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Guiana travel log - part 2

Airport, layover, island paradise (Martinique), day 2

And here I am, once again, at an airport.  I spent nearly two hundred Euros on this little stop-over...  Two thirds, on simply getting from the airport to the hotel and back. 

Traveler’s tip:  taking taxis is expensive.  Taking taxis on public holidays is even more expensive.  Airport hotels may feel like you’re not even properly in the country, but when available, can be less hassle. 

Of course, there seem to be exactly zero hotels here within 20 kilometers of the runways.  I fervently hope my travel expenses here will be covered.  Guess we’ll see.  That plus the anti-tropical-nasties meds are starting to feel like the ransom for a minor Saudi prince.  Alright, maybe not quite.

On a more scented note, I get to sit in the mild but detectible aroma of my mosquito repellent.  Hope I’ve put some everywhere that matters (which is everywhere).  All while resentfully glaring at the locked door to the business lounge, at 7 am local time.  Clearly, it’s too early for business, as the lounge only deigns open its doors at the royal hour of 4pm.  Had I known no serious businessman hangs out at the airport before then, I would’ve at least taken the morning to look around.  Of course then I would’ve missed my next flight, which leaves in an hour and a half.  Thus completely messing up the rest of my trip, as a bonus.  At least now I know why there’s no business class on this flight.  It all makes sense now!

In a completely unrelated grumble, the duty free shop doesn’t seem to sell neckties.  Serves me right for forgetting to pack any.  Whoops.  Some business traveler I am.  Though I suppose with it being around thirty degrees Celsius and humid as a Turkish steamer, the detail may be overlooked.

On to South America!

Guiana travel log - part 1

Airport, pre-departure, Paris

Pleasantly warm after a silky shot of quality cognac, I feel it is far past time to rekindle this traveler’s blog.  So here goes.

It’s been… far longer than I expected, but I am once again on bye-bye-bed regimen.  This consists of no more than two consecutive nights spent in any single bed. I am sitting at Paris’ southern airport, Orly, in the business lounge. One of life’s small pleasures, this one is a bit sparsely stocked, but the spirits, as mentioned, are present.

Boarding has just been called, but the hostess at the entrance has kindly advised us to remain in the comfortable exclusivity of the lounge – the French call it “salon”, a far more civilized name – until she calls again. I surmise in order to advise us that it’s time for Business travelers to board.  For indeed, I have reached that point in my life where I’m being ferried around in business class.  At least, for trips going to such distant locales.

Today, I head off to Fort-de-France, Martinique, where I will spend a whopping twelve hours before moving on to scenic (I hope) French Guiana. I look forward to many photo ops, long hours, and few mosquito bites.  I’m just about fully equipped with all manner of vaccines, pharmaceuticals, and sprays.  It’s amazing how dangerous those little buggers are.  A wonder the US hasn’t declared war on mosquitoes.  But then the locally grown variety is considerably less deadly than their tropical cousins.

Next stop, the Caribbean!

Swiss Travel Log

Day 1.

I've finally arrived in Switzerland.  The best part?  Land.  The flight out of Brussels was an unusually harrowing experience.  Not only were we the last flight to leave the airport that night, but there were only twelve of us on the plane, plus the crew.  As night flights go, this one was particularly turbulent.  All in all, I couldn't sleep, I barely ate, and I spent the entire flight wondering whether when we crashed, my body would be found burned up, mangled or not at all.  And how the headlines might read - Swiss Air crashes in the mountains.  Thankfully, only 16 dead - but no survivors.

-----

Quick, quick, must catch the train!  My thoughts after calming down at Basel Euroairport. This place has exits into three countries (Switzerland, France, Germany).  Not sure how they pull that off, but the bus awaits!

Fun with google maps

Here's a breakdown of the main stops for the current long trip I'm on.  I'lll be on the road from the 15th of November to the 8th of December.


View Larger Map

Swiss cheesy road trip

Here's a breakdown of next week's stages of my switzerland trip.  We'll be spending a LOT of time in the mini-bus.  Whoo (not so much).
View Larger Map

How to stalk me

Lesson 1:

Get access to google calendar, and ask me to make my calendar visible to you.  Then any time you go to my blog, you'll be able to see where I am in the snazzy calendar gadget to the right of the screen.

On the road again

I was all too grateful for the past week's breather at home, in my own bed.  Which is probably why I did my level best to stay in it as much as possible.  That, and the fact I have no chair in my room.

Now, I've once again hit the road, as the prospect of financial incentives (aka, money, cash, gimme-gimme-gimme) is hard to resist.  Next stop, Brussels.  Then Switzerland (4-5 cities in all, plus daily road-trips).  Then Budapest.  Followed, in theory for now, by Prague.  Then Paris for about 2 days, tops.  Then Brussels again.  And then, maybe, a bit of time off.  None too soon.

There was even the possibility I might fly off to Tunis again, instead of Prague.  This way I score fewer airmiles, which I do so love (yes, I see the George Clooney analogies too) but get to travel in a slightly more coherent way.  Slightly.

Signing off for now!  Oh, and free wifi in first class on the train is lovely.  As is the onboard meal.

A month (or two) in retrospect

You might be wondering what mischief I've been up to these last few months, mischief that's kept me from posting more detail-rich entries about my wanderings.

Well, wandering (mostly fincancially remunerated wandering) really sums it up.  I've been on the road for what seems like more than half of the last two months.

In September, I came back to Paris from Toronto.  Then later, I spent a few days in Brussels, a week and a half in Luxembourg, and about a week in Budapest.  That was all in September.

In October, I came back to Paris from Budapest, then spent about a week in Tunisia, a week in Paris which included a 13-hour interpreter-insomnia marathon at the television station, then a few days in Brussels, followed by a few days in Marseille.  Then I went off to Budapest again.  For a trip that was supposed to last a week.

Only come November, after spending a week-end in Budapest (to which I got by way of Bratislava, silly me), I get called back to Tunisia (by way of Paris, naturally).  I spent this entire week in Paris (hurray!), but next week I'm off to Brussels, from where I'll then be flying on to Basel, and road-tripping around switzerland (again, thankfully, in a professional capacity).  I'll be with the Swiss for about a week and a half.  Then it's off to Budapest for a long-weekend.  I'll be back in Paris at the very, very end of the month.  In all, I'll have spent one week here.  Kinda makes the rent I pay seem a bit less worthwhile, but at least I get to come back home every so often.

So that's the rapid-fire road report.  Tune in next time (whenever that ends up being) for more in-depth coverage of the different segments of my tongue-tripping! (bad pun based on the fact that I travel thanks to my linguistic skills).

A tale of two cities

Yesterday Budapest, today Tunis.  The life of an international man of mystery, indeed.

Must make a point of writing my blog entries even when no internet connection is available, as otherwise it gets difficult finding the time.

Pleasantly pickled in Paris

...and not on plonk!  I left today for my first non-European interpreting mission.  Destination, sunny Tunisia, with a weather forecast calling for 29 degrees.  The location, Hammamet, a resort town on the Mediteranean.

The challenge, not missing my flight.  Which doesn't seem so bad, until you see my track-record with airports.

Things started off reasonably well.  I left home a mere twenty minutes behind schedule, and knowing that there was a problem with the urban train going to the airport.  But then again, when isn't there something in Paris?  Today it was just a ten to fifteen minute delay due to a sick passenger.  Happens every day!  Of course, it didn't keep me from fretting.  But since I only took carry-on items, and not many at that, the suitcase was light and I could speed along at a good clip.

I caught a break, too, when the next train to board was an express to the airport, covering the distance in only 20 minutes.  Jackpot!  I thought, I made up for my late departure!

But no, of course it wasn't going to be that easy.

First step, the boarding card.  The type of reservation meant that I needed to got to a check-in counter and couldn't bypass the whole process through automation.  Fantastic.  Fortunately, there was no line-up, and as an added bonus, the staff-member who helped me out let me know that my ticket gave me access to... the Lounge!

Now for those of you unfamiliar with the Lounge, it is that swanky-looking room that you sometimes sneak passing glances into but can never enter.  Entry requires you to either pay a hefty fee at the door, or to have a so-called Premium ticket.  Even then, not every flight entitles you to free access.  So being the greenhorn interpreter that I am and being told my ticket provided the privilege was like winning the lottery.

...to be cont.

Burg em Lux

aka city of many cheese factories and slaughterhouses.  At least, that's what I'm going to be seeing this trip.

Sounds fun and exciting? Yes! Gory and disturbing?  Probably!  Well-payed and edifying?  No doubt!

Mozzarella made this morning, as it turns out, is delicious.  Not so surprising, but still yummy.  Ditto for fresh ricotta.  That was today.  Tomorrow it'll be not one, but two slaughterhouses.  Hope they have good overalls.  And maybe barf-bags.  Or nose plugs.  And goggles.  And... ah, I guess we'll see how it goes.

Work's taking me to all sorts of new places!  Yippee! (honestly, the cheese factory was really neat).

I feel like I'm 12 again.

At Pearson airport

Here we are, plopped into a chair at Toronto's terminal 1.  Why, you ask?

Because there isn't a drop of whisky worth tasting at the so-called Bacardi tasting station.  All the more galling, given the gallons of perfectly respectable whisky on the shelves of the duty-free boutique.  Whisky which you couldn't open for hours or days, even if you bought it here.  Frustrating?  Yes.  A strong statement for sensible sobriety?  Fiddle-sticks.  The only thing left to do, is to browse, drink water, and wait through the endless line-up for boarding.

Because about half the passengers on any given flight think they have "special" seats, that are in every row, so they can board any time.  Making the queues that much longer.  Good thing there's finally free wireless internet here!  It only took ten years more than in Europe.  That's innovation!  Canadian telecom style!

Zooom -> Paris

T-22 hours.

Let's cross our fingers and hope for no airport mishaps, delays, lost baggage, and quick customs and baggage returns.  But I have no reason to expect those.  Never happened to me before.

C'mon Air Canada, don't let me down!

This marks the end of my Canadian summer.  It was warm, verging on hot.  Cozy, verging on lethargic.  Delicious, verging on sinful.  And all-around terrific, save for the fact that I was far from Europe.  A friend suggested earlier today that Canada should just join Europe.  I second that motion.  We're more european than the Brits, anyways.  The French influence and all.  Plus the Italians, Portuguese, and all the rest.

Oh, and it was the summer of Starcraft 2.  I temporarily turned into a micro-managing, move-my-probe-into-your-base-ing computo-zombie.  Aaah, exercise.

Wien and Pruckel

Our stalwart adventurer and his faithful flame are in Wien (Vienna for short) for a few days of relaxing, following a stressful week of holiday lollygagging and dilly-dallying.

Stay tuned for the cake report. On the list of required eats, the Sacher Torte, of course. So far, we've eaten chinese (at a restaurant called Yellow), and Langos (fried bread hungarian-style) at the fair-grounds. Health is still at the top of our list of priorities.

Fun with flaming rods

- and how idiot-proofing has deprived us of our inalienable right to be a walking fire hazard.

Traditions are fun. Yesterday, I participated in a torch-lit march. Not candlelit, oh no. Here in transylvania, where the threat of vampires and werewolves - and thus lynch mobs - is never too distant, they actually give out lit torches to any takers (the more the merrier!) to hold as you walk through town. Listening to rock operas about hungarian history. Best. Historical. Commemoration. Ever.

To my slight disappointment, no one got so much as singed. No low-hanging branches lit. And no marshmallows! Still, it's fun walking through town with your very own burning torch. Just imagining all of the mayhem you're not going to cause (but you could - but you won't... but you could) gives you a sense of pride in not causing it (cause you could).

This is how WE celebrate a revolution! Suck on that July 14th parade! Now if you occasionally shot something out of the tanks, THAT would be co-memorable.

Oh, and for some reason I was later doused with palinka. I guess it's festive, no? I'm just glad that the torches were all gone by then.

Living it up in Romania

Sooo...

Schnapps (aka Palinka, aka Tuica) for breakfast, lunch and dinner. And after dinner. And before bed-time.

Along with loads of delicious farm-grown home-made food. Good think I'm only staying a week-end! It's great seeing the family.

Oh, and of course the palinka is only to fight the budding cold I'm getting (and that half my family already has).

Seriously, it's against the cold. I don't know the rest of the country, but hot-damn it's great over on this end!

Bills, bills, bills

I paid my very first hungarian bill! Hurray! It was for electricity, wasn't in my name, had a huge balance that didn't concern me, and even so was way too expensive.

I was preparing for the worst. It was due today, it was now or never. I had to go to the post office to pay it, since I don't have a hungarian bank account and checkbook. I was deathly afraid of the mind-shatteringly long queues at the post office. And yet, somehow, there was no one! Until I went to one of the counters. Then about a dozen people came in to line up. Lucky! And then I turned to the lady behind the counter. She seemed in a good mood, chatting with her co-workers. I politely said good morning, and asked whether I could pay my bill here, in cash. I apologized for being a rank beginner (a noob, as the kiddies say - properly spelled n00b). I held my breath. Here it comes, I thought. Something along the lines of, no sir, this is the wrong window. Or, sorry sir, we don't accept cash at this location. Or, sir, this can only be paid by the person who's name is on the bill, unless you have a letter and photocopies proving you're her legal agent. Something like that.

And then she smiled, passed the bill through a machine, took the money, gave me change and politely said goodbye. And I sailed right out the door. The whole thing took 5 minutes. Where am I and what have you done with my administration?

Let's call it a fluke.

Oh, and lest I forget, my bank card didn't work at the first bank I tried, and told me I needed to talk to my agency. In France. Urgently. All because I forgot my money at home. Good thing I don't listen to what bank machines tell me. The next ATM was much more accomodating.

I have arrived

Hurray, Budapest!
Hurray, huge glamorous appartment that used to belong to an army big-wig!
Hurray, getting to settle in for a solid 4-5 months!

Weight issues

Ok so I’m not the thinnest guy around.  In fact, I feel a certain pride in my culinary and gastronomic adventures.  So I was horribly offended today when, after months of radio silence – even by my doctor, who is anything but demure – I was brusquely told that I was too heavy.  Nor was this insult the end of it.  I was given an immediate ultimatum.  Find a way of losing several kilos NOW, or else.

I have to admit that my knees briefly shook, and I quavered at the vague but disastrous sound of the “or else”.  What could I do?

Fortunately, I gripped my resolve with both hands, and started sweating, straining, and even got down on my knees.  Not to plead, but to work off that weight somehow.

After a mere, yet painstaking and only slightly humiliating fifteen minutes, I managed to lose four kilos!  In fifteen minutes!  And still I looked no different than I had a short while earlier.

In summary, airport staff – and airlines - are better at weight-loss than any crazy miracle diet, nutritionist or personal trainer.  Despite losing four kilos in such a short time though, I was still overweight by a further full four kilos.  For my weight-crime, I was fined a hefty forty Euro penalty.  That’ll teach me to over-pack.  As a bonus, I gave away a twenty euro bottle of fancy pants skin cleanser to the lady at the payment counter.  Wouldn’t have been allowed on the plane, the bottle being too big.

As a final gripe, who the hell can pack two suitcases and only carry twenty-three kilos in total?  What are you carrying?  Foam pillows?

Maybe that’s the solution to obesity.  Lose weight or pay a fine.  It’s already done at airports, so it’s not revolutionary.  You can bet governments are going to consider it soon enough.  And why pay the money to some diet centre?  Just have a weight jar at home.  Set a reasonable weight loss goal.  Set a date to achieve that goal.  Set a reasonable motivational fine, say a dollar/Euro a day.  Pay the fine every day you haven’t achieved the target weight.  Once you reach the date you’ve set out, either spend the money on something nice to show off your new slimmer bod.  Or go to a fancy restaurant, to assuage the emotional trauma from the guilt and deprivation you’ve subjected yourself to.