TravelStream™ news feed for member hsb on TravelPod's free travel blogs service http://www.travelpod.com/syndication/rss/hsb en-us Copyright ©2009 TravelPod.com Sat, 01 Aug 2009 16:39:59 -0400 http://www.travelpod.com http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/9/1248650134/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/9/1248650134/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/9/1248650134/tpod.html Sat, 01 Aug 2009 16:39:59 -0400 Tour de France 2009... via London!

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Paris, Île-de-France, France

Last stage of the Tour de France 2009! I started my day with a great breakfast at the hotel (quite a spread...), followed by a walk up to Place de la Concorde. Everything was already cordoned off, traffic was non-existent on Rue de Rivoli, and the sun was slowly working its way up in the sky. The weather was perfect - warm, sunny, dry. The excitement was slowly building, and already, "Tour-ists" were starting to mill about, trying to find the perfect spot - much like I had done exactly a year ago. I heard an Australian couple wondering where they should go, since it is difficult to get around, with many of the streets blocked off. I told them how to get to the spot where I was last year, which was a great location. This year, thanks to Kim, I was going to have the incredible fortune of sitting in the VIP Presidential Tribune, as a guest of the American Embassy! If I had needed to sew a Star Spangled Banner on my backpack, instead of a maple leaf, I would have gladly done so. (Kim, I still can't thank you enough...) I continued my walk on Rue St-Honoré, choosing an item to buy in each window (but how sad, the stores are closed on Sunday; I guess I won't buy all these beautiful expensive things...). It was really shaping up to be a great day weather-wise. There was a definite buzz in the air - a bit of electricity, or energy, that seemed to herald the arrival of the riders later in the afternoon.I went back to the hotel, and waited to hear from Kim. We had agreed to get together around 12:30-1pm. I had plenty to keep me busy until then - I could have kept walking around, for one thing - but, exhausted, I decided to take a nap. I know, I know, three days in Paris, and I take a nap. But - with the afternoon in perspective, I figured trying to catch up on a bit of sleep was worth it. Waking up around 12pm, I started to get ready. Unlike last year, when I wore jeans and a yellow TDF T-shirt, being in the VIP Presidential Tribune required a fancier outfit. So I put on a dress and some fancy shoes, make up and jewellery (oh, no worries, nothing over the top, all rather understated, I think), and headed out to meet Kim at Ave de Marigny and St-Honoré (Place Beauvau, to be exact). We easily found one another, and Kim handed me a white envelope with my name on it, which contained a formal invitation for the Tribune Présidentielle, and for a cocktail party which was to follow, at the Pavillon Elysée, located just behind the Tribune, near the Palais de l'Elysée. Oh my! This was getting more and more exciting!Les Gendarmes let us through where everyone else was being turned away, and we made our way to the Tribune. Sitting there (our names were on the chairs), we had a perfect view of the large TV screens, and we were just past the finish line. I guessed that we would be just in front of the podium (which they pull in the middle of the street immediately at the end of the race). THIS - WAS - MOST - EXCELLENT!With a bit of time to kill, Kim and I chatted about the last 20 years, about her job as a diplomat and living in Paris. She has a great career - she is super-smart, she works hard, and not everyone could do what she does! Though the part about *living in Paris*, I think I could handle!The sponsors' parade soon started. I'd seen it last year, but still found it entertaining. Perhaps because it hyped the anticipation of the riders coming, cranked up the atmosphere, added noise and commotion to build excitement! Well done, as clearly, that's the whole point, along with making the sponsors as visible to the public as possible. The Tribune was also filling up - with dignitaries, one gentleman in full dress military uniform (with the emblem of Luxembourg on the shoulder), and even two ministers of the Sarkozy administration, followed by cameras and journalists. Rama Yade, the beautiful young minister of Health and Sports, really stood out. She was poised, elegant, and seemed entirely in control. She is apparently very confident...Once the stage began, we started following the race on the screen. Eventually, the action got closer and closer, as the riders approached Paris. The crowds were massive alongside the Champs Elysées. The Spaniards and Luxemburgers were occupying the same spot as last year, near the Grand Palais. In both cases, this year, they had reason to be proud, with the Spaniard Alberto Contador wearing the yellow jersey, and the young man from Luxembourg Andy Schleck winning second place and the best young rider's white jersey. Watching on the screen, we saw the riders crossing the Seine, and then pedaling alongside it. Eventually, we saw them entering the Rue de Rivoli! At the same time, the official car race zoomed by in front of us, closely followed by a few motorcycles. The riders were coming!!! And then - the breakaway riders - mainly from French teams - rolled past us, followed about 30 seconds later by the rest of the peloton. While I wanted to hoot and holler (like last year!), I remembered where I was and joined in the polite applause, all the while trying to take pictures and tweeting like mad on my BlackBerry. I had promised to tweet live from the TDF, but it actually proved a bit challenging. It is harder to know the details of what's going on with the race when standing there and watching it, without the benefit of commentary and information from the TV broadcasters, and much noise and chaos all around. In addition, watching the peloton go by takes all of a few seconds, after which we go back to watching on the screen, until they come back on the other side of the Champs Elysées. All the while, the energy and enthusiasm were increasing, the excitement kept building, and the natives were going restless. I could barely sit in my seat, and kept trying to get a better vantage point to take pictures (very easy, in the Tribune, where our view was unobstructed). It was all so much fun!Kim introduced me to a Norwegian diplomat, and soon after, a British diplomat. I practiced my own diplomatic skills when I offered congratulations to the Norwegian gentleman for Thor Hushovd's green jersey victory as the best sprinter, and soon after reassured the British gentleman that Mark Cavendish would absolutely win the sprint on the Champs Elysées, as he was the greatest sprinter. One's the best, the other the greatest. I see no conflict and no offense to either party in that, do you? And by the way, my Cavendish prediction was absolute, without caveat, and it was my first official stage win prediction. And I was right. (I would eventually reassure the same gentleman, much later in the race, when Cavendish was still in the pack trailing the leaders by 30 seconds. "His team knows what to do - they'll pull him to the front at the right time, he'll be unbeatable." I said. Hey, Versus, do I win the predictions yellow jersey game?)With every turn of the road and riders zooming past us, the excitement kept increasing and was palpable. I had the best opportunity to take pictures right at the front of the Tribune. Capturing pictures in "multiple frames/second" mode, I got some great shots of the riders!The whole time, hostesses were walking up and down the steps of the Tribune, offering us free bottles of water and other beverages, making sure that we (non-athletes) did not get dehydrated under the protection of the wide awning, in our comfy chairs. Then, with four of eight loops completed, a lady from the TDF organization came up to us and said, "Would you like to ride in one of the cars?" My inside voice: "car? What car?". My outside voice, while Kim and I exchanged a quick glance, said, "Oh absolutely!" even though we had no idea what she was talking about. We were ushered down the steps towards the street, and told to hurry and get into car #16, a dark grey Skoda. We got in, and I'd barely managed to pull in my dress and close the door, that the driver floored it! OH MY GOD that was fun! The riders weren't in sight, and he was trying to catch up to them. He was doing 120km/hr on the Champs Elysées, with the only other vehicle in sight another grey Skoda in front. The Arc de Triomphe rushed towards us, with Kim and I laughing hysterically in the back, occasionally giving a wave to the crowds who were looking at us wondering just who we were and what we'd done to deserve being in a car on the Champs. Ah, the sense of power is addictive, I tell you...! It was the same kind of rush one gets on a roller coaster - all adrenaline, with a desire to scream or laugh as loud as possible! After making a screeching turn at the Arc de Triomphe end of the Champs, we rushed back in the direction of the Place de la Concorde. The driver suddenly stopped on the inside lane, and on the other side, heading towards the Arc, the riders raced past us, some no further than about ten feet away! The adrenaline rush increased even more! After the peloton had gone by, we sped up again (now to avoid being caught by the riders) and raced towards the Obelisk of Place de la Concorde, and then hooked right, around the Louvre, through the tunnel, and back to the other side of de la Concorde. He slowed down again and stopped, along with a couple of other Skodas. This time, he did let the riders catch up to us, and ride just past us on my side of the car. They were going so fast! They get clocked at 50km+ on the Champs Elysées, which is unbelievably fast, on two thin wheels on cobblestones!After the boys had gone past us, we rode back (still at full speed!) to the Tribune, where Kim and I, completely giddy, went back to our seats. With only two loops to go at that point, teams Garmin and Columbia alternately took control of the peloton, eating up the lead that the break away leaders had built, and positioning their respective sprinters (Cavendish for Columbia, Farrar for Garmin) to have a chance at the stage win."Last time around, ladies and gentlemen, last time around for the riders! A big round of applause for all these athletes, as their next time around will be through the finish line and will mark the end of the Tour!", said the public announcer. Everyone who wasn't already standing stood, and up in the Tribune, and all along the Champs Elysées, the crowds clapped and cheered loudly for "the boys" as they continued to pedal by, ever so urgently, catching up to the few leaders up front, and ensuring that the sprinters would get their day.In the end, we saw in the distance and in more detail on the giant screen, the very successful sprint of Mark Cavendish, led in by his teammate Mark Renshaw. They finished 1-2 on the day, followed by Garmin's Farrar. A great explosive acceleration right at the end makes Cavendish unbeatable in such sprints, and he proved once more that he was a champion, with six stage wins in this year's Tour. Amazing.Almost immediately, several workers - stage hands? - put together the podium (indeed almost directly in front of us), the flag poles, and the media tribunes directly across from the podium. Within a few minutes, the ceremonies started: stage win (Cavendish - walk up on podium, flowers, trophy, kiss-kiss podium girl #1, kiss-kiss podium girl #2, walk off stage), green jersey for top sprinter (Thor Hushovd, walk up, flowers, trophy, kiss-kiss/kiss-kiss, walk off), polka dot jersey for king of the mountains (Franco Pellizotti, walk up/flowers/trophy/kiss-kiss x2/walk off), white jersey for best young rider (Andy Schleck - you get the drill...), and finally, the man in yellow, Alberto Contador. Then - the full podium of first, second, third: Contador, Schleck and Lance Armstrong. Lance had to be pried away from a on-camera interview next to the podium, and as he climbed up the steps to the bronze medal position, he did not look particularly happy. No smile, hard-set jaw, and determined eyes... He gave his teammate Alberto Contador a perfunctory hand shake that lasted a half-second, and shook Andy Schleck's hand more warmly, exchanging a few words with him. The "ice" on stage was thickening by the second. Everyone had known all along that Lance and Alberto were not friends, and were rivals within the same team. On the podium, it was blatant from their body language. Lance is not a guy who accepts anything less than first place, and certainly not what he might have considered bad sportsmanship from his teammate. Nonetheless, he finished third - a highly remarkable feat in the world of professional sports/cycling/Tour de France, by a guy who retired four years ago and made a come back just a few months before the Tour. However, he "unretired" because he wanted to win again, and he knew he could (otherwise he would not have gone at all). So third was a success - but no doubt, Lance would have preferred wearing yellow again. Next year, Lance, next year! (OK - I confess: I realized at the end of Week 2, once it became apparent that Lance would not win, that I really wanted him to. Until then, I had thought that whoever won, I'd be quite happy about it. Turns out, I wish Lance had won.)Once the ceremonies wrapped up, after Alberto's speech, Kim and I headed to the Pavilion Elysée for the cocktail party. The Pavilion is a beautiful classic building, with a stylish decor, the perfect venue for a cocktail party. Champagne, fancy canapés and amuse-gueules - excellent! We made the rounds and chatted with a few folks. Kim eventually had to leave for an evening with her sister and friends, and I left the cocktail with her, to return to the Champs Elysées. I wanted to catch a glimpse of the post-race teams parade, as it is a great opportunity for pictures. With every step I took closer to the road itself, I was afraid someone would tell me "you can't be here, you have to go back outside this gate or that gate", but I got all the way to the street itself. The teams had already started parading and I had missed a few, but I still saw several, including all the winning teams. So much fun to see them up close and personal! When the Garmin team came by, I (much like last year....) yelled out for my compatriot Ryder Hesjedal, the only Canadian in the race, who "carried the weight of a nation on his shoulders!". The other Garmin guys yelled back to him, "Ryder... It's for you...", in the same tone that parents call to their teenagers for whom the phone rings all the time. Ryder turned and waved! Then, when Liquigas came by, Franco Pellizotti was very close to the barricade - in fact, no more than about 5 feet away from me! I shouted, "Franco, Franco!", he looked, smiled and waved, and "click!" -- see picture attached. I tried to capture as many of the teams as I could - but the results are mixed. Sadly, no real good pics of Team Astana - I was too busy looking at them to take a good picture. I had never seen Lance on a bike "live" up close before. Very cool... Alberto? The yellow outfit requires good sunglasses to stare at for any period of time - it is quite bright... The main "missed"? Saw Cadel only from a distance, missed Silence Lotto's parade. I stuck around as long as I could, until les gendarmes finally chased all of us off the actual road and back onto the sidewalk and park nearby. They were trying to clear the way for the teams to leave safely, and for workers to quickly start tearing down the barricades and stands, so that by Monday morning, the Champs Elysées could function again as a main thoroughfare. So with regret, I started walking away from the Champs. I decided to try my luck at Place Beauveau, where last year, I stumbled upon a number of riders who pedaled their way through there, on the way to their hotel. I got some good shots of a few of the cyclists there. (The way I'm describing this, I'm starting to feel like a paparazza... I swear, I'm not...). I hung out at Place Beauvau for a short while, but it seemed that I had missed them already. Eventually, reality had to set in: my Tour de France 2009 experience was drawing to a close. That was it. The race was over. The podium protocol was over. The after-race parade was over. The "hanging out at Place Beauvau hoping they go through there" was over.Time to walk back to the hotel. Sigh... That's when the adrenaline somewhat faded, and I realized I had huge blisters on my feet and was in some pain. I thought of Kurt and Levi and George, who finished stages with broken bones, and decided, "If the boys can bike with broken bones, I can walk a whole 1.3km with blisters!". Yes, much drama - nay, melodrama - in my Tour de France!  Back at the hotel, I realized I was completely exhausted. Hey - it is TIRING, walking around in fancy shoes (total of about 5km), and being pumped with adrenaline all day! After lying there for 30 minutes, I realized I was also starving. Must - go - eat...I switched into jeans and my Garmin T-shirt, and left the hotel around 9:30pm to start walking towards the Opera -- wearing comfy shoes and several Band-Aids on my tortured toes. I wanted to have dinner at the same little café I went to last year after the Tour, Café du Mogador. I was sure I could find it again, near Gare St-Lazare. I had to walk around a bit more, and eventually remembered to head further east, as it was directly across from the Eglise Ste-Trinité. While I hate "routine", I do like "tradition", so I'm quite pleased that I now have been to Café du Mogador three years in a row, had the exact same thing for dinner ("Grande Salade d'Eté, a white beer, and a crème caramel with an Espresso for dessert"), and was even served by the same guy as last year (not that he remembered me, mind you). I left the restaurant at 11:45pm, and decided to walk home. I know what you're thinking - was it safe to walk alone at night in Paris? Yes, totally. I felt safe and was safe. I'm not saying nothing ever happens in Paris - but in the centre of the city, in the neighbourhoods of large department stores and churches and nice apartments and tourists, I felt totally safe. It was a beautiful night, still warm, and *quiet*. It was a lovely walk, down Rue du Mogador and Rue Scribe, and onto the welcoming Boulevard des Capucines (which becomes Blvd de la Madeleine), Rue Royale, then St-Honoré, and soon enough, back home at the hotel by 12:30am. I probably walked about 10km or so that day, and "my dogs were barking", blistered and sore as they were... I hit the hay, tried to relive every moment of that day, and soon passed out, completely knackered.
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London, England, United Kingdom

Packing! I hate packing, especially at the end of a vacation. So - getting up at 6am, barely rested, I got organized and got the backpack loaded, the new purse filled, and the tacky plastic 15-bloody-euro "I love Paris!" bag I'd had to buy loaded with the overflow. All told -- much too heavy. Hgh. But that's what I get for taking two laptops and going on a shopping spree. I did throw out the pair of shoes I'd brought with me -- there, Paris, I give you a pair of smelly shoes. Not a fair trade, I know...After my last awesome Renaissance breakfast, I gave up trying to make this last any longer, and hopped in a cab to the Gare du Nord. My train to London was at 10:13am, and I was there in plenty of time. My seat wasn't too good - I was going "backwards" and was playing foot wars underneath the table separating me from the other passenger sitting a mere two feet (or so it seemed) away from me. We remained civil and avoided intentionally kicking each other.We arrived in London St. Pancras two hours later. I had a bit of time to kill before having to be at Heathrow, so I decided to leave my luggage at the station, hop on the tube, go walk about London, head back to St. Pancras to pick up my luggage, get back on the tube, and head to Heathrow later in the afternoon. Thank goodness I'd had the foresight to buy new shoes, because whoever designed St. Pancras could have put the luggage "depot" place in a slightly more convenient location. I got off the train, walked towards the tube (about 100m), then realized the luggage place was at the opposite end of the station (about 300m away). Always carrying my roughly 40lbs of stuff, I walked to the luggage place and dropped off two bags. I then walked all the way back to the tube (Kingscross) heading for the Victoria line (probably 500m). I took the tube to Oxford Circus, and headed south on Regent Street to Picadilly Circus (took the same picture there I had taken in 1991!), then onto Trafalgar Square, where I stopped at Canada House. There is a stunning exhibit of photographs of the Canadian Arctic. It was a nice break from the chaos and noise of outside, and I relaxed and rested while looking at the pictures. After a quick internet break, I came back out in the tourist crowds of London. It felt really crowded for some reason... I stopped for some fish and chips (mediocre) and a half-pint (refreshing), and kept walking.I walked all the way to Westminster, as I wanted to see Big Ben again. I looked up, there it was - ok, saw it... kept walking. I was running a bit low on time, so I hustled, as I walked on "The Birdcage" (quick nod towards Buckingham Palace, hello Queenie!), and by St. James Park (saw a rat! brrr...), and quickly to Victoria Station.All told - roughly 3.5km, I think. Plus my previous 900m just inside St. Pancras... But who's keeping track?Off the tube at Kings Cross, I started the 500m trek back to the luggage place. I picked up my backpack, grabbed "I love Paris!", and... started back on exactly the same path, another 500m, fully loaded, back to the tube. St. Pancras International is a great train station. Beautiful. Take my word for it, I only walked its entire length four times in a matter of 4 hours... Another kilometer here.An hour on the tube later, I got off at Heathrow Terminal 3, and started that trek, through subterranean passages - fortunately aided by moving walkways. Check-in at Air Canada was short and sweet, and I headed to the Maple Leaf Lounge (shared with SAS) to grab a bite.The flight home was uneventful despite the fact there seemed to have been a deal on children's fare that day. I didn't sleep much - so on top of having walked all day (I know, it only adds up to a few kilometers after all, but it felt like alot more...) and the fatigue of previous days, by the time I landed in Toronto at 10pm local time, I was wiped. I left the parking lot at 11pm, only to find that my normal route home (via the 401) was blocked for construction. Faaaaantastic... After a long detour, I finally got home at midnight. Exhausted. But very very very happy :-)
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Paris, Île-de-France, France

That's the problem when the day is so filled with possibilities and choices that it's hard to come up with a plan. There are so many alternatives, that by the time I pick the ones that are most interesting and string together an itinerary that makes sense, I start questioning whether I'm missing out on something else. Well - after breakfast, I decided to write a bit (start this entire thing), and around 11am, finally thought, "I'll never get done today, I have to go out before the day's over!". My plan was to rent a "velib", one of those city bicycles that are ubiquitous in Paris, and which the French enjoy using to commute or simply ride around. It is a brilliant idea, easy of access, and great for health and environment. It would also give my feet a break, and allow me to travel further faster, above ground. I got to the first Velib "parking lot" nearby, and followed all the instructions on the machine. When it asked for my credit card (there's a nominal rental fee, but a deposit is required, in case you don't return the bike), I dutifully entered my Visa. "Transaction did not go through". Hum. Tried again, same result. Tried my bank (debit) card. Same thing. An American couple tried their card - same thing. Conclusion: Velib only works for French (or perhaps European?) cards. No Velib for me.Resigned to walking, I headed back up Les Capucines, towards the large department stores of Printemps and Galeries LaFayette. I was on a mission to buy more comfortable shoes, as even the "sporty comfy" shoes I had worn on the trip were killing me! They were fairly new, but lost their shape and offered no support. I was annoyed and in pain. Solution? Buy new shoes! But before I could get to the stores, it started raining. I headed for the Café de l'Olympia, took a sidewalk table underneath the awning, and ordered lunch. I took out my Asus Eee, and did some more writing over lunch, and took my time, so I didn't have to go back into the rain too quickly. By the time I finished, the rain had stopped, but the wind had picked up and it was decidedly cooler. Perfect shopping weather! Found a pair of shoes and a purse, and while I liked the shoes, I still wasn't convinced they would be sufficient for the next day's trek through London and train stations and airports, carrying luggage and everything. So - walking back towards the hotel, and after stopping for an INCREDIBLE chocolate and raspberry frappé at the Maison du Chocolat, I went on the hunt for more shoes near the hotel. I ended up finding a pair of "tennis-like" shoes - a sort of super-extra-white "Stan Smith" model by Agnes B. Not something I'd normally buy, but at that point, beggars couldn't be choosers, and I needed good shoes. These fit the bill and they were on sale (not cheap, but not retail...). So - finally satisfied that I had a solid pair of shoes to finish the trip, I got back to my room, quickly changed, and headed back out again. I was meeting my friend Aurélie at her metro station, Vaugirard, at 8:15pm. We were both right on time, and walked to her place from the metro. I'd never been to the 15eme arrondissement before - a nice typical Parisian neighbourhood, mixing residential and commercial areas. Her apartment was charming - fairly roomy, with lots of "character" that would fetch high prices in Toronto: good age (late 1800 something?), high ceilings, old wood floors, fireplaces... The kitchen wouldn't live up to North American standards, but all in all, it was a great place! We spent the evening gabbing and catching up. She and her roommate both said that I had lost my Canadian accent in French -- I told them I was making quite an effort not to sound like a French Canadian "colonial". Secretely, I was quite pleased I could fool them! (I can pass for French, nah nah nah nah naaaah nah... Could prove very useful, you never know!)We had a great time over a very nice dinner, and sadly, the evening drew to a close, and we had to say good-bye. She walked me back to the metro. I could have taken it all the way back to Concorde, but instead I decided to get out at Solférino, near the Musée d'Orsay, and walk the rest of the way. Another late night stroll by myself in Paris... It was, again, a gorgeous evening. The skies had cleared, the winds had died down, and the stars were shining. I stopped in various spots along the way to take pictures -- none of which turned out exceptionally well, for lack of a tripod. I eventually stopped in the Jardins des Tuileries, and took in the scene: on my left, along the Seine, the Musée d'Orsay in semi-darkness; standing behind it, the Eiffel Tower with its rotating beacon telling one and all how proud and tall it stood; directly in front of me, beyond the Jardins in the distance, the Champs Elysées, with the optical illusion of the Obelisk of Place de la Concorde splitting it right down the middle; on the left side of the Obelisk, the white lights of on-coming traffic, and on the right, the red brake lights of bumper-to-bumper traffic; beyond all that, in full illuminated splendor, the Arc de Triomphe. ...Wow... I stood there breathless. It was all so breathtaking, so grand and beautiful, this all-encompassing view. Close to 1am, the Eiffel Tower began to twinkle from top to bottom incessantly, as if it was warning me that it would soon turn off for the night. And that's when it happened: with the Eiffel Tower twinkling, the Seine reflecting its lights, the Champs Elysées painted white and red and split down the middle by the Obelisk, and the monument marking Napoléon's triumph in the background... I saw a shooting star. It was all too much! I mean - seriously? A shooting star for me to make a wish? I'm not making it up! I couldn't help it - my eyes filled with tears, as I stood there and made a wish (I can't tell you what it is, but I can give you a hint: it has to do with #tdf and #tweetup and #paris and #2010 -- for those of you on Twitter, it might make sense...).Shuffling my feet, trying to make the night last as long as possible, I dragged myself back to the Renaissance. I lay in bed and tweeted with a couple of TDF friends, and eventually fell asleep mid-tweet, the TV still on, at about 2am. I woke up at 4am, snoozed til 6am, and decided that it was time for...
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Paris, Île-de-France, France

Got up at 5am, showered, got dressed, packed away the few things I'd taken out of my pack, and started walking to St. Pancras International at 5:40am or so, knowing I would be there in about 10 minutes. I even stopped to take a few pictures of early-morning London. There is nothing quite as wonderful as an early morning stroll through a city that is just coming to life. In some ways, it's like watching a child wake up, slowly open his eyes, and stretch his arms while yawning... All gentle and sweet (yes even Kingscross is "gentle and sweet" in the morning, take my word for it!) I strolled into St. Pancras, and into... massive crowds! Whoa! St. Pancras certainly had been awake for a while! Queues of people stretching forever, other people walking about rapidly, and, up on the TV screens, indications that check-in for my train, the "Paris Eurostar 6:26am", was *concluding*. Ah! What? But - it was just barely 6am! How early was I supposed to show up, since I already had my ticket in hand? I hurriedly asked someone who pointed me to window 3, where there was no line at all (they had all gone through, I presumed). The gentleman stamped my ticket and pointed me to security (no silliness about carrying liquids or taking off shoes fortunately), and then through "French Border Control" (immigration), where my passport was stamped by a French Border Guard who didn't ask me a thing. I finally headed to the train platform, found the train and coach, boarded, found my seat, and started to relax...Hungry, I headed to the Bar/Restaurant coach (#13, an omen?). The breakfast menu offered a few choices, and I opted for the 4.90Pds "Classic Continental" (pain au chocolat, juice, coffee). I stood in line - probably in 5th or 6th spot - and waited, patiently at first, as I watched the one employee slowly, very slowly, fill the orders ahead of me. Completely inefficient, he was making one coffee at a time. Instead of unwrapping, ahead of time, a number of little individually-wrapped plastic capsules of coffee to insert in the Espresso machine, he was doing it all in "real time" (or rather, slow motion), and taking forever. Surprisingly (or maybe - not so...), no one but me seemed to think that service was slow. I mean - we're talking breakfast fast food here - no cooking involved at all. How long can it take to shove a croissant, juice box and coffee cup in a small bag, take money and make change?When it was finally my turn, I understood his other challenge. He was using a "point of sale" hand-held device with a touchscreen and stylus, and had to carefully, with the stylus, enter my order. He then had to prepare my order. As he was unwrapping the little coffee capsule, he said, "6 pounds". Hang on... the menu said 4.90, and this wasn't Canada where we add multiple taxes on top of the advertised price! "The menu says 4.90, not 6", I told him. He answered, "ah, wait a minute, the computer tells me 6, and I can't get it to tell me 4.90". He walked away, talked to a colleague/boss behind the scene, tried again, and said, "ah well, I'm sorry, I'll have to do this by hand, since the computer won't do it correctly", followed by the requisite soft criticism of "technology these days, tskk, tskk...". He then proceeded to pull a little notebook from under the counter, in which he very meticulously (read: slowly) wrote "1 - Classic Continental - breakfast - 4.90". He finally put a lid on my coffee cup, deposited it in the paper bag, tossed in the pain au chocolat on top of the juice box, and on my way I went. All told: 30 minutes to get breakfast. A lesson in patience, as I watched the other people in line (Europeans for the most part) patiently, almost stoically, wait their turns. Shortly after finishing breakfast, we entered a long, very long tunnel. THE Chunnel! A bit anticlimactic, though I'm not sure if I was expecting fireworks or something other than dark for nearly 20 minutes. On the other side, the French countryside was sublime. Green, amber, yellow prairies stretching as far as the eye could see, interrupted periodically by a village and a church in the distance.Arriving at Gare du Nord, I got some Euros from the nearest bank machine, than caught a taxi to my hotel, the Renaissance Paris Vendome, near Place Vendome, the Rue de Rivoli and the Louvre. Unbelievable location. The Renaissance is a great hotel, modern and comfortable; whatever "Frenchness" can be deemed lacking is more than made up for by 5-star comfort and service. I found out with a happy surprise that the 29 Euro "petit déjeuner" served in the hotel restaurant was included in the package I had booked using my Marriott points. Staying for free AND breakfasting for free too? Wonderful! Since my room would be ready only in the afternoon, I decided to go explore a little. A sign in the lobby said "Garmin Slipstream Pro-Cycling Team" -- ...what!?!? The Garmin team is staying here?!? (GASP of excitement - which would soon subside, when I found out it was only the *VIP guests* of Garmin who were staying there...)My priority on Saturday was to find somewhere to watch the Tour de France penultimate stage, the famous butt-whipping "Mont Ventoux stage". After figuring out that I could watch it at the hotel bar, I went for a short walk. Ahhhh Paris.... I've run out of words to shower it with praise and love, this great city. This is my fourth visit, and while it still amazes me completely, it now feels like home, like re-discovering an old lover who... hu-hum... But I digress. Let's just say that it was as wonderful as ever, charming, welcoming, elegant, stately, clean (yes, Paris is a clean city!), proper - in two words, stunningly beautiful. I had an errand to run: a friend had asked me to buy a Tour de France yellow cycling jersey, as she's a great fan. I quickly found one (at a good price too!), the authentic Nike "official jersey" of the TDF. A good omen for the next two days! (To be honest, I really don't believe in omens - referring to them just works well in a written piece to give the reader a glimpse of the future...). I returned to the hotel, and "set up shop" in the bar, laptop at the ready, poised to "tweet" my way through the stage, like I had every other weekend stage of the TDF. (For those wondering, check out www.twitter.com; on Twitter, I am @helenebarrette). I was joined in the bar at first by Jake, of the Garmin team. He was with the "support" team, working on logistics and a member of the @TeamGarmin blogging/writing team (Twitter: @jakesjournal). He then left, and was soon replaced by Colleen, who was in charge of event management for Team Garmin Slipstream, and organizing the VIPs' visit and events. She (sadly) confirmed that the VIPs were staying here, but not the riders (funny, she forgot to tell me where those boys were staying... hum). But she was kind enough to give me a great Garmin Sliptstream Pro Cycling Team T-shirt, which I shall wear proudly! Thanks Colleen!We essentially spent the afternoon there, watching the stage (and me "tweeting" at the same time), joined by a few more folks, including Jake and some of the VIPs who had arrived. I, on the other hand, was "just a fan!". It was pretty cool watching the stage with other fans, though I was the only one understanding the French Eurosport broadcast, and the volume was a bit low so it was hard to hear the full commentary. Plus during the time I went to check into my room, I lost my table near the TV. But oh well! In the end it was fun, and the atmosphere was "all cycling". The stage ended without any significant upset in the GC (General Classification) although Brad Wiggins did climb up to fourth spot, and Alberto Contador, Andy Schleck and Lance Armstrong confirmed their podium positions of 1-2-3 for Paris. Switching gears completely (told you it was "all cycling"!), I got ready to go meet another Disney friend, Kim, who is a diplomat with the US Embassy here in Paris. I hadn't seen Kim since her law school days in DC, and I was very excited at the thought of this reunion. Her sister (and boyfriend) and another friend were also visiting, and we would all go to dinner, along with yet another Disney friend, Aurélie (from France).I found my way to Kim's place, in the Trocadéro area (Eiffel Tower neighbourhood), and rang the doorbell. She opened the door - she hasn't changed one bit! Always smiling, laughing, filled with energy, Kim is one of these people who just makes all those around her happy. After a quick catch-up chat and a round of Kirs, we headed out to the restaurant where Kim had booked, "La Cigale Récamier", on the Left Bank. She had taken Michelle Obama and the girls there during the Obamas' visit to France in June. (Yes, Kim leads a very glamourous life!)We were met by Aurélie, another one of the Disney Fellowship Program participants, class of '88-'89. Aurélie hasn't changed either! Time has been kind to these girls! It really was great to be re-united after twenty years. We enjoyed a nice chat over a delicious dinner of "soufflés", in which the restaurant specializes. After dinner, Kim and I took rendez-vous for the next day, the last day of the Tour, and Aurélie and I made plans for dinner Monday evening. And with that, I returned to my hotel, and wrapped up an eventful and happy day. The next one would prove even more so!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/9/1248822947/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/9/1248822947/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/9/1248822947/tpod.html Sat, 01 Aug 2009 02:32:37 -0400 Tour de France 2009... via London!

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London, England, United Kingdom

I landed at Heathrow on Friday, filled with excitement at the thought of the next four days. This was Tour de France weekend! And if it matched my experience of last year, when I flew to Paris for the same four days, it would be a total success once again. Little did I think that it would go well beyond matching it - it would exceed my wildest expectations on many levels!It all started as follows:1) A couple of months back, I couldn't get the flights I wanted for Paris, so I decided to fly to London and take the TGV (Eurostar) to France instead2) I realized that I had enough Marriott "frequent guest" points to stay three nights at the Renaissance Paris Vendome hotel, for free (regular rate: over 650 Euros a night...)3) Through Facebook, I reconnected, about two months ago, with a few old friends from the year I spent working at Disney World, twenty years ago4) Two of those friends live just north of London5) One lives in Paris6) Another one, found on Facebook the day before I flew out, also lives in Paris.How do you spell "serendipity"? That's it, right?After landing tired and with feet swollen by a 7 hour-flight in a window seat, I made my way from Heathrow to King's Cross-St. Pancras by tube. After coming up to street level, I took my bearings, and with little difficulty, found my hotel (booked through Expedia). I couldn't check in just yet, so I left my backpack in the luggage area, and sat in the lobby to wait for Christian and Adrian to arrive. They were taking the train from their hometown of Market Harboro to come spend the day with me in London. Christian and I had not seen each other since September 1989, and I had never met Adrian, who came into Christian's life fourteen years ago (and has since become the main force behind the "find Christian's old Disney friends" initiative).Arrive they did! And - wow! How wonderful to see someone after twenty years like that! And it felt like I had also known Adrian for a long time, although we've only exchanged messages on Facebook for a couple of months. After the initial "shock" of re-uniting, we decided to get on with finding a spot where we could go and sit, and catch up on twenty years of life on different sides of the ocean. We spent the day doing just that. First it was over coffee, then over lunch in Covent Garden (during which the proverbial London rain made an appearance and then exited stage left), and after a quick visit to Harrod's (fun but too crowded to enjoy shopping), over a couple of pints in Soho. Christian and Adrian were overly generous, spoiling me non-stop the whole day. Not only that, but since they had the funniest stories to tell, they had me in stitches pretty much the whole day. The highlight for me was perhaps realizing that twenty years' separation can be bridged in a blink, especially as we've grown and matured and become who we are in that timeframe. Back in 1989, fresh out of high school, I moved away from home to live and work at Walt Disney World for a year, as a member of the World Showcase Fellowship Program. It was an absolute blast, but I was still in some ways a bit of an insecure teenager and I remember thinking that Christian, who had a wicked sense of humour and was such an extrovert (and I wasn't), was slightly intimidating! Well - fast forward twenty years, and I re-discovered a kind, funny, witty and genuine person with whom I spent a whole day gabbing, after he and Adrian took a day off to make a special trip to come see me in London. And Adrian? The nicest guy in the world...We said good-bye in front of King's Cross station (and took a couple of quick pictures), as the guys hurried off to catch their train back home that evening.Christian, Adrian - thank you both so much. I cannot wait to welcome you to Toronto and return the generosity. After I left them, I started walking back to my hotel, reflecting on the day, and smiling to myself. I stopped for a meal at "King's Cross Tandoori" where I had the "Special for One" that delivered enough food for three. Got back to Hotel Arriva, checked in, got a room on the 2nd floor (with a nice window and a relatively decent view), and quickly fell asleep. Since my train for Paris was a 6:26am on Saturday, I didn't want to oversleep and miss it!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/8/1246571782/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/8/1246571782/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/8/1246571782/tpod.html Sat, 11 Jul 2009 13:12:01 -0400 A Quick Interlude in Cuba (Blog still in progress!)

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Havana, Cuba

Landing in Havana on July 2nd, aboard Air Canada 970 (direct flight from Toronto), I was excited at the thought of arriving somewhere I'd never been before. There's always a bit of trepidation when visiting a new country, but it's the kind of trepidation I absolutely love: a mix of happy excitement, adrenaline rush, and overall joy at the thought of discovering a new place and great people, and experiencing things that are bound to overwhelm my senses. I knew that Havana, and Cuba, would not disappoint. I had arranged a transfer from the airport, and was met, as expected, by a representative of Cuba Tours, who surprisingly, spoke much better English than I do Spanish. Granted, on that day, there was a two-year old layer of rust on my Spanish, which I was eager to dust off. Nonetheless, my "contact" led me to the money changing counter at José Marti International Airport, then, just as quickly, loaded me into a cab, said good-bye, and disappeared to go meet someone else at the other terminal.The ride in from the airport set the tone for the next few days. Old American cars, lovingly preserved and restored, and yet spewing out black smoke from the exhaust pipe, were all around me, sharing the roads with a number of (mostly white) Ladas imported from the Soviet Union in the '80's. There were no street signs, though the few traffic signals seem to work just fine. There were not that many cars, and drivers seemed cautious; I was relieved that this did not seem to be a city of "crazy drivers". After all, I would be driving myself in a few days. Apartment buildings in the distance reminded me a lot of Japanese "danchi" (housing projects). Definitely a bit run-down and in need of fresh paint. Otherwise, lots of folks milling about, trying to hitch a ride.As we got closer to the city, we drove through Plaza de la Revolucion, the stage for oh-so-many multi-hour speeches by Fidel Castro to throngs of Cubans, over the years. Wow - this was it! Havana - historical, fascinating, gorgeous in a faded, aging-former-beauty-queen sort of way...I eventually engaged the taxi driver in a bit of conversation, and discovered that my Spanish wasn't too rusty. At least the listening and comprehension parts. The speaking, well, that would come back.My driver gave me a mini-tour of Central Havana before dropping me off at the Hotel NH Parque Central - a great 5-star hotel, where, in addition to a comfortable and welcoming lobby/bar, friendly and helpful staff, awesome breakfast buffet, there is a roof-top pool with an unbeatable view of the city. The Parque Central would be home for the next three days.After checking in, I headed to the pool, well covered in sunscreen and ready to dive in to combat the 36 deg C heat, accompanied by 50% humidity rate. Hot &amp; humid...I had time for lunch and a first couple of Mojitos at the roof-top restaurant, before my friend Catrina joined me. Catrina and I met in Bolivia in '07 (see my Travel Pod entries for that trip), and she now lives in Grand Cayman. We decided a couple of months ago to meet up in Cuba for this little adventure. After getting re-united, we headed back to the roof bar, and caught up over a couple of refreshing drinks, all the while enjoying the great view. We decided to go explore a bit of the city. We headed out on the famous Malecon ("boardwalk"), the sea-side avenue stretching for miles from Old Havana in the east to Miramar in the west. We walked west; our goal, the Hotel Nacional, former hangout of American gangsters Lucky Luciano and Myer Lansky who ruled the corrupt casino business in Havana before the revolution kicked them out permanently.The walk over allowed us to see much of Havana's "waterfront properties". All along the Malecon, old colonial buildings stand. Well - some still stand, others are crumbling. The architecture of these colonial buildings is lovely. Sadly, many buildings have been so neglected over the years that they are now decrepit and falling apart. And yet - most are still inhabited! Habaneros live, in some cases, in desperate conditions, in these old buildings that are now mere shells of their former selves. The Hotel Nacional itself is a famous landmark - a beautiful grand old colonial building presiding over the landscape by the sea. It has been preserved - or perhaps restored - very well, and still maintains the dignity of its former glory. Sitting on its lawn, sipping a mojito at dusk, Catrina and I felt like our holiday had truly begun.In search of dinner, we inquired from the concierge at the Nacional if there was a restaurant nearby. We had seen very few on the walk over, and from our readings about Havana and Cuba, figured that asking for a recommendation would land us in a better spot than if we took a chance on our own.We hopped in a cab and headed towards the Miramar neighborhood - home of wealthy foreigners and embassies, and possibly of some wealthy Cubans. Our destination was the paladar La Fontana. Paladares are restaurants set up in private homes, and for which the owners pay a hefty tax or permit to the state. La Fontana, as it turns out, is one of the best and has been reviewed positively in the magazine <i>Cigar Aficionado. The setting was quite beautiful. The entrance somewhat hidden, with no sign, but beyond it, a path over a pond filled with Japanese carps, a beautiful wooden bar, a fair number of tables and waiters who clearly were used to business.The menu was extensive. Our respective selections of fish and rabbit were good - perhaps not exceptionally so, but definitely decent.Prices, you ask? Hum... Will write more about that in a separate entry.After dinner, one of the paladar employees, or perhaps friend of the owner (not quite clear...) offered to play taxi driver and take us back to our hotel for a fixed rate. Off we went in the old, noisy little Lada! Our driver was quite friendly - a retired civil engineer who was picking up odd jobs to make ends meet. He asked for payment before we got to the hotel, as he wasn't an official taxi and could have gotten in trouble. Not sure how severe the "trouble" could have been, but we gladly obliged.Only 8 hours into the trip, and already, a full day of new sights, smells and experiences!
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/7/1063281600/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/7/1063281600/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/7/1063281600/tpod.html Sat, 25 Oct 2008 15:14:40 -0400 Reminiscing about my first trip to Africa in 2003: reaching the summit of Kilimanjaro

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Kilimanjaro National Park, Tanzania

<i>Reaching the Summit of Mount KilimanjaroI had been following in the footsteps of our guide Exoud for six hours. Leaving Arrow Glacier Camp at 11:30pm, we had climbed through the night. The moon was full and so bright that Exoud was climbing without a headlamp, counting on the beam of moonlight illuminating his path, and his experience on this route, to guide his feet. I put one foot in front of the other, one laboriously slow step at a time.Suddenly, Exoud stopped moving. I looked up, and there was nothing more above him to climb. I took one step up, and the rocky path in front of me flattened out. We had reached the crater of Kilimanjaro, and in front of us stretched a wide expanse of flat rocky ground, interrupted abruptly up ahead by the wide wall of the Furtwangler Glacier, which we would skirt completely. The rest of our party, K.E. Adventure trek leader Cheryl ("Chez"), clients Steve, Alistair, Chris, Tom, and guides William "the First" and William "the Second", quickly followed. Within a minute, we had all reached the top of the Western Breach. It was about 5am, and our mood shifted from lassitude to the exhilaration of knowing that we would all reach the summit. One of the Williams took out Thermos bottles filled with hot sweet tea, and we took our first sanctioned break to sip a cup. The pain (and there was some) of the previous few hours was forgotten. We still had an hour and a half to go before we would reach Uhuru Peak, the highest point on Mount Kilimanjaro at 5,895m, but a strong surge of positive energy was coursing through our group.To the east, beyond the glaciers on the other side of Kilimanjaro, shades of pink and orange and red were slowly tinting the horizon. We easily made our way across five metres of hard-packed snow, laughing at our earlier expectations that we would have to put on crampons and use our ice axes to cross wide glaciers. The sad truth is that the eternal snows of Kilimanjaro are disappearing at an alarming rate through the process of sublimation (where ice evaporates without melting), induced by global warming.In front of us, tiny points of light moving in the distance - other trekkers who had spent the night at Crater Camp. Seeing our headlamps, they started calling out to us in joyous voices. A welcoming committee! It was unexpected, and suddenly filled me with emotion. I had heard earlier that this day, September 11, 2003, might be a record day with over 300 people expected on the summit of Kilimanjaro. The news had produced mixed feelings - Kilimanjaro is, relatively speaking, easily accessible to "the masses", and I was not surprised that so many people should be there. On the other hand, our little group had worked hard to get here, and I selfishly did not want to share our success with scores of strangers. But the welcoming committee changed all that - it was cool - really cool - to share this exhilarating feeling with that many people!Despite the thin air, our pace increased ever so slightly as we made our way on flat grounds towards the last steep section leading to the summit. I let the guys go ahead of me, behind Exoud, and I maintained my own slow pace, followed by William the First. Chez, who had gone ahead with the guys, eventually slowed down and accompanied me over the last few hundred metres. Exoud, the multi-linguist, yelled at me from the summit, reminding me in Japanese that his name was Exoud ("Watashino namae wa Exoud desu!"). I laughed, replied that mine was Helen, and kept putting one foot in front of the other on the last incline. Steve walked back down a few metres to meet me, as Chez raced up ahead so that she could film me actually reaching the top. Exoud came towards me, and within seconds, there I was. On the summit.<i>Getting ThereDue to the altitude, climbing to the summit of Mount Kilimanjaro, located in northern Tanzania near the Kenyan border, is accomplished over several days to allow one's body to acclimatize and slowly adapt to the thinner air and lower levels of oxygen. Fit hikers and climbers are often hard-pressed to keep the slow pace required by the acclimatization process. Fortunately for me, my lack of fitness made it easy to honour the tradition of Las Tortugas, the club of slow-paced trekkers that I so happily joined on my trip to Nepal in March 2002.Our acclimatization process actually started even before we reached the bottom slopes of Kili. In the days prior, we had ascended Mount Meru, which at over 4,500 metres is one of the highest peaks on the African continent.Mount Meru, a satellite of Kilimanjaro and itself an extinct volcano, is located in Arusha National Park, and while smaller in both height and circumference than its more famous neighbour, it is by all accounts much steeper, and still a worthy challenge for the average trekker. Adding to that challenge great natural beauty and fantastic wildlife, the ascent of Mount Meru was a wonderful trek in and of itself. Led by Moses, the rifle-bearing Park Ranger in charge of leading our way and defending us against potentially dangerous wild animals, we climbed through the savannah, then through rain and cloud forests, before reaching Miriakamba Huts at 2,500 metres, at the end of Day One.Roomy enough to house forty trekkers, the huts were furnished with bunk beds. The relative comfort of sleeping in the hut was unfortunately undermined by the presence amongst us of several snorers (from other groups, of course). I looked forward to my own tent on Kilimanjaro...Day Two on Mount Meru took us through changing vegetation - gone were the tall moss-covered trees, replaced by lower shrubbery and tougher alpine vegetation. We reached Saddle Hut (3,500m) early in the afternoon, and enjoyed our first clear views of Mount Kilimanjaro. What a sight!We took the time to climb Little Meru (3,900m), which afforded us gorgeous views of Kili floating above the clouds, and of Mount Meru's summit rising above us in the distance, beyond the Ash Cone, Rhino Point, and the steep summit ridge. We would be starting our summit push that night, rising at midnight for a 1am departure from Saddle Hut.After an early dinner, I tried to sleep for a few hours. Cheryl and I shared one room, while the guys shared another. The view of Kilimanjaro out our window was breathtaking at sunset. I got up at midnight, feeling anxious and allowing myself to wonder what I was doing there... Leaving the comfort and warmth of my sleeping bag for the brisk cold air of a dark night, to go climb an exposed ridge at altitude, not to mention the few sections of scrambling over slick rock, struck me, for the first time, as borderline ludicrous. I did my best to put these negative thoughts out of my head.We tackled the trail at 1am, and made good progress to reach Rhino Point sometime around 2 or 2:30. The African sky could have served as inspiration for Van Gogh's Starry Night. All above us, all around us, below us towards the horizon, stars, stars, and more stars. Our friend Chris, an astro-physicist, shared his passion for the night sky and identified for us constellations and stars and planets. Mars, glowing bright red, was clearly visible. Shooting stars, some slow, some fast, winked at us wherever we looked. We resumed our march up the mountain. Out of nowhere, a feeling of fatigue and weakness overtook me. I could only focus on the light projected by my headlamp, and struggled to stay awake. I knew that sleeping while walking was not an option, but keeping my eyes open became more and more difficult. The short scrambling sections provided a welcomed adrenalin rush, and the darkness of the night prevented the fear that would have gripped me had I seen the sheer drop below me.A short while later, after a quick hydration break, my stomach rebelled against the sip of cold water and a wave of nausea came over me. I could have kept going, but knew that within minutes, I would be depleted of energy. The thought of three more hours going uphill, followed by a four- to five-hour downhill trek back to Saddle Hut, with no energy and at increasing altitude, was all I needed to make the decision to turn back. Cheryl immediately gave me a Diamox to combat altitude sickness, and after wishing my companions well on their journey, I headed back down, following in the footsteps of Exoud.He and I reached Saddle Hut shortly before 6am. I chatted briefly with Michael, another park ranger in charge of Saddle Hut Camp, then watched a gorgeous sunrise over Kilimanjaro from the comfort of my sleeping bag, perched on the top bunk in the room Cheryl and I shared. Do I regret not reaching the summit of Mount Meru? Not really. I made the best possible decision under the circumstances. The ultimate goal was the summit of Kilimanjaro, and while I now doubted more than ever my ability to reach that summit, I also knew that expending every last ounce of energy on Mount Meru would not serve that goal any better.After a three-hour nap (the first solid sleep of the expedition for me) and a hearty breakfast (appetite is a great sign of recovery from the symptoms of altitude sickness), I awaited the arrival of my companions. They stumbled in around 11am, exhausted and happy, having reached the summit. They were all in relatively good shape, but had suffered from the altitude, and from the exhaustion induced by climbing through the night. Quieter than usual, a haggard look in their eyes, they sat at the lunch table in slow motion, looking a bit shell-shocked. Tom told me, in a barely audible voice, that this was the most exhausted he had ever been.Chez kept a trained eye on all of us, watching for tell-tale signs of altitude sickness. With food and hydration, all of us recovered quickly, and regained enough strength to start going down the mountain. That night, we slept once more at Miriakamba Huts, and were treated the next morning to the awesome sight of the sun rising from behind the slopes of Kilimanjaro.Later that morning we reached the National Park gate at the bottom of Mount Meru. Moses distributed the certificates - they even have "consolation" certificates for those (like me) who only reach the top of Little Meru...! - and we distributed tips to our crew of porters and guides. We said our good-byes to Moses, and got in the Toyota Landcruiser that took us back to Momella Wildlife Lodge.<i>Momella Wildlife LodgeWe had already spent a couple of nights and a day at Momella before our trek to Mount Meru, and we were back for R&amp;R before heading to Kilimanjaro.Momella Wildlife Lodge is located between Mount Meru and Kili, on the valley floor, and is a charming arrangement of white round stucco huts and dark wood square huts, interspersed with pathways and wild flowers surrounded by the quiet expanse of the savannah. The Lodge's claim to fame is the film Hatari, starring John Wayne and Harvey Krueger, which was shot there in 1961. The Lodge's manager and staff are eager to remind guests of this bit of history, in case "John Wayne's Dining Room" and "Harvey Krueger's Bar" were not sufficient evidence. And for those who have never seen the movie (all of us in our group), it is available for viewing in the bar every evening.Upon our return from Mount Meru, we were relieved to learn that hot water was available. After three days on the dusty mountain, that hot shower was fantastic...After lunch, we made our way, driven by Kissali in our Toyota Landcruiser, back to Arusha National Park, for our afternoon Game Drive. I had already been amazed by the sight of giraffes (too many to count, at this point), buffalos, zebras and warthogs, all on the way from the airport to Momella Wildlife Lodge on the night of my arrival in Tanzania a few days earlier. We had seen more giraffes and buffalos, and even baboons, on Mount Meru. We were all looking forward to any sighting of wildlife that afternoon. Seeing a baboon or a warthog in its natural setting, it takes a second or two to realize there is no zookeeper nearby. That afternoon, we saw more giraffes, warthogs, buffalos, baboons. We also saw bushbucks, dik-diks, waterbucks - all of the deer family, crowned cranes, ibises. On Momella Lake, we saw flamingos. Pink, and white and grey, shaking their heads from side to side through the water as they hunted for crustaceans and other snacks, running on water as they took flight. Clapping our hands and making noise, we triggered a wave of flamingos taking off over the lake in a loud clamour of protest.We heard, then saw, a hornbill, feeding its young in their seemingly overcrowded nest, before they both flew away. We saw two male buffalos fighting over a female lurking nearby. Warthogs, with their little tasseled tail that shot straight up as they trotted away, and waterbucks, shared a shallow pond which showed clear signs of drying up.On the way back late in the afternoon, our road was temporarily blocked by a giraffe busy grazing the high branches of trees on either side of the road. It eventually walked away, leaving us to return to Momella in time for the sunset behind Mount Meru.<i>KilimanjaroThe next morning, we set off by Landcruiser towards Londorossi Gate, one of three official entry points to Kilimanjaro National Park. Driving through the Tanzanian countryside, we saw coffee and banana plantations stretching to infinity. It was Saturday, and villagers were busy buying and selling goods at the market. We drove through Londorossi village, which was a tight spread of wooden slums, much poorer in appearance than any other place we had seen to date. We reached the gate, and waited while Exoud and Cheryl took care of the registration process.Children were playing nearby, riding home-made wooden scooters, laughing and showing off their acrobatic prowess as they tumbled on the grass. They smiled for our cameras, and said "Jambo!" and asked for "chocolate?" in the same breath.We eventually got going, driving up a dirt road to take us as high on the mountain as possible before we would start walking. We had lunch outside, at the roadhead, while Exoud and William were busy hiring porters and dividing loads. Two other expedition groups were also having lunch, one of them a group of very serious-looking Norwegians whom I immediately took to be "competition" - not that we were racing anyone up the mountain, but it simply would not do to look amateurish near a group like that one... As it turned out, we were faster up the mountain than they were, and showed more experience around campsites - they tended to leave their gear lying around.Our walk that afternoon took us through dense jungle and rain forest, almost stifling in its luxuriousness. Lightning and loud thunder suddenly reminded me that I had mistakenly packed my rain gear in my kit bag, which was sitting comfortably on the shoulders of a porter somewhere far ahead of me. Great... I willed the rain away. Thunder continued to boom above our heads, but we remained dry. We reached a very crowded Big Tree Camp (aptly named), and I took possession of my own Mountain Hardwear tent. Seeing as I was the only female client in the group, I had the luxury of a tent all to myself, where I could spread my gear, and not worry about keeping anyone else awake (or being kept awake).The next morning, after our customary breakfast of porridge, eggs, bacon, toast and coffee, we filled up our bottles from the bucket of chemically treated spring water, and set off on the trail. Within an hour, we had trekked to an altitude where tall trees suddenly and without warning gave way to low, hardy alpine shrubs. The whole mountain was so massive that it looked like we were hiking in the Scottish countryside of heather-covered rolling hills.For a few hours, we hiked along a steep ridge, within a layer of grey clouds that masked both the valley floor far below us, and the summit above us. We reached our planned lunch site at 10:30, so kept going strong. We reached the edge of the Shira Plateau, a vast expanse of nearly-flat land that was the result of volcanic activity by Shira Peak millions of years ago. Shira Peak is now but a bump on the plateau, hardly worth comparing to Kibo and Mawenzi Peaks, the two predominant peaks of Kili.We reached our camp at Shira 1 that afternoon. We had climbed above the clouds, and the summit crater rose in the distance, still far, and so much higher than our camp. It seemed too far for us to ever reach it on foot, and somehow, we would be there a mere couple of days later. With the sky still a deep blue and long before sunset, the nearly-full moon rose above the summit, huge and bright.As we went into the mess tent for our dinner of pasta and meat sauce (or was it rice and meat and vegetables that night?), the temperature dipped close to the freezing point. Getting out of a warm sleeping bag and into various layers of clothing in the cold morning the next day was a challenge, but very soon, the sun warmed up the mountainside, and the warmer layers were peeled off.That day, we walked across the Plateau, and headed slightly off our direct course to Shira Camp to take in extra acclimatization by climbing Shira Cathedral. We sat on top of the hill to eat our lunch, and witnessed a rare phenomenon when a rainbow-coloured halo ringed the sun in a perfect circle. A beautiful, artful display of nature, just for our benefit.We reached Shira Camp in the afternoon. The route we were following, Shira, had merged with the Machame route during the afternoon, and we were now part of a much larger group of trekkers all making our way towards the summit. Shira Camp was overpopulated, but a unique sense of community develops in such circumstances, where everyone shares a common goal. After all, the only reason we were all at Shira Camp is that we were all on the way to the summit of Kilimanjaro.Our walk the next day had us in sight of the Lava Tower by late morning, and in camp by mid-afternoon. Our tents were pitched right at the base of this hundred metre high tower of black volcanic rock, the result of a long-ago lava flow. We were now very close to the upper cone of the mountain - how had that happened? We had been so far away just the day before. After an extremely windy night - I dreamed of my tent being swept away by the wind, we rose in the morning and got ready to scramble up Lava Tower. It looked daunting to me. We went a little faster than my lungs could sustain without huffing and puffing, but the scrambling was fun! I was happily surprised to not feel any fear of heights. With guidance from Chez, and support from Steve, I made my way to the top along with the others. The top of Lava Tower was not an official goal of the expedition (it was more a way for Chez and the guides to assess our scrambling skills before we attacked the Western Breach), but it still felt good to reach a point where there was nowhere higher to climb.We came back down, had lunch, and headed to Arrow Glacier Camp in the afternoon. It took us an hour and fifteen minutes to reach our last camp from Lava Tower, and we had the afternoon to rest. This was going to be our big night.After settling in and preparing our gear and clothes for our summit climb, Cheryl and I chatted until our early dinner. We were all a little anxious, but feeling healthy and strong. Everyone was looking forward to the night, and this time, I psyched myself up, not out like I had on Mount Meru.I went to my tent after dinner, and managed to sleep for a couple of hours, listening to the songs I had brought with me on my MP3 player. My carefully selected songs included such appropriate titles (debatable, I suppose!) as "We Are the Champions", "I Will Survive", "I Am Superman" (courtesy of my friend Rob), "Beautiful Day", "Elevation", and "Walk On".I stepped out of my tent at 11pm. The sky was clear, the huge full moon ready to burst. The air was crisp and cold, the stars twinkling, and down below on the valley floor, the lights of the town of Moshi shone in the distance. The snow on the flanks of the summit cone seemed iridescent as it glistened in the moonlight. We met in the mess tent, had a bowl of porridge almost in silence. We were all a bit tense, but more confident that we had been on Mount Meru - after all, we all knew what the next few hours would feel like, walking in the cold of the night. We knew the good weather would hold, and we could not ask for more. This was the perfect night to go for the summit.At 11:30pm, we set off. Exoud called my name, and made me walk right behind him. I was the slowest in the group, and my walking behind Exoud would help ensure we maintained a consistent and sustainable pace for everyone. The first three hours went by very fast. I felt amazingly strong - nothing could stop me. I could take in the beauty all around me, looking up periodically to gaze at the sky and the mountain. The stars were still winking at us, and the moon continued to show us the way. We were slow enough to breathe easily in the thin air, as we followed Exoud in a series of tight switchbacks. We reached scrambling sections, where the extra effort and added concentration made me breathe harder. About three hours into the climb, I hit a brick wall - the same one I had hit on Meru. I suddenly felt sleepy, and my eyes were locked into the circle of light projected by my headlamp. The scrambling sections woke me up, but I was keenly aware that I could not afford to falter - we were on steep terrain, and a fall would have meant certain injury - or worse. I asked to take a short break. Exoud obliged, a little grudgingly. He kept telling us to keep going, not to stop. But I had to. Sitting on a rock, I was unexpectedly hit by a wave of nausea. But this time, I knew I had to keep going. I was motivated, had all the right thoughts in my head. Chez gave me a Diamox, I took a small bite of Clif Bar (I needed the energy), and got going. I knew I felt good enough to keep going up. The sleepiness was gone, chased away by my body rejecting the porridge and water absorbed earlier. Besides, looking up was far less scary than looking down - going down the same way we had just come up did not appeal to me at all.Exoud said, "Helen, duende (let's go)", and I followed him up. A few more sections of walking and scrambling, and our guide said, "welcome to the Western Breach". This was the official point of no return - if anyone was to turn back, it was now or never. We all felt good, and would all continue up.More scrambling, and Chris complained he was getting cold. I felt somewhat guilty, as I knew that my slow pace was probably making it difficult for the guys behind me to stay warm. I had to chase that thought out of my head, though. My pace was sustainable, and would enable me to reach the top.Chez asked Exoud if we could stop for tea, and he said "soon, when we get to flatter ground". Five minutes later, we came to a ledge big enough for us to rest and drink tea, but Exoud did not want to stop. Hum... In his wisdom and experience, he knew how close we were to the top of the Breach, and knew how much better that tea would taste up there. How right he was...<i>On the SummitWe took pictures and video in front of the Uhuru Peak sign. Tom and Chris shared a very special father-and-son moment, Alistair simply beamed, and Steve was overjoyed, despite the altitude-induced headache and fatigue. Chez, her first time on Kili, took pictures in her Masai "shuka", and selflessly played photographer for the rest of us. This was September 11, 2003. The afternoon before, I had shared with Chez my experience of September 11, 2001. I appreciated her ability and willingness to listen to my story. I could tell she understood. On the summit, she had the sensitivity and thoughtfulness to suggest that we take a minute of silence, in honour of the victims of September 11. I appreciated her gesture very much. As I sat on a rock, on the summit of Kilimanjaro, gazing at Mawenzi Peak standing solid in the sunrise, the brilliant white glaciers stretching across the crater and lapping at the edges of the summit cone, and the crowd of people exuding joy and relief at having reached the summit, I thought of that day, two years ago. Old memories were being complemented by new ones, and I knew that the anniversary of that date would forever in my mind conjure fascinating images of two radically different events - both of them memorable and solemn.<i>The DescentAfter forty-five minutes or so at the top, we were still feeling high - no pun intended - and Exoud and the Williams had to rally the troops and start us on the way down. The sun was risen, and shining brighter and warmer. We headed towards the Marangu ("Coca-Cola") Route; beyond Stella Point, we would divert to the Mweka Route, a swift way down that would have us at the gate the next morning.The deep scree in the first two or three hours of the descent allowed for fast progress. We encountered hundreds still climbing up towards the summit. I did not envy them. Scree makes descent easy, but those fighting gravity through it reminded me of Sisyphus, the Greek philosopher who spent his life trying to push a boulder up a mountain. The dust raised as we made our way down through the scree made it difficult to breathe, and I found myself wheezing heavily. We stopped for lunch at a crowded camp. I was not hungry, despite having taken in very few calories in the past twelve hours. I had a Coke, and the sugary liquid tasted divine! It fuelled my downhill progress for the rest of the day. My knees and quads were aching, and every rest stop we took on the way down made the resumption of our walk more painful. I was definitely looking forward to reaching camp, and had to make an effort to appreciate the beauty of the trail.We got to Mweka Camp around 2pm - a full 14.5 hours after we had left Arrow Glacier Camp the night before. It was very crowded, with scores of climbers on the way down, accompanied by hundreds of porters. I crawled into my tent, and lay on my back, struggling to breathe. I wondered whether the huffing and puffing of the previous night, along with the cold, had given me some kind of chest infection. Since the summit had been reached, and we were at most three hours from the bottom, I would take care of whatever ailed me when we reached the hotel the next day. As it turned out, I suffered from a bad overdose of dust, and felt much better by nightfall.In the morning, Chez left us early to go sign us out of Kilimanjaro National Park before the other hundreds of trekkers arrived at the gate. In her absence, I distributed the tips to porters and guides. The camp was dismantled quickly, and immediately after breakfast, we set off for the last hours of our trek.The scenery was beautiful - probably some of the most beautiful we had seen on the entire trip. Our knees were screaming with pain, but no one complained. Our pace was reasonably quick, and yet, our progress was interrupted every few minutes by cries of "porters!", who would pass us almost running down the trail, still carrying their loads. We reached the gate within two and a half hours, faster than expected. I bought a T-Shirt ("Kilimanjaro 2003, Just Done It"), we received our certificates (no "loser" certificate this time!), and chatted with a group of South Africans while waiting for our transportation. We then walked another kilometer outside the Park to go meet with the Landcruisers. The trip was ending very quickly...<i>ArushaWe were taken to the Impala Hotel in Arusha, a very nice town labeled the centre of tourism for Tanzania. The first shower in a week - three shampoos and loads of hot water later, my hair finally lost its cloaking of dust and dirt. My feet were blistered, and my legs were sore, but I felt great. Donning clean clothes, we all met for our last lunch together. The cold beer - Safari Lager - tasted wonderful!Just a few hours later, the guys, Alistair, Tom, Chris, and Steve, were all taken to the airport for their flight home. They were all great companions and each added flavour to the group, and I am happy I had the pleasure of sharing this fantastic experience with them. We will be keeping in touch, and I hope to have the pleasure of seeing them again soon. What summit will it be next time?After sending some email, Chez and I met for dinner and a drink at the hotel. We relived the trip, discussed our summit night, and talked about future plans. It was great to make such a good friend on the trip, and I am sure we will be traveling together again. Chez's work with the Juniper Trust (www.thejunipertrust.com) is very inspiring, and I plan on getting involved.The hotel was very comfortable, and the bed felt wonderful, after even just a week of camping. We had breakfast the next morning, and while Chez went into town to sort out her own travel plans, I spent an hour or so repacking everything. We connected again in time to go shopping and then have lunch in Arusha. I wish I had had more time in the town, just to absorb more of the atmosphere and meet more people. It will have to wait until next time...Back at the hotel, the sun was now shining, the temperature was rising, the pool looked so inviting... but it was time to go. I said a sad good-bye to Chez. One of the great joys of this trip for me was the forging of new friendships, especially with Chez. We hit it off right from the start, and I am sure we will meet again somewhere in the world. As the Ethiopian Airlines plane took off with me as its only passenger, we climbed through the layer of light clouds, and Mount Meru's dark peak rose, right next to my window. I looked across the aisle through the other window, and the snows of Kilimanjaro were just there, the summit close enough to touch. And so my last memory of this beautiful mountain is that cone covered with patches of snow, almost as high as the plane, so close that it looked within my reach. It was - I had already reached it.
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/6/1224383520/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/6/1224383520/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/6/1224383520/tpod.html Sun, 19 Oct 2008 10:01:42 -0400 My Walden for a Day: Hilton Falls

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Halton Hills, Ontario, Canada

If you're reading this, you've probably been to my TravelPod before, and you've therefore been trained to expect that I'm somewhere far-flung and exotic, with unknown languages, exciting new cultures, or, at the very least, a whole different way of ordering coffee.I might surprise you this once. I'm much closer to home than usual, seeing that I drove a mere 75km from Toronto today to find an escape in nature in Halton Hills.This local Conservation Area is home to Hilton Falls, a pretty waterfall nestled in the middle of a cedar and maple forest, easily accessible by well-travelled and well marked hiking trails. We're talking pretty light hiking here, for families pushing babies in strollers, and folks who think that Crocs are hiking footwear. But despite traffic slightly heavier than I usually prefer, this area is absolutely charming. At this time of year, the maples are shedding their yellow and red leaves, while the cedars and pines are standing guard, keeping their green needle coats for the winter.Equipped with my camera, iPod, and Blackberry - not to mention my Asus Eee PC - which made me more of a techno-geek than a hiker, I still dressed for hiking (hiking pants, light hiking shoes, fleece top, and hiking pole), if only because, well, I'm a gear-head, and... what else would I wear? I took the path slightly less travelled, the part of the Bruce Trail which goes through the Conservation Area, and right along the top of the escarpment overlooking the Hilton Falls Reservoir.I was alone for that part of the trail (mercifully), and was rewarded with peace, quietude, and beautiful fall views of red, orange, yellow foliage across the reservoir reflecting in its deep clear water. Crooked cedar trees, moss-covered stones, and fallen leaves make up this incredibly beautiful part of the Bruce, before joining back with the regular paths of the Conservation Area.Finding just the right moss-covered rock, I sat and ate my lunch, listening to old classic jazz - the kind of music that no one I know listens to, except the very knowledgeable DJ's who work at Jazz 91.1. Some early Ella, deep mellow Billie Holiday, light-hearted Art Tatum on the piano, the eight-minute version of "Take the 'A' Train", and "Swing, Swing, Swing", which made me just want to skip and dance my way down the path.I've never read Thoreau and have only a slim idea of what he wrote about in "Walden". But if it has anything to do with finding oneself in nature, well, I dig Thoreau. Every step reminds me of the many many steps I took in much more dramatic and difficult terrain last year in Peru and Bolivia, and yet, walking off pavement, off sidewalks, on rocks, dirt, leaves, unevenly, protecting ankles and planning the next step unconsciously, just feels great. The air is crisp and very cool - Canada in the fall, sunny, cold, with dramatic colours and beauty all around. Just a mere half hour from the largest city in the country.Hiking away from the Reservoir on the main path, I took another turn back onto the Bruce Trail. It's more interesting - more natural, less "path" and more "trail", and while clearly marked with blue chevrons every few trees, I love the occasional feeling of, "hum... where's that next chevron...? And where was the last one I saw?". Pretty much impossible to get lost or even disoriented here - plus, a loud shout would likely draw a dozen replies - but fun to imagine that I'm in the real "wilderness". It's been too long.A few twists of the trail later, I came along the creek that leads, further downstream, to the beaver dams and marsh area. I've hiked that trail before, and while it has its own charm, I find the absolute flatness of the terrain depresses me (no pun intended) - remember, I'm Mountain Girl, the higher the better. Anything flat like that is missing something, as far as I'm concerned. (I love Toronto, but it's way too flat...)Following the creek upstream, I heard the noise of the falls for the first time, mixed with the warm sounds of jazz from my iPod. I started seeing a lot more people, children held firmly by the hand by cautious parents, dogs on short leashes. I reached the other side of the falls. It was majestic, and impressive, despite its relatively short stature. The water flowed fresh and clean, bubbling along the top and spilling over the rocky escarpment dramatically, dropping into a mini-whirlpool at the bottom. It never stops, never ends. It can be very light in the dry days of summer, but no risk of that this year. I crossed the creek a few meters upstream from the falls, carefully stepping on wet stones, holding on to my camera with one hand, and making cautious pole placements with the other. Slow and steady, no need to even risk slipping. On the other side - picnic tables and a campfire where a family was roasting hot dogs and marshmallows. The smell of wood burning mingling in the crisp air, the smoke quickly dissipating in the breeze. The sun was still high in the sky, but its warmth barely filtered through to the forest floor. I sat at a picnic table and pulled the Eee out of my bag. Someone had left birdseed on one end of the picnic table in four little piles, and a chickadee flew in for a quick snack then disappeared in the cedar tree in front of me. I kept writing and all of sudden felt a "whoosh!" near my left ear, and saw the same little chickadee land in the bird seed again. I think he was trying to tell me to stay away from his meal, and dive-bombed me. Cute. At least, he didn't leave any presents behind.People walked by with their dogs, well-behaved labs, yappy poodles, and in-control German shepherds. Everyone - adults, children, dogs - happy, relaxed.<i>Walden; or, Life in the Woods. Thoreau had it right...Post-script: Following my lovely escapade into nature, I then spent nearly three hours in bumper-to-bumper traffic trying to get back to Toronto. Irony, friends, irony...
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/5/1217179800/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/5/1217179800/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/5/1217179800/tpod.html Sat, 16 Aug 2008 12:34:28 -0400 The Toronto-Paris-Bruxelles-Paris-Toronto mad dash over a long weekend

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Paris, France

I'm sitting on the ground, technically on the sidewalk of Les Champs Elysées, with more than 3 hours to wait before the cyclists of the Tour de France make their entrance into Paris, and the sprinters battle for the last stage of this year's grand event. I've already been here for more than 3 hours. I'd been told to get here early, and I knew it would be required, so I was prepared to come and wait - hoping for good weather. I slept in this morning, despite my best intentions, and left the hotel at 9:30am.Saturday morning in Paris was lovely. The sun was timid, and the city quiet, just starting to become slightly animated. I felt like I was peeking behind a curtain, observing someone as they slowly stretch, yawn and wake up in the morning. Walking towards the Opera Garnier, I then found the Boulevards des Capucines - absolutely beautiful and inviting - and headed towards La Madeleine. I stopped to pick up a croissant and coffee at a little coffee bar next to the Olympia. From La Madeleine, I followed the Rue Royale to Place de la Concorde. There were barricades all around the huge circle with the obelisk in its centre, and I could see all the Tour infrastructure already set up in that area. Policemen all around were guarding access, and I realized that I wouldn't have full access to where I wanted to be, not without a "batch". The nice-looking policeman directed me back up the Rue Royale, towards La Madeleine, and told me to "try down there". Off I went - walking at a good clip, dressed in a garish Tour de France yellow T-shirt and white capri pants - I wouldn't be caught dead dressed like that at home! - and headed down the Rue Faubourg St-Honoré, taking the opportunity to do some fancy window shopping along the way. The next street I came across was also barricaded, and the one after that was the Rue de l'Elysée, where the French President (Sarkozy) lives. No, they didn't let me go down that street either.Eventually, I came to the Ave de Marigny, which was open. I got to the Champs Elysées through there, and suddenly found myself in the Tour de France. Large tents - yellow and white - were set up in the distance, where the stands would be set up. A few official vendors were also already open, and I (of course) bought another T-shirt, this one with this year's Tour map on the back; a hat; and a key chain. Satisfied with my purchases, I decided to find myself a spot right away. It was 10:15am. I found an open spot right along the barricade, such that there would be no one in front of me. I've been chatting with a group standing next to me. A nice family - Dad, daughter Orlane, and eventually other Dad and son Damien. I think the two Dads are brothers or brothers-in-law, if I heard correctly. All from the Ardennes (near Belgium - the scene of epic WWII battles). They seem very impressed and amused that someone would come to Paris from Canada to see a bike race, and they're very friendly. We know we are in for a long wait. Typically, the riders don't enter Paris until about 4: 30. That's it for now - more later, probably after it's all over and done....
]]> http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/my_travels/1217204820/tpod.html http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/my_travels/1217204820/tpod.html#comments Travel Blogs http://www.travelpod.com/travel-blog-entries/hsb/my_travels/1217204820/tpod.html Tue, 05 Aug 2008 20:27:39 -0400 These are all the countries (minus a few islands) I have visited to date. Sadly, TravelPod didn't always exist...

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Brussels, Belgium

Summer trip
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