Somehow my gear seemed to have swelled!
Although I do not recommend it to anyone else, I found that swearing & brute strength will decrease the volume of a given mass.
That, and a girlfriend with the patience of a saint and the ability to pack her luggage properly, & therefore make space for my "swollen" stuff, also help.
I am not that used to using public transport at home but I think that if it were as easy to use, convenient & clean as it is here I may use it more often.
We got to the airport with enough time to have a coffee. This coffee was so strong it made my hair curl(ier) & put hairs on the chest of a girl standing near, me!
Travelling on a plane is always a crap shoot, unless you always travel at the pointy end and never on a budget airline, and sometimes you throw "snake eyes".
The flight from Malaga to Paris was our "snake eyes"
Tiz got seat 13A and I got seat 13B on a A319 Easyjet flight.
In seat 14A was a guy that between coughing fits, which were so forceful both Tiz and I felt a constant breeze across our necks, would NOT shut up.
Cough cough cough blah blah blah cough cough cough blah blah etc etc
Next to him, in 14B, was a ~3 year old that needed some "special" attention. By "special", I mean hard, often and across his behind. Or maybe he needed more love or maybe more Phenergan or something, anything that would stop him from being the incarnation of Beelzebub sitting behind me.
This kid had real anger issues which manifested themselves in his kicking and belting the back of my seat the whole trip.
14C was inhabited by the mother of aforementioned spawn-of-the-devil who pampered this spoilt little sh!t instead of giving him a crack across the bottom and telling him to behave.
Two hours of this was almost enough to have the ever patient Tiz get up and complain.
I showed an inordinate amount of self control and put up with it and made it to Paris without either of us being charged for aerial affray.
Everything in life has an amusing twist, if you look for it. and this incident did as well.
To explain.
Years ago I knew an individual who liked to torture people.
He was an abject workplace psychopath who I hold almost entirely responsible for the near death (I kid you not!) and mental breakdown of several of his co-workers.
He has continued his callous and duplicitous ways for years, without a moment of remorse.
He was described by another victim as having "a face that you could never get tired of punching"
Let's call him Mr. Won't-Less.
Mr. Coughing Blah Blah Coughing was his near clone.
That made me laugh.
What else can one do in a situation like this?
You need to remember the words from a line in a song from Depeche Mode -
"I don't want to start any blasphemous rumours
But I think that God's got a sick sense of humor
And when I die I expect to find Him laughing."
He's coughing, you just can't tell in a still picture!
Should you ever be in Europe and notice that is man, with a Spanish accent, is about to board the same plane as you, don't risk it.
Hand him a bag of anti-cough drops, a packet of tissues and then walk to where ever you're going.
You'll be better off.
Should you come across an individual that looks like the man above, in Melbourne and with a non-Australian English speaking accent, run away before he tortures you into a medical/mental institution as well.
You'll be better off.
We made it to Paris and into our little hotel without any problems.
We paid "city tax" which made me ask the receptionist "That's cute, what is it?"
As a response she smiled then laughed!
OK, then.
We are only staying overnight and didn't want or need to head into Paris for just a few hours so we chose a hotel near the airport.
Ours was on the very edge of Roissy-en-France.
As we discovered, after a quick bit to eat, this little village was one of those once remote but quaint villages that had adapted well to the huge airport that came so close after century of the villages existence.
We chose to eat at Madame Est Servie tonight.
We sat down and were immediately approached by a waiter, who spoke quite good English, as one would expect from a waiter in a little restaurant in a small French village.
He presented us with our menus and immediately apologised for the fact that one of the dishes, on the menu, was not available tonight.
Kangaroo!
Tiz and I just laughed and explained that, being Aussies, it wasn't that great a disappointment.
The waiter had good laugh along with us.
We ordered three starters - Foie gras with beetroot, salmon and goats cheese and mozarella and tomato salad, all served up with typical modern French flair.
A bottle of a Provence rose washed it down.
A great and unexpected meal in a little village and we out of there before most Spaniards had started their mains!
It was a few minutes to 10 -
Tiz, at 10pm in Roissy.
You just have to love European spring!
We walked the long way back to the hotel and we are going to try to get an early night.
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