The Smell of Paris. No! no! I mean....."perfume"

They talk about turbulence during transatlantic flights. They mention it. They fail to take into account the reaction it my induce in an easily panicked 24 year-old with claustrophobia and control issues. Of course, I was seated in the middle of the Boeing 747 jet seat row, between Laurence (hereon noted as Lolo, as she is so often) and some guy who reminds me of Charles Manson during the awkward years who didn't stop air drumming the entire duration of the flight. The cabin was shaking, I hadn't slept the night before so I was wired like a chipmunk, and I couldn't help but imagine hearing Denis Leary announcing over the PA that " um...we're going down folks, so, light'em up!" I feel safer at La Ronde. (No, Dave, this doesn't mean I'm hopping on the Goliath any time soon, it was just a metaphor in the moment :)

And we're supposed to SLEEP through this?

Either way, like Charles Lindberg, we landed just fine, got our luggage, went through customs (yay, stamps on my passport!) and then decided it would be a good idea to get to our hostel to drop off our giant backpacks.

Transport requires euros.

Euros require a working visa card to withdraw funds.

Desjardins visa cards don't seem to be recognized by the machines here.

Lolo had been assured by her bank they wood.

STREEEEEESSSSSSSSSSS!

Ok, so what we did finally, after seventeen gazillion tries, is withdraw money from my account and keep tabs on whose spending what. Still tanks.

Tomorrow we'll find a calling card and settle this. Bleh. I thought the whole point of arranging the finances before we left was to AVOID this exact situation, but to err (and get screwed by a local quebec bank) is human.

Moving on.

So we get on public transit to get to the hostel, which is great, if a little complicated because of the many modes of transit. I'm looking foreward to being in a town where are options include feet and jeep, maybe a goat.

We arrive at the hostel, dump our stuff and sign in. Rooms aren't available at this point for another 5 hours, so we decide, tired as we are, to go rest...

Yeah right. When do we ever listen to our instincts?!

We head up la butte, or the large hill that Montmartre is renown for. There are three sections of an old monastary up there, absolutely spectacular. Of course, claustrophobia kicks in nice and solid on our way up because we're being accosted rather aggressivly by African panhandlers, which makes me question somewhat how I'll fare in the Mali. I suppose the next few days will be a good exercise is learning to manage that kind of stress.

Quick note to justify the title of this entry: PEOPLE, tourists and locals alike, SMELL here.

Not sweat from hard labor and heat, but a dirty smell, like a mix between sex, decaying flesh and old urine. I know I'm sensitive, but it's overwhelming when everyone around you smells like the plague. Made me walk faster, though.

So we walk around with little more than Orangina in our system until around 2pm, then buy some fruit (fruit stalls are wonderful, inexpensive and all over the place, a bit like Côte-des-Neiges but cleaner and well, more Parisian) and we park ourselves at the hostel.

Lolo mentions she'd like to find some greenspace, a park to lounge around in. Sounds great!

We ask the guy at the front desk, he mentions le Bois de Boulogne.

Let me clarify the difference in perspective. In Paris, the word "parc" can refer to anything from a patch of grass a chihuahua can pee on all the way to Mt-Tremblant national park. SO we get there, and where we had hoped to see benches and some nice grass, there are major hiking trails and dark, creepy woods. I suppose the name BOIS de Boulogne should had sounded some hint of what to expect.

But we press on and decide to just take a nap until we decide what to do, in order to not waste our metro trip.

Insect bites.

Little dogs with big poop.

Uncontrollable sneezing and congestion due to grass allergies.

Now, at this point Lolo is out cold, happy as a clam. I can't take taps during the day, so I wind up sitting in an upright fetal position, waiting for time to pass. which of course, it doesn't, and Lolo to wake up, which of course, she does, but only when I poke her, which I still feel bad about.

We wind up trying another patch of grass, same crap happens, and the overtired nausea is beginning to overwhelm me, so at 4:30 pm local time, we haul our buts back to base and drop our stuff in our room.

We wound up grabbing a bite to eat at a local bistro, after walking around for another 40 minutes.

A word to the wise: Montmartre is a MAZE, get a map. You'll still get lost, but you'll find your way back a little faster at least.

On the menu tonight:
Steak Frites
Oeufs mayonnaise
Salade de chèvre chaud

With almost a litre of light white wine to go with it, we were happy as clams to split the various dishes, making this more of a tasting dinner than an actual supper. Not anything spectacular, but considering the whole meal cost us less than 20$ canadian each, we fared pretty well. And the french do know how to cook a steak.

After that, we waddled back, theorizing about french pet laws (the dog is king here, I saw at least two jack russells sitting calmly at bistro tables with their own plate on the ground).

Remember, a liter of wine + fatigue + jet lag + heat + no food prior = lots of philosophy.

Fear not, we wren't at all enebriated, but we certainly knew an after-dinner nap would follow.

And so it did. I woke up about two hours ago to the sound of someone's cell phone ringing. At least I thought so until I realized what was ringing was the room phone.

I pick up.

It's Dave! Calling from Montreal to say hello. Of course, in a just-abruptly-woken state, I sound slightly wry on the phone, I'm sure, but it's wonderful to get a call.

Except for my four other roommates, all of whom are more jet-lagged than me and none of whom were expecting me to get a call in what is their middle of the night.

Must get a calling card. :)

So it's now 1:15am here, and that steak from earlier is keeping me up, and I'm meeting all sorts of people in the hallway because I don't want to wake my roomies with the computer.

More news in a few days.

One Week Left...

So here goes, testing the blog one week before departure.

My bags have already been packed, twice. Medication counted twice.

Obsessive? Absolutely.

But on with the good stuff. I'm jotting down today our estimated itinerary so you guys will know where my gang and I will be depending on the week.

June 27th - 8 pm
Take-off from Dorval Airport towards Paris, arriving at 8 am, just in time for breakfast à la parisienne. We'll be spending three days in Paris, chilin' in Montmartre until we shove off for Africa.

June 30 - 10 pm
Take-off from Charles de Gaule airport for Bamako, capital of Mali, population 6 million. We land (as do most if not all flights to Africa) at 2:30 in the morning.

July 1st - July 2
Short stay at a hotel in Bamako, where we'll get our hands on maps, organize transport around the country and most importantly, get to go swimming in a clean pool!!

July 2 - July 7
Camping, sub-saharan style, in a place called Kangaba, south of the capital. Imagine a cross between a resort and a campground. You're roughing it like mad, but you get to take language lessons and dance classes during the day. We'll try and film that last one, you guys ought to get a kick out of me and my six left feet. :)

July 7 - July 8
Single night stay in Bamako, and the next day our buts get to enjoy a 12-16 hour bus ride (the term "bus" is technical, and does not ensure speed or suspension). We arrive in Kayes, the town where we'll be living the duration of our stay, around 8pm.

July 9 - July 12
Orientation and crash course in African medecine.

July 13 - July 27
Two weeks of community medecine in an urban setting. Basically your simple version of a CLSC, plus an ER and OR.

July 27 - August 15
Two weeks of community medecine in a rural setting, an hour or so outside Kayes. We'll be following midwives and nurses. Out here, the doctors are few and far between, so it's up to us.

August 16
We trek back to Bamako via bus, another 12-16 hours.

August 16 - August 19
Debriefing in Bamako. Lots, and lots of chill time, and some time in the marketplace to get goodies to bring home.

August 19
Flight out of Bamako back to Paris

August 19 - August 21
Two day stay in Paris, and my inevitable ransacking of every gourmet grocery store I can find. I WILL bring home Branston Pickle and Herbes de Provence. Minimum. :)

August 21st, 5 pm
Flight to Montreal, arriving around 5:30 local time. Yay supper at home!


So there you have it, the whole schebang!

More to come June 28th when we've landed in Paris.