whenever we're together, that's my home (Paris - Sydney)

and so, we are back home in Sydney. And the final song reference ... Billy Joel from his Piano Man album in 1973.

I know dear reader you have been waiting for the final instalment to read about the final part of our journey. Thank you to everyone who wished us well and hoped that our travels back to Australia would be uneventful. Sadly, however, it was not. Although in the context of the last few weeks it was nothing really, in retrospect it was quite amusing in part.

Leaving Paris

Those of you who know me well will know how obsessive I am bout being on time, particularly when catching planes. To ensure there were no problems I had the hotel staff book the cab for me the day before we were leaving.

I packed all the bags the night before except for the toiletries, so once we were showered and dressed we would be right to go. The next morning it dawned on me that I would have to repack the bags because the 6 bottles of wine we collected on our way around France I had put in our hand luggage. They would be confiscated at the airport if I left them there and there was no way that was happening. Once I had repacked, I put the backpack on and grabbed one of the other bags and helped Jayne down to the foyer. Two more trips back to our room and I had all the luggage downstairs with Jayne, 10 minutes before the taxi was due. Sweet.

And we waited. And waited. At 8:05am the person who booked the cab for me walked past and casually let us know that the it was waiting for us and had been there for a couple of minutes. It had actually been there for €13 worth of time. Annoying, but we were on our way to the airport.

There was a lot of traffic, but we had allowed plenty of time. I grabbed a luggage trolley and loaded the bags on as Jayne crutched her way into the terminal. I left the bags with her and went in search of the Malaysian airline check-in counter. It was of course, down stairs. Jayne wobbled her way to the travellator. Well I thought it was a travellator, it was actually an escalator. No baggage trolleys could use it. So, back we went to find the lift. Jayne was seriously struggling as this was the furthest she had been on crutches. There was a cafe near the check-in desk down stairs, so she sat there while I went to find out what was happening.

Was there a queue? Oh yeah! Ten minutes before check-in commenced the queue went around the corner. The good news? We were flying Business Class and that means you have a separate line. There were only three people in front of me. Jayne staggered over because they needed to see her to verify the tickets. She was very tired and getting weak from all the movement on the crutches. She asked for a wheel chair, yes one was coming, but we had to head back over to the chairs. It was only 20 metres away, but for Jayne it may as well have been a kilometre. It was difficult but she made it.

The wheelchair dude finally turned up and escorted us to Malaysian airlines lounge. It was not as good as the Qantas lounge in Sydney, but it was better than waiting in the terminal. Jayne asked where the toilets were and was pointed in the direction of a set of spiral stairs. Disabled access? What's that? We had about two hours to wait before boarding at 11:30am, so we had breakfast and waited. We weren't sure what time they were coming back to get us. Wheelchair support means an escort to the gate.

11:30 came and went. I spoke to one of the attendants. She phoned someone else, don't worry they are coming, she said. Our flight was called for boarding. Still no-one turned up. They phoned again. At 11:45 we were the only passengers left in the lounge. A third phone call produced a young man who had never done the wheelchair run before. We set off for the gate. Down the lift through the shops and onto the travellator, but it was not moving. The young man pushing the chair was going to have to push all the way. We came to a down slope - that's good, but there was a big hill to climb on the other side. Glad I wasn't pushing the chair. He really needed a clear run to gain some momentum, but there was a woman struggling up the slope and like a puppy, she was in the way, almost under our feet. Just short of the top he had to stop pushing or run over the gasping woman and her bag. I'm sure the rest helped him and he pushed the chair the last few metres to flat ground. Although Jayne later said, she thought he was going to expire before we reached the summit.

I was concerned because we still had to get through security and I had syringes and drugs in my bag for Jayne. Thankfully an escort means by-passing all queues. Of course as I went through the security gate the alarm went off - I forgot to remove my belt. Back through, belt off, shoes off, jacket off ... all good, I grab everything and we head for the plane again ... until I was called back by security. Had I forgotten something? OMG, my satchel! It had all Jayne's medication in it. Back I go. Serious faces. Questions. What is in here? Syringes and medication for my wife. OK they said, off you go.

I walked onto the plane with my shoes, belt and jacket in my hands, but we made it. Business class. Space, comfort, service. Bags stowed. Jayne settled. Time to relax. Finally. It had been a stressful five hours.

The Flight

The flight attendants were wonderful and really looked after us. It was a 12 hour flight to Kuala Lumpur and unusually for us, we were not flying in the late afternoon, so the enforced lights down did not really encourage us to sleep. We watched lots of movies.

In KL we were met at the door of the plane with a wheelchair and were taken straight to the lounge. We were comforted by the fact that this time the wheelchair was left with us and the attendant kept Jayne's boarding pass as security. She promised she'd be back at 8:20, 10 minutes before boarding. And she was! Once again we by-passed the queues. No problems with security. I counted my bags twice. Back on the same plane, in the same seats. New staff who were as lovely and as helpful as the last crew.

Although largely uneventful, the flight from KL to Sydney was quite turbulent and the stewards were confined to their seats for large periods of time. This would not normally be of any concern, except Jayne needed to go to the toilet and because of her instability on crutches she required a period without turbulence.

The verdict on Business Class?  It doesn't compare with Economy, but I'm not sure the difference between it and Premium Economy is worth the extra money. There is more room, the seats convert into a flatter bed, but I'd be doing a serious cost analysis.

Sydney

We landed on time. Another wheelchair at the door and were whisked down to Immigration. There were big queues, in fact we compared it to Heathrow, although the lines moved quickly and more staff were called. The 10 minutes we spent here didn't compare to the 2 hours in Heathrow.

Customs was even quicker. I declared the medication and a few things we brought back and we were waved though. Once outside we commenced our search for our driver. QBE arranged a car to get Jayne home. The end was in sight.

We found our driver and accompanied by the wheelchair assistant headed for the car park. Sitting in the back of the car we relaxed. We'd be home in about 40 minutes. What could go wrong? Well, the driver was clearly channelling Henri Paul (google him). He drove up to the boom gate. It didn't budge. He reversed, mumbling about paying for parking and sought another exit. None found. Back to an area where there was just a raised gutter and a footpath between us and freedom. He attempted to drive over the footpath. Front wheels, no worries. The boot contained 60kgs of luggage and then the 150kgs of our combined weight. The back wheels nudged the gutter and spun. He reversed and tried again. Same result. He reversed back further, a larger run-up. I was getting concerned about Jayne's leg being jolted around, but this time he made it. No paying for parking for this dude.

I couldn't see the speedo but both Jayne and I felt that he was driving fast. Laughing about it later, we said, we'd driven over 8,000km around France and Ireland, spent over 46 hours in the air and we were going to die on the M5 within 30 minutes of home. Despite the speed and our discomfort we made it home safely.

Jayne

Monday morning we went to the doctor to have the cast redone and get the referrals for the orthopaedic specialist. The dressing was changed, the doctor and the nurse were both happy with surgeon's work. The new cast is on and Jayne is happy being back in her own bed again. Four more weeks in plaster then x-rays and a visit to the specialist to see if the cast can come off. Following that, physio. She'll need to learn to walk again after 6 weeks of having no weight on her right foot. Until then she is confined to the lounge with her leg raised. Luckily I bought her a bell in Paris so she can summon me or Cait.

The End

And so dear reader, this is the last installment until our next adventure ... yes, we are going back to Paris in 2013. We will see Paris, together. And at that time I will resurrect the blog.

Au revoir.

this is the end (Paris)

well, I thought I should reference at least one Doors song while in Paris. After all, Jim Morrison is buried nearby in Pere Lachaise Cemetery. 

And the end really has arrived. Tonight is our last night Paris. One more night of room service food :( but tonight with champagne to say goodbye in the proper fashion. Tomorrow morning we will be in a cab heading for Charles de Gaulle at 8am. Yes, Jayne will not be happy about this.

The hospital trip

Today? Oh, OK then. We had a relatively early start because Jayne had her appointment at St Antoine to have the plaster cut prior to our flight on Saturday. As we were getting ready I noticed the appointment time was actually 8:35, not 9am like we'd been told. That was cool, we were right to go. Jayne managed the crutches well and we went outside to where there is usually a swarm of taxis. Today, not so much. I kept waving at them and they kept telling me to move further down to the other side of the station. That was way beyond Jayne's range, so I retreated to the hotel and asked them to call a cab for us. While I was organising this, some Australians were chatting with Jayne and explained that the area in front of the hotel was for radio cabs only, you can't hail one there. Unbelievable.

We made it to the hospital without incident. The driver dropped us at Emergency because he didn't know his way around. That was good, because they provided Jayne with a wheelchair and called for someone to come and get her. We were escorted to 'consultation'. Then it was decided that Jayne needed to have her blood levels taken prior to the cast being cut. They swapped the wheelchair for a racing version that was easier to steer and took us down to the Polyclinique for the blood screen. Back upstairs, Albert, who put the cast on, also cut it and taped it up.

The next step was to make sure that QBE had contacted the hospital and sorted payment. I parked Jayne at the top of the steps at the Discharge Admin centre. Obviously, if you can't negotiate the steps you aren't ready to go home. Lucky I was there. I found Mme Avril and we conversed in fluent Franglais to discover everything had been looked after, except today's bill which I needed to pay. Thankfully an English speaker happened past and walked us down to the cashier and then explained how the number system worked all the way down to pointing out that the number of the cashier corresponded to the number that came up on the board next to our ticket. Clearly my lack of French has caused my brain to atrophy and I am now not smart enough to work a ticket system common at Coles' deli.

Bill paid. Taxi called. We headed back to the hotel where Jayne promptly sent me out for a walk. That's the thanks I get.

Jardin du Luxembourg

 Grabbed the camera and headed across the river to the left bank to the Jardin du Luxembourg. It is more of a botanic garden in style and I took some arty shots of flowers. There were plenty of lunchtime joggers. Now, I don't think I've mentioned a disturbing trend I've noticed with male joggers - their tendency to wear bike shorts while running (no pictures). No, no, no. Wrong, wrong, wrong. They're called bike shorts for a reason, one should wear them while riding a bike. Jogging? No. Too much information.

The stuff of nightmares.

Aside from being a great place for lunch the garden also harboured every second school child in Paris as well as every playgroup. The reason was, there was a menagerie in the gardens as well. I can't resist a zoo, even if it is just to see what they have in their collection. Overseas zoos are fascinating in terms of Australian content. This one has a couple of emus, some Bennett's wallabies and red kangaroos. It also had crested pigeons, budgies, cockatiels and a couple of green frogs. Eclectic, but hardly amazing.

The interesting thing is the difference in how the animals are kept. I made comments about French TV being stuck in the 80s, well the zoo is reminiscent of the '70s. My aviary is larger than some of the ones they were using to house really large birds. There was no way they could spread their wings. Many animals also endured cramped conditions.

Too cute for words.

It was lunchtime. Even the animals sleep.

Luckily the Stegosaur was behind the fence.

This is the end, my only friend, the end

And that will be it until we get home. I will finalise this series of blogs in Australia on Monday. Thanks for sharing the journey the with us dear reader. It didn't quite turn out as we expected, but as John Lennon says, "life is what happens while you're busy making other plans". So we must be returning to life because we have commenced planning our return to Paris. We will see Paris, together, and take more than three days to do it (Jayne will be confined to bed on the 4ht day). So, at this stage, we'll be back in late June or early July 2013 (Tour de France time). Maybe we can catch up Dianne?

Thank you beautiful people.

And now the end is near ... (France)

50 random things I have learned about France:

Even the sandwich shops are festy! Who'd eat there?

1. We have (had) Wonderland, Adventureland and Luna Park. They have Festyland. Festy!
2. Speed limits are for tourists.
3. Each area has a designated day off, it is just difficult to work out which one.
4. Road rules ... see point 2.
5. There is a pharmacy on every corner.
6. If there is a view, they will destroy it with wind turbines or signs or power poles etc.
7. Nothing stops lunch, 12 - 2pm, minimum.
8. Public holidays are actually public holidays and nothing is open.
9. Every town and village, no matter how small, has a weekly market and a mayor.
10. Every town and village, no matter how small, has a church and a town hall.
11. Nobody speaks English until you demonstrate how bad your French is.
12. Everything closes on Sunday at lunch.

13.

13. Their roses are beautiful and brightly coloured but have no perfume.
14. The wine region (terroir) is more important than the grape variety.
15. There can't be anyone left in England because they are all in the south of France operating Gites.
16. If part of your car fits, then you can park there.
17. In Lourdes there is a discotheque called My Lord. (No, seriously there is).
18. Their wine bottles still have corks. Old school.
19. There are dogs everywhere and they accompany their owners everywhere.
20. Mind your step. See the above point.
21. The narrower the street, the faster you drive and the bigger the truck you meet.
22. Side mirrors on cars have a 'fold-in' option for a reason.
23. Fresh food abounds, but limes, chillies and green prawns are difficult to procure.
24. Sustainable is important in food and power.
25. A Roman ruin is just around any corner.

No entry ... except bikes. (26)

26. Bicycles have right of way on the road or the footpath.
27. Signs are like bike lanes in Sydney, they begin and end without warning and don't actually take you anywhere you want to go.
28. Community is really important.
29. 'The Revolution' is a justification for the defacement and graffiti-ing of just about anything.
30. The bread is the BEST! Tasty, crunchy and not that white. Love baguettes.
31. Motor bikes inhabit the footpaths of Paris and find them a positive alternative to the road to avoid red lights.
32. The stairs are steep ... everywhere.
33. People in wheelchairs don't ride the Metro because there are no lifts or escalators at many stations.
34. Parisiennes are cold and rude is a myth. They have been lovely and helpful - again.
35. The national food of France is the same as that of Australia: pizza.
36. Hospital food is the same everywhere.
37. The give way to the right rule is wrong. It's like giving way to the left in Australia.
38. All insurance companies are the same. They only pretend to care. It's all about money.
39. OHS? What's that? How refreshing that you have to take responsibility for your own actions (stupidity). I'd like to see more of that at home.
40. Take-away (aside from the viral fast food chains) is pretty much limited to pizza. Fish and chips is non-existent.
41. Watching French TV is like a trip back in time to the 1980s.
42. The French do not understand the meaning of the word 'slowly' when speaking or driving.
43. There needs to be an education program regarding the use of public toilets.
44. There also needs to be an education program around littering, just like there was in Australia in the late '70s.
45. Soap holders in showers and toilet roll holders are not particularly common. Curious.
46. Road rage exists everywhere. Two drivers got out of their cars and caused a massive 'bouchon' on one of the Seine bridges. Gendarmes had to break it up.
47. Modes of transport to work in Paris are many and varied, aside from the obvious.  Roller skates and blades are not uncommon, but the dude in the suit and tie on a razor scooter made me laugh.
48. Wine can be purchased just about everywhere: wine shops, supermarkets, service stations, the corner store ... that is cool.
49. European rain. Pfft. What is it? It's like the spray from the car in front when they're cleaning the windscreen. Annoying and inconvenient maybe, but that's it.
50. Wannabe a Parisien? Buy a jacket, scarf, satchel and baguette. The beggars and gypsies leave you alone then. If you wannabe a Parisienne, swap the satchel for a chien.

the loveliness of Paris seems somehow sadly gay (Paris)

and not because I left my heart in San Francisco (even though I thought it was lovely). And now Gen Y, 'gay' does not have the colloquial meaning it does today, it means happy.

Sunset from our window.

I love Paris. In fact I love France, but with Jayne confined to bed I have no-one to share it with. I don't want to leave Jayne alone all day and she doesn't want me to be stuck in the hotel room. So, she tells me to go out everyday (it's probably for her sanity too). Having been described before as the 'energizer bunny', to say I don't sit still for long is an understatement. 

Random beauty.

Today I decided to walk down the the Jardin de Tuileries and take some random photos on the way. One of the reasons I love Paris is its beauty. You can turn a corner and there will be framed the most, magnificent vista. It's like the city was designed by artists. The picture (right) I think is of the Palais du Luxembourg. I was walking along the Seine and came to a bridge and looked across it. Just beautiful. 

Yesterday as I was out wandering I came across a state funeral, not sure for whom, but it came with a huge police escort. Today, just after the road-rage incident on one of the bridges across the Seine (it was amazing, two guys out of their cars, on the side of the road, dancing around like two prize fighters - until the gendarmes turned up in number - created a huge 'bouchon'), there was a parade of the mounted gendarmerie. They are not like ours, they still maintain a very old school traditional uniform.

I love a man who rides his dinner home.

 Just a little further down the road there was a bridge that looked to be covered in gold leaf. I wasn't particularly surprised by this, there is gold everywhere on statues and roof tops. I noticed it yesterday, but I was on the Velib and didn't get to stop and have a closer look. So today, being on foot, I stopped. It wasn't gold leaf. It wasn't even a government sanctioned adornment of the bridge. In fact in other parts of Paris they have been removed. They? Padlocks. Thousands of them with messages of love written on them, lovelocks. Then once the lock is on the bridge the key is thrown into the Seine. Doesn't it make you want to do it too?

Pont des Arts.

A closer look.

Continuing on I arrived at the gardens which begin the other side of the Louvre and it's ugly pyramid. They extend down to the Place de la Concorde and then the Champs Elysee begins amidst the parks on the other side. This continues through to the L'Arc de Triomphe.

The gardens are beautiful and even on a Thursday, were quite crowded. There were plenty of school groups and street hawkers. Scarves and models of the Eiffel Tower seemed to be the order of the day, aside from the gypsy children who are always collecting for a 'good cause'. I had my 'no' T-shirt on today and one of them made some comment after I turned them away, so when the next wave approached me I just pointed at the 'no' on my shirt and kept walking.

 My favourite scam of the day went like this: unwitting lone tourist (me) is taking random photos and a woman walks towards him, gets close, and then exclaims "oh la la" (seriously, you can't make this up) and bends down and picks something off the ground. I assumed some coin, but no, offered to me with a shrug of the shoulders is a gold wedding band. When I said, non, and showed her my wedding ring (it's still there as type), she looks closer at the ring in her hand and points to the 18ct marking. Looks around, 

sees no-one but us and tries to hand me the ring. Non, non, I protest and show her my ring again. She shows me that she doesn't wear jewellery, shrugs her shoulders and puts the ring in my hand and walks off. But not far. She returns and asks for money for food. I pretend not to understand. She tries again. I tell her I do to understand French, in French. She then asks for 'change for coffee'. I refuse and hand her back the ring. She walks off to the other side of the pathway and I head for the Place de la Concorde. Every now and then I'd look to see where she was. Clearly, it was her patch and she walked back and forth looking for her next victim. The ring actually looked real. I wonder?

The Palais of Justice .. I think

After walking for 90 minutes it was time to head back to the Hotel. I walked across the Place and found a Velib station, hired a bike and began the ride home.  Not all the bikes are in top condition, and this one had a seat that would move down the seat post without warning. It was annoying, but if I was tall it could have been dangerous. I had a nice 30 minute ride home in the sun. Today has been the best day we've had since we've been in Paris. Had Jayne not had the accident I would never had the opportunity to enjoy it, because today was our transit day to chateaux country. Some other time maybe.

riding along on a pushbike honey (Paris)

And the day dawns, no rain. It's a miracle.

We slept. No parties next door. Despite our proximity to the station and main roads, our room was remarkably quiet.

I headed for the nearest boulangerie. Paris prices, rip off! Will be looking elsewhere tomorrow morning. Back home, made the coffee - we have a Nespresso knock-off machine in our room - then checked the maps for the trip to L'Arc de Triumphe. It was a double purposed trip: shopping and stretching my legs on a bike.

Style and class.

I researched how to hire a Velib. There is a station across the street. For the grand price of €1,70 I had a bike for the entire day. It's not quite what I'm used to riding. It has a basket for your shopping, it's bulky and heavy with only 3 gears - not sure why you'd want 1st gear in Paris, unless you were trying to climb a tree. But, they move pretty well, particularly over the cobble stones.

Thankfully there was a bike lane most of the way, but just like Sydney, half way to my destination it just disappeared. So, I took on the Paris traffic for a while and then decided to pretend to be French and hit the footpath. It was all going well until I almost rode into an oncoming cyclist. He was really French and was totally unimpressed that I was on his side of the footpath. Oops.

Maybe I'll get to Jules Verne next time.

The sun actually came out for a while and I stopped for the occasional photo opportunity. The Tower looked majestic and the Pont de la Concorde provided a spectacular view of the Palais Bourbon. 

I then headed up towards the Champs Elysee and L'Arc de Triumphe. The shop I was heading for was on the other side of the Champs Elysee. The traffic was quite heavy and it was obviously going to be quicker on foot, so at the next Velib station I parked my bike.

The view to Palais Boubon

I walked around the arch and took a photo from almost every pedestrian crossing. Located the shop I was after, made my purchases, headed for the nearest Velib station, picked up a new bike and rode home. All up I was gone for just over 2 hours and rode about 14km. It was an easy ride, but I felt it in my knees. Clearly I'm have some cycle work to do when I get home.

Looks better with bikes around it at the end of the tour.

And how is Jayne? I hear you ask dear reader. She is well, not in any pain, but still confined to bed except for excursions for obvious reasons. Her next big day out is to the hospital on Friday to have the plaster cut in preparation for our flight home.

We'd both like to thank everyone who has expressed their sympathy and kept us in their prayers. Mwah to all of you.

stay away from my window (Paris)

And for those of you who know the lyrics, no that's not what it's about.

We moved from the wrong side of the peripherique in eastern Paris, to the heart of this beautiful city, the Mercure, Gare de Lyon. We are on the 5th floor with a 'view' of roof tops and roads. And the window opens, fully, prompting Jayne to remark, "stay away from the window, don't jump". Like I would, I don't deal with heights.

Our last night in Porte de Montreuil did not disappoint. It commenced well enough, both the Carrefore and the Italian restaurant were open, which meant food and wine. We watched Rafa beat Djokovic again (I could do that ALL day). Then Gros Chien said it was time for bed. All good, until 4am and then voices, music and clinking bottles making their way down the corridor. Not as close as last time, but still loud enough to keep us awake. Then at 4:30am, new people next door. This time two men, talking very loudly. I am not going to miss this.

I did most of the packing last night, so in the morning it was just sit and wait for the nurse to do Jayne's blood test. As 10am approached I started to doubt my marvellous command of Franglais and was googling the lab when there was a knock at the door. He was here! All good.

This time it was Jayne's turn to grapple with the language. Blood test taken, details of how to get the results worked out, nurse out the door and I followed not long after in search of breakfast. In a radical departure from the norm we opted for grilles aux pommes and anglaise aux abricots. Nice.

Then for the major manoeuvre of the day, getting Jayne downstairs and into a cab. The walk to the lift and then to the chairs in the foyer took its toll on Jayne. Ensconced in the foyer, I made my three round trips to get the bags downstairs. The cab arrived, I started loading the bags and Jayne crutched her way to the cab door. Safely in the cab, we bid the seedy side of Paris, au revoir.

We have less room in the Mercure, but it is closer to the hospital and it has a disabled access bathroom. It should also ensure we get a better night's sleep. 

Jayne phoned the lab for her test results, a task that I was glad not to have. The person on the other end of the phone spoke no English. So I listened to an interesting interchange with Jayne constantly saying, "dites lentement" and re-phrasing her question until finally she got the all clear. The blood levels were normal. The injections continue (picture me with a sly smile, the next one is due in 30 mins).

I went for a walk down to Notre Dame again this arvo to get a souvenir I missed from my list, and came back a different way to locate the Carrefore and a boulangerie for breakfast. All successful.

The only disappointment is the room service menu, it is rather limited and Jayne is not supposed to move. So despite the fact we are in the centre of the Brasserie universe, they are all out of bounds to us. But anything will be better than some of things we've eaten recently.

On Sunday night there was very little open, but I did find an Italian restaurant that did take away pizza. In an attempt to cater to Jayne's taste, I avoided the usual peperoni laden pizza and opted for one with ham, mushroom, artichoke hearts, olives and an ingredient I didn't know. Any guesses? Seriously, have a go. What would you put with those ingredients? It was the chef's special too. I figured capsicum or capers, nothing too dramatic. But no ... it was tuna! Say no more. I was walking back, thinking, this pizza smells a bit strange. And when I opened it I understood why. C'est la vie! It was food and we were hungry. And then to add insult to injury, it hadn't been cut.

And so to dinner, we're hoping the pasta is good. I'll let you know. Tomorrow I'm off in search of a 50th birthday pressie for my little bro.

a demain

All my life's a circle (Paris - on the wrong side of the peripherique)

And it's not fun.

But, we'll be home soon. Sunday night to be exact. The fight with our travel insurance company is over. I am allowed to accompany Jayne in Business Class provided I pay for the ticket myself. So, $4,000 later, we are still together. There will be some reimbursement of money we have already allocated so it's not quite as bad as it looks.

The offending limb.

I've not had to deal with a travel insurance claim of this magnitude before, but I found the use of the term 'assist' in their email quite ironic. Yes, I know they are all working hard, and they do 12 hour shifts, but, 5 case managers in 4 days? Notes on files not being passed on? Compassion only goes so far as the word. Justice is excluded by the black and white of the policy. I would have been happy to stay with one of the earlier managers and told her to phone at a time that suited her - I didn't care if I was being woken up, the continuity would have been sufficient compensation.

The good news, apart from we're coming home, is that we are flying Malaysian Airlines and they are about to join the group Qantas is with, so we should be able to claim frequent flyer points.

I finally managed to secure a nurse to come to the hotel to do a blood reading for Jayne. I am injecting her with anti-coagulants on a daily basis and we need this to be monitored. My first attempt at getting a nurse resulted in a card from the pharmacy. Jayne phoned him. He doesn't do home visits and suggested she consult the internet to find a laboratorie. Most helpful. So I consulted with Google and found a lab only 400 metres away. Had some fun and games with my version of French and their version of English to be told ... no, they don't do home visits either. They directed me to a ... wait for it ... pharmacy. Sigh. All my life's a circle.

I was determined to succeed, so I approached a different pharmacy and after we established my lack of French, I was directed to another lab about a km in the other direction. So, after my bonjour, I went straight for "parlez vous anglais?" As usual, the reply was "a little" and I said my French was also "un peu". My accent provided much laughter, but, tomorrow morning there will be a nurse at the hotel to do the blood test.

Tomorrow we are moving hotels. Thankfully, this one is fully booked, so we had to move. We are going to one closer to the hospital and it also has a restaurant. Take away is not a hugely popular concept in France. If you don't cook, you eat out and walk home. So, we are both getting tired of baguettes and pizza.

 

I've seen the sights of eastern Paris and beyond and I prefer the Bastille where we were. I won't miss trying to find food for dinner or the porn stars that inhabited the room next to us one night. No, no details, this is a family blog, if you really want to know, that is a conversation to have in person. Neither Jayne nor I got much sleep that night and we were very happy when they didn't return the following evening.

Today, in between rounds with the insurance company, and rain showers I walked down to Place de la Nation and took a couple of snaps.

frustration so bad it makes you cry (Paris)

And so, we left the hospital behind. We had presents: x-rays, certificates, scripts and so on.

First to Jayne, then to the saga. She is not in pain, but is on regular pain relief. The bruising is massive across her lower back down to the top of her thighs. She had her first proper shower today, after we'd covered the cast in a garbage bag. Then it was back to bed, but it is better than being in hospital. The doctor wants her to be as immobile as possible, which is fortunate when you consider how well she works a pair of crutches. She did enjoy her welcome home champagne last night.

I am off the scale on the frustration meter at present to the extent where I am even having trouble getting things in chronological order. But, I'll try.

Before Jayne could be discharged she needed to have her crutches. No, the hospital don't issue them, you have to purchase them at a pharmacy. So, I walked to the hospital from our new accommodation and stopped at the last pharmacy to fill the script. The girl came back with arm brace crutches, no, I said, cannes anglaise, under the arms. Ahh, she said, and off she went again. Finally, she returned with a new set of aluminium crutches.

Jayne finally got to see the surgeon - while I wasn't there, of course. He confirmed that to fly home the cast had to be split, but that he would not allow her to fly prior to June 16. He wasn't particularly keen on her leaving the hospital either, despite one of the other doctors saying she could have left as early as Thursday.

We made it to the hotel, which is not quite the accommodation we were used to, but there were no stairs. The sad discovery that there was no restaurant or room service either, this provided food for thought (did you see what i did there? food? never mind). The local area has two take-away stores, that we'd eat from. That was OK because we didn't know how long we'd need be here. We had booked for two nights. So I ventured toward the 'Asian' food store and purchased a selection of spring rolls and stick things. It must be able to be eaten by hand because there is no cutlery etc in the hotel.

Imagine my surprise to discover that the food was pre-cooked, but sold cold. Curiously and fortunately, there is a microwave in the hotel, so we could re-heat them. It was passable. But, does it raise questions that they would provide a microwave to heat food, but not eating utensils?

Overnight I received an email form the insurance company, who are not my faves any more. This was in reply to my email that asked a few simple questions like WTF is going on? All I requested were some answers to simple questions. When are we going home? That was important because we didn't have accommodation beyond Sunday. It became more crucial when I realised that our current hotel didn't have room for us beyond Tuesday morning. A little certainty about where to go and what we could spend would be nice.

I also pushed the line about me being in Business Class with Jayne to assist her.

So the response ... no statement about the flight home, just more questions back to me because someone hadn't read my email through. And a 'cut and paste' from their policy telling me that I was responsible for the cost of the alternate accommodation. No, no, no. And a message to say they will phone me.

That's pretty much how the last two emails have finished. No calls. So, I sent them another email. And finally scored some answers. They are trying organise flights for the 16th, but Jayne will be in Business and I will be in Cattle. No other answers. 

Another email. Instant phone call. And, something I haven't mentioned yet, another case manager, our 5th in four days. Is it any surprise that someone can't follow what's going on? So, we've sorted the accommodation. We'll be here till Tuesday then we're moving to a hotel that is closer to the hospital and has room service, but we have to pay for that from the 14th because that was the last of our pre-paid stay.

Then to the plane travel. Their policy says that unless a doctor says Jayne needs assistance that she travels alone. We have spoken to two doctors about this and both said the same thing. They won't recommend that because it is a matter for the insurance company to work out. They knew this, it was in one of my many emails and I told one of our case managers on the phone.

And so the battle continues. I'll keep you in the picture.

I have just given Jayne her first needle of the anti-coag stuff. She said I was a l little too eager to deliver the needle. And told me that I'm taking the 'doctor stuff' too seriously. Blah, blah, blah. I wonder how she would feel if I walked and left her to fend for herself? She's whimpering now, I think that's answer. Not sure what she's worried about the insurance company thinks she can do it.

a demain

sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gunna make it home again (Paris)

oh so totally true.

First the good news: Jayne is being discharged tomorrow! We have booked into a hotel with disabled facilities - that means a real shower and no stairs, for the next 2 days.

The no news: The insurance peeps are saying that to fly home Jayne needs to have the cast split. A couple of doctors have said, "mais oui" and a couple of others have said, "non, non, non". At this point no-one has consulted the surgeon. Apparently they opted for screws and not a plate because that plus the cast provides the best stability.

Just to confound matters, no-one at the hospital answers the phone so the insurance people from Oz (whom I couldn't recommend more highly, I'll name the company when they confirm that I am flying Business with Jayne) haven't been able to speak any of the doctors. I'm uncertain as to whether that is a positive or a negative.

So once again we are in no-person's land. In typical fashion, everyone has an opinion and no-one is willing to over-rule the other. So, nothing happens. At one point we thought we were faced with a 6 week wait in a hotel room. Things look a little better than that, but Jayne and I spoke with the same person and came away with two different perceptions. At this stage, she is hoping I am right (you won't see that written again).

For me, at least, I have part of a weekend in Paris, so it will be off to the St Ouen markets. I might even break the camera out and take a few snaps too.

Stay bat-tuned.

A song to finish? from one of the best voices Oz has produced, "One is the loneliest number". What? Oh Google it kids, although he did not do the original.

history never repeats (Paris)

Do you think Neil Finn? I assume he was being sarcastic or ironic, I've never really listened to the lyrics closely enough. But consider this: in 2003 we were scheduled to have a week in Paris and a wildcat British Airways strike reduced our stay to 3 days. This week we arrive on Saturday and on Monday night Jayne is in hospital - for her, Paris is over. Do the number, 3 days.

There is not a lot of news since yesterday, although we do have a correction.

Overnight the plate in Jayne's leg has turned into two screws, which anatomically, makes more sense to me given where the fractures have occurred. She is, in cliche world, in good spirits. In reality, you make the best of any situation. She is in a room with a woman who sounds like a terminal emphysema patient. Every breath gurgles. Every one in France smokes. I was seriously considering taking it up again. The smell of cigars ... but I digress.

And so, we wait. We wait for doctors and we wait for the insurance company to make some decisions on our behalf.

Tomorrow, Jayne will have the proper cast put on. She can be discharged after that, but where we go is up to the insurance peeps. As I have said, she can't come back to the apartment.

Short term future: Jayne is in a cast for 6 weeks. She will be injecting anti-coagulant everyday. The major card: no weight or pressure on her right foot. Which means, no foot on the ground. Hopefully, the insurance people will see reason and allow me travel with her at the pointy end of the plane because that's not a given.

Jayne has, unsurprisingly, stated no photos of her. I can photograph her leg and the cast, which I may do tomorrow.

The future? Well, we have already commenced the return trip next year. We both love Paris and will not be thwarted. To conclude with a cliche, third time lucky.

A bientot 

and this time I mean it :(

slipping away from me - or - slip sliding away (Paris)

You can choose your title for today.

Now, dear reader, if you are thinking, "well Paris must be a lot of fun, because he has been to busy or lazy to blog", you are sadly mistaken. Paris is awesome and beautiful and fun, but, we have had some misfortune since my last update.

After our mammoth 9 hour walking day at the Louvre Museum things went awry. That night, Jayne slipped on the top of the stairs when going to bed and slid down the stairs. Her right leg took the impact as she hit the wall. I knew it was broken as soon as I looked at it. But getting an ambulance proved to be somewhat of a challenge. After several unsuccessful attempts to master the French telephone system, I called on the young people across the corridor and thankfully, one of them, Daytona, speaks English. He was wonderful. He called the ambos, gave them the security code to get and waited to let through the next gate.

The X-rays confirmed the obvious, Jayne had broken the tibia in her right leg in two places. The breaks were diagonal and plaster alone would not be enough. Fortunately, there was no concussion, as she hit head when she fell, and there were no other broken bones, just severe bruising. About 4am they took her from Emergency to the Orthopaedic ward and called me a cab and sent me home and told me not to come back until 1pm. The medical staff were all fantastic and a few of them spoke enough English for Jayne not to use French.

When I arrived yesterday the operation had happened and a plate had been inserted. Jayne was still in a post-anaesthetic haze, but the operation went well as far as the nursing staff were concerned. The doctors do their rounds in the morning prior to visiting times, so all the questions we need answered are hopefully happening about now - in my absence.

No other news at this point. Jayne was not in any pain yesterday, but the anaesthetic had not worn off when I left last night. The only certainty is that she can't return to our apartment because she won't be able to get downstairs to the bedroom. I posted the web address in the last blog if you want to check out the stairs - they are very steep.

So, I am alone in the city of light. We missed our dinner at Jules Verne, that was supposed to be last night. Paris is a walking city. You walk everywhere. Even if you are being lazy and use the metro there is walking involved. So, there is not much for us here when Jayne gets out of hospital.

I shall keep you posted.

You'll never walk alone (Paris)

 

Well, that fits for anywhere in Paris, at any time of the day (except maybe Sunday morning), but it certainly was the case at the Louvre today. As Auden once wrote, "the crowds upon the pavement were like fields of harvest wheat" except that wheat is smarter than any tour group we came across.

You don't believe me? Even one of the statues had had enough. Check out the look on her face. If the scene form Taxi Driver doesn't come flooding back ... "you talking to me?" She has serious attitude. Love her.

And so today is a single title,

The Louvre

The lady herself. And that enigmatic smile.

We left home at 8:30 and walked back in at 5:40. In all that time we were walking to or from, or within the Louvre. That, dear reader, is a lot of walking and with my dodgy knees, it was no given. 

The real challenge of the day was getting to see La Giaconda before the bus groups and school groups arrived and then keeping my cool while tour groups walked over the top of me, because, clearly I am invisible. Join a tour group, watch your IQ plummet 100 points.

There are several artistic questions to be answered following my visit. The main one is to do with the random breast that was evident in so many paintings. Why? Who was the first to paint a picture with perfectly clothed people, except the woman in the centre who has a breast showing? Whoever it was should have patented the idea. Wildfire!

Random breast testing?

Another question - are you reaching for your books Kristy? - concerns the semi-naked men. It's OK to do naked sculptures, it's OK to paint woman naked, but with the blokes? It must have a windy day when they were all painted and a gust of wind has blown a piece of cloth up, down. across, whatever the offending piece of anatomy.

I'm waiting for answers people.

So, the story begins: We purchased our tickets prior to Mass last night, but you know all that. We arrived at the Musee de Louvre a fraction after 9 and the crowd was already snaking its way around the forecourt. Such a shame we had pre-purchased tickets ... we had a separate entrance. Oh yes!

Inside and straight for the bit where La Giaconda (Mona Lisa) lives. We weren't the first and there was already an annoying twat who wanted to take ten photos of the painting and then have his entire family photographed in front of it as well. No, it's all good, because he is the only person who matters. I didn't push him over, tempted though I was. Got the shot and left.

Another Paris traffic jam.

The shot I didn't get, was of a man and his friend (female) walking toward the Mona Lisa area. He was ridiculously tall. That was noteworthy. The fact that he was wearing a women's skirt was also of significance. Nice skirt too. Not plain. It had a double edged hem, both cut at different angles. Nice. I don't understand.

Our photos are typified by an absence of people, particularly us, so we both struggle to understand the concept of having your photo taken in front of every 'significant' painting, statue, whatever. Of course, significant means those tagged with a 'star' by the museum people. Lots of other beautiful treasures were ignored, and believe me, we were ecstatic about that.

Couldn't resist this shot.

With Mona in the can, we headed for the furthest most point of the museum, the second floor, next to the closed bit. You could go no further and from there we commenced our journey back to reality and sad blustery, rainy weather. In the next 8 hours though we had treasures to examine.

And examine we did, until fatigue and the increasing number of bus tour groups and their mindless ignorance of the fact that there were others in the museum who might like to (a) see the exhibit, or (b) just walk around without being trapped or buffeted by them, or (c) just get passed them, took it's toll on my patience. OK at 5pm my feet were a tad sore as well.

Better than your mozzie screen, Cait.

So, we left and struggled through the Paris afternoon traffic to the Asian restaurant next door to home. Sadly, it doesn't serve dinner until 7pm. Ever the innovator, I suggested we walk the 15 metres home and have a bottle of champagne and return at 7pm. Problem solved.

Dinner was lovely and the young girl working there was Australian. 

The best end to the day? An email from the booking company for the apartment acknowledging that they over-charged me €300. Oh yeah. A nice finish to the day.

you've got to carry that weight (Champagne to Paris)

yes, it's from a song. All Gen Y will need to utilise Google. The title of this blog is dedicated to the fact that we had to lug our numerous, heavy bags through the metro. My muscles are still sore. Perhaps if I hadn't tucked away almost a dozen bottles of the finest produce of Bordeaux and Champagne they may have been more manageable. The train trip from Charles de Gaulle is going to rate as one the most memorable I've had - it runs second only to an experience at World Youth Day last year.

The day began perfectly ... that should have been a warning. Pour a glass dear reader, this is going to be a long one.

Larmandier-Bernier

After some re-packing of bags we left for Vertus and the Champagne House of Larmandier-Bernier, our choice of bubbles back in Oz. It was a beautiful morning and the drive was pleasant. We arrived on time and were met by Sophie Larmandier. A few minutes later another couple arrived. That was it for the winery tour, very intimate.

Oak bariques.

The first thing I noticed in the room where the wine was aged were oak barrels. Yesterday at Mumm we were told that they no longer use oak barriques because the oak flavours the wine, therefore it was not natural. The look on Sophie's face was priceless when I told her that.

Experimental barrels.

Although they are only a small concern, they manage to export to a number of countries. All their wine is bio and they have several parcels of land totalling only 16 acres. Christian Autreau said to us yesterday that his holding was too small for his daughter to take on and he had 25 acres!

We tasted their full range of 5 wines on the verandah in the sunshine. Jayne found a Rose she liked and my favourite was Vieux Vignes (old vine). If it wasn't so difficult and expensive to send wine back home I would have ordered a few cases. Yummm, not Mumm.

This was such a different experience from the previous day at Mumm. We purchased a few bottles for Paris and pointed the car in that direction.

Charles de Gaulle and the train

That's a good title for a children's story, but it'll never work because there are no pictures. 

In a continuation of the excellent day, we found the airport with minimal effort and even found where to leave the car. Oh YAY! After returning the key, we caught the train to Terminal 3 and changed to get on the circuit to Paris. All good so far.

Jayne joined the queue to buy tickets and we waited. There were two non-French speakers being served and they obviously wanted to have their whole itinerary organised for them. After about 10 minutes Jayne scored our tickets and we trundled over to the escalator. Half way down the the platform our train departed. Not much we could do with the number of bags we had and the train system is pretty good over here. Except for today.

Once on the platform I started paying attention to the announcements. Due to track problems there would be no express services to Paris. All trains were all stations. They were running every 15 minutes and it would take about 35 minutes to get into the city.

30 minutes later the train arrived to a crowded platform. We moved into the closest carriage which was already full, but the stupid 'tourist' in front of me just stopped in the doorway. Once the first of my bags began to crush her leg she thought it a good idea to move into the carriage. I was helped to other side of the carriage by the pram being projected into the carriage behind me. When the doors closed it looked like no-one else could get in and we certainly couldn't move.

We had about 10 stations till our change of line and we were stopping at everyone of them. And at everyone of them more people pushed, squeezed, forced their way in. Some even had the temerity to complain about all the bags. Imagine, people with luggage on a train from the airport! It became so crowded that I couldn't move. I was being pushed over by the people that had forced their way in behind me.

The air was getting very thin because the pushiest people were also the smelliest. Then this delinquent in a tracksuit (it was 30°, what the ... ?) decided it was a good idea to raise his arm to hold onto the door frame. OMG, the stink! I thought the girl next to him was going to die.

And so the journey continued. I began to get worried about how we were going to get out. While I could pick up the bags I wouldn't be able to move if I had to cross to other side of the carriage. Then, one station out, we stopped, started, stopped again. I could see the Tower and Sacre Coeur. So tantalisingly close.

We grated our way into Gare du Nord and the platform was ... nothing was going well now ... on the other side of the train. I had bags and people one side and a pram and people the other. Fortunately, this is a major stop so a few people got out of my way and I was able to start edging forward. With victory in sight, the same ignorant, pushy crowd from the first stop started moving out from the seated area. He didn't care that one of my bags was partially blocking the way as I moved forward. He and his pig friend just pushed my bag  aside. I held as much ground as I could, but with a pack back and camera bag and two very heavy suitcases it was a struggle. Jayne was already off the train and I had visions of being left on.

So, as the last of their group went to push me back I lifted the large suitcase that little bit higher and locked them in the seated area. Thankfully, someone trying to get on saw my struggle and lifted one of the cases off for me and placed it on the platform. I was exhausted by the battle.

Once on the platform, Jayne began to look for the lift or the escalator. Too funny. We wheeled the bags to the stairs and lumbered up them, one by one, in search of line 5 on the metro. Two flights of stairs. Oh yeah. Then at least we had some wheely time. We found the line we needed and once again searched for an escalator. We found two, both coming up from the platform. So, we lugged the bags down two flights. At the bottom there was a professional beggar. I was tempted to offer him money to carry the bags for me.

The train arrived. Not so crowded. Ahhh. Only 5 stops to home and we are within 400 metres of the Metro. Off the train. No escalators. You forget sometimes how deep the Metro is in Paris. Three flights of stairs. By the last, I was no longer walking up them, carrying the bags. I was lifting each bag to the step. It was pathetic. I was dripping with sweat. My arms were aching and I even began to wonder whether we should have kept the car and driven in. That thought didn't last long.

Rue du Crussol

I sent a text message and dragged myself and the bags the 400 metres to the door and it was magically opened by Arnaud. You can view the apartment online at http://www.waytostay.com/paris-apartments/oberkampf-terrasse-3263/reviews It looks exactly like the pictures, although I wasn't ready to attack the stairs down to the bedroom straight away.

After unpacking, we went for a walk around the local area. It's an interesting mix of old and new, sort of like Redfern/Surry Hills. We found a local cafe and settled in for a meal and a drink and watched the world go by. Then we walked home and sat in our courtyard sipping our welcome bottle of wine. Peace at last.

Sunday

I am getting used to this concept of late nights and late mornings. Well, late by my standards. I set out in search of croissant for breakfast. Nothing. Just about everything was closed. Back home for coffee and a Skype call into family dinner. We then set off for the markets. They are one the oldest in Paris, dating back to Henry IV, but they were very small and pretty average compared to the provincial markets we were used to. SO, croissant and tonight's dinner in the pack, we went home for a very late breakfast.

The weather forecast was for showers, yesterday's beautiful sunshine had gone. We decided to walk down to the Place de la Bastille to find the Tourist Bureau so that we can purchase tickets for the Louvre for tomorrow and Versailles for Tuesday. As we neared the Bastille we could see tents and crowds. It was the Bastille Markets, reputedly the biggest and best in Paris, but it didn't figure in the local information we had. No problems. We walked around and purchased the things we couldn't get this morning. On the other side of the markets there was some other activity, we're still not sure what, but, there were police everywhere and roads closed. I assume it was kind of charity walk or run.

The search continued for the Tourist Bureau. They are tricky and not always easy to locate. This one proved to be impossible. We were heading to Mass at Notre Dame tonight and there is a Tourist office near the Cathedral, so we decided to head there prior to Mass and hopefully get our passes organised.

Notre Dame round 1

The first sighting across the Seine.

We found the Tourist Bureau. It was cleverly disguised as a modern day toilet block. In retrospect, we probably walked past the one in Bastille. Ah well. We booked our tickets for the Louvre (tomorrow, excited) and Versailles (date flexible depending on weather) and headed back towards the packed Cathedral forecourt. We walked towards the door and noticed this monstrous line snaking across the plaza. Queuing to get into Mass? That's a first (WYD aside). So, we back-tracked and joined the line. It was no drama because it was moving quickly. When we got closer to the door we noticed a tiny little sign that directed tourists one way (the line we were in) and Mass attendees another. We changed lines and were inside the cathedral immediately.

Jayne and I agree that the outside of the Cathedral at Reims is more impressive than its Paris cousin, but, oh, the inside, it is just beautiful. We chose our seats as the place filled up. The crowds were still milling around the perimeter. We'd thought they'd stop them for Mass. Nuh. Mass commenced, all pomp and ceremony, more incense than I've seen since my last high church Anglican Mass. The choir was beautiful, the acoustics in those old Gothic cathedrals are amazing. But, the constant sound of the shuffling unbelievers and their camera flashes (sorry, no photography allowed) was quite distracting. OK, the service was in French and I only understood about six words.

It really is a beautiful Cathedral and we are both looking forward to a tour.

And now it's time for me to go to bed and for you to get ready for work.