape of tiny, fluffy rabbits. This is a big deal. Such a big deal that I bought what will be my lunch from this bakery.

           Oh, right, there’s fish-bread too, but the bunnies are far cuter. With 10:00am approaching though, I am off to tidy my bunk and re-pack my toiletries. Next stop: Montpellier!

Early

So, as I sit here in the airport, listening to the intercom announcements about flights changing gates – and the children scream – it occurs to me that I arrive at airports early. Now, those of you who are familiar with my seeming inability to get anywhere else on time will realize immediately how impressive this is, the rest of you will just have to take my word for it: I arrive at airports very early. It’s not even really fair to call it ‘very’ early, ‘outrageously early’, ‘exceptionally early’ and ‘inordinately early’ are really much more apt descriptors. That being said, I only really notice how early I get to airports when I clear security in record time, have my carry on entirely prepped with interesting things to keep me occupied in a seated position for 9 hours, have gone to the bathroom… and then find out that the flight has been delayed. Now, in all fairness, no one should ever count on a flight being delayed, and I am not complaining (read: it’s given me time to book the hostel I’ll be staying at tomorrow night), but it is moments like this that make me realise what ‘early’ really is.

            Early is calming.

            Yes, that is a secret of the universe that many of my friends and family have been trying (er… unsuccessfully) to teach me for years. Early is time to sit, and contemplate what you are about to do, and revel in a complete lack of worry when you have successfully made it to your rendez-vous in good time. Write this one down guys, early is a good thing.

            This brings me to the Second Major Realisation of this post; other people don’t change their wallets over to travel wallets when they leave the country. I have noticed in previous travels that there are people in this world who like to keep physical objects with them, possibly as a security blanket, when they are in new and foreign places. That being the case, I’m pretty sure that most meal receipts do not hold sentimental value, and that the discount card you have for that tiny local coffee shop on campus is probably not valid if you are on the other side of the Atlantic. And yet… people brings these things with them when they travel! Aside from the convenience of a smaller, more durable wallet, there are cards I carry at home that I would not want lost or stolen if I were abroad. For example, the card that certifies me as a blackbelt martial artist, or my first aid certifications, or my healthcare card. Some of these aren’t so painful to replace, others are, and most of them cost money. Which leads me to the whole thrust of this Second Major Realisation, if you are travelling, please seriously consider cleaning your wallet at the very least, and switching over to a whole different wallet depending on how long you are gone for.

My favourite part about switching to a travel wallet is that I get to carry around something smaller and lighter than the fat, (pretty) leather thing that I use normally. Not only is my little travel wallet lighter than my normal wallet, it is much more durable in that it’s made of some sort of rip-stop/never tear/totally washable/nuclear bomb-proof material that no one would look at and think ‘hah, I should steal that! It’s probably got loads of money in it!’. This does mean that you have to travel with a wallet that only scores 6/10 on the pretty scale, but it also means that you can take it to the beach, get caught in a rainstorm, spill wine or leap tall buildings with it and not worry.

I’m actually a fan of not worrying, which I know is surprising given that I am so often less than punctual.

However, I can now hear British Airways beginning to run through their final checks before they load us onto the plane (which is here, hurrah!) so this is where I will leave you for today. I promise to post something confirming that I have made it safely to Paris, with some sort of very touristy picture involving the Moulin Rouge.

All the best!

Wiring Money to my Swiss Bank Account

... Ok, I don't have a Swiss bank account. I have dreamt of a day (although, not a legitimate reason) wherein I happen to be the owner of a Swiss bank account. Alas, really all I've done is finished paying tuition and board for my next adventure. It's funny, because all throughout school and in all of the books I've read, the characters make wiring money across an ocean sound as easy as e-mail money transfers. Like you just click a button and suddenly SHAZAM! There's money in Switzerland.

It turns out this is not the case at all. In reality, you take reams of paper with tiny numbers and confusing foreign addresses on them (seriously, can anyone enlighten me on how the Swiss organise their addresses?) to the bank, and wait in line until a teller is free. Then you debate with the teller as to whether or not Zug is a Swiss provence, town, or a sound that monsters make in the Hobbit, until one of you figures out that you should just Google it. Then you check the reams of numbers that are part of the banking information over and over again to make sure you're not sending your worldly savings into the digital hinterland of IBAN, because that would be bad. THEN the bank manager comes out and checks everything over once more, you debate about Zug again, and then things are stamped and signed. It's quite a process. Worth it though, if it means I get to spend time in France.

Right! France. So, since returning from France the last time - which finished with a whirlwind of travelling through Annecy back up to Paris and flying home - I have been saving and scheming to return. This time I will be staying in Montpellier for four months, attending the same language school. Through what is likely the most lucky twist of fate I have encountered in my travels thus far, I will also be returning to Catherine and Michel's home while I am there. Deja vu? Yes. Although potentially the Matrix just changed something, and what I should really be doing is looking over my shoulder for Agent Smith. That would mightily complicate things.

Geeky diversions aside though, I depart on April 26th, and have begun packing.

As someone who spent a fair amount of her childhood and youth travelling, you'd think this wouldn't be a problem, and that I'd be terribly efficient at the whole process. That beginning to pack exactly three weeks before my departure would be an excessive precaution. Can we have a discussion about how packing for four months is drastically different than packing for two or three weeks? o.0 Suddenly, nothing is travel sized. Everything is normal, everyday sized because it just becomes silly to bring several very tiny shampoo bottles instead of one regular sized bottle. Understandably, this has severely compromised everything I have been taught in my life-long education of how to pack efficiently.

Somewhere, my mother just began to giggle and she doesn't know why.

This is it guys, I'm leaving again! I am excessively excited, and look forward to keeping you posted on all of the ridiculous I am likely to encounter abroad.

Cheers!
- K