septembre and roscoe have already put up the pictures, so I thought I'd just do abit of a breakdown of events for our Parisian SG oddessy.
Day one.
I finish work at 4 in th morning, get home just in time to dry out somo clothes an meet Lee an Ross for the coach to London.
On which I drink stout while lee sleeps (lee sleeping is soon to become a fixture of the travel experience) and ross invents Photo Journal, which chronicles our journey through the magic of didigital photography, and notes, and so on.
At Victoria we discover that we can get our Dover train here, rather than treking over to London Bridge. Smiles all round.
Smiles were also for free kit-kats, and discovering pre-mixed pimms in a can.
We rock up to Dover full of beans an vimm an so on, expecting to just walk onto a ferry and sail it into the sein, or something.
And lo, there's a boat setting off shortly, and we catch it, find the bar, and set down for the sea crossing.
Which turns out to be far longer than expected, by about three hours, thanks to bloody sea france having industrial action in the ports causing delays.
The Buggers.
This means that when we arrive in Calais there's no more trains to Paris, an so we're forced to stay the night (or hitchhike, which seemed like a viable option, till we realised only lee would get picked up. and his journey would likly come at too high'a price).
So the night is spent, not at the seedy (and closed) hotel offered to us by the tourist information guy, nor at the holiday inn (who were demanding about a 1,000,000 just to sit in the lobby), but at the charming Bel Avure, with it's nice view, and lift, and cheap breakfast bufet.
This was the night myself an lee had to share a bed, an experience I suspect he will never wish to repeat.
Plan had been to check into the hotel, then go to a bar.
However we checked in, dropped unconcious, and awake at three in the morning to watch French tv instead. No real loss, I'm sure.
day two, to follow.
Day one.
I finish work at 4 in th morning, get home just in time to dry out somo clothes an meet Lee an Ross for the coach to London.
On which I drink stout while lee sleeps (lee sleeping is soon to become a fixture of the travel experience) and ross invents Photo Journal, which chronicles our journey through the magic of didigital photography, and notes, and so on.
At Victoria we discover that we can get our Dover train here, rather than treking over to London Bridge. Smiles all round.
Smiles were also for free kit-kats, and discovering pre-mixed pimms in a can.
We rock up to Dover full of beans an vimm an so on, expecting to just walk onto a ferry and sail it into the sein, or something.
And lo, there's a boat setting off shortly, and we catch it, find the bar, and set down for the sea crossing.
Which turns out to be far longer than expected, by about three hours, thanks to bloody sea france having industrial action in the ports causing delays.
The Buggers.
This means that when we arrive in Calais there's no more trains to Paris, an so we're forced to stay the night (or hitchhike, which seemed like a viable option, till we realised only lee would get picked up. and his journey would likly come at too high'a price).
So the night is spent, not at the seedy (and closed) hotel offered to us by the tourist information guy, nor at the holiday inn (who were demanding about a 1,000,000 just to sit in the lobby), but at the charming Bel Avure, with it's nice view, and lift, and cheap breakfast bufet.
This was the night myself an lee had to share a bed, an experience I suspect he will never wish to repeat.
Plan had been to check into the hotel, then go to a bar.
However we checked in, dropped unconcious, and awake at three in the morning to watch French tv instead. No real loss, I'm sure.
day two, to follow.