Mandi and Elly

Not gonna lie, do you want to skip Venus de Milo and get a McDonalds?

madavocado — Sun, 02 Aug 2009 17:57:15 +0000

One would think that seeing the Mona Lisa would be the highlight of our day. One, however, would be incorrect, as the highlight of our day was, in fact, a man leaning over to Mandi as I made derisive comments about a fellow European History student and saying, “do you understand what she’s saying? She speaks so fucking fast.” Laughter ensued. Other gegs included seeing this charming painting http://www.makikoitoh.com/images/estres2.jpg and Mandi spilling delicious Orangina all over the Metro, sparking an impromptu chorus of “Last Resort” from both of us. Always keeping things in perspective.

We also eschewed the Eiffel tower with a firm hand, opting instead for a charming Ferris Wheel ride. Excellent times. Not so excellent times=swine flu.

I am wearing my colonialist hat. Yes, it is I, Eleanor.

madavocado — Sat, 01 Aug 2009 15:19:06 +0000

Due to a clerical error we are spending the next three nights in an en suite appartment. Oooh yes. But worry not, bad luck continues to plague us as I appear to be ill. Alas, dear readers, this blog post must be cut short, as we are now heading for the Latin Quarter. I suspect this Parisian studentland will have more to offer than the Holylands.

Down and out in Paris…

madavocado — Fri, 31 Jul 2009 16:58:20 +0000

After making the foolish mistake of putting my baggage through a baggage scanner, I find myself without a passport, phone or debit card. Quite the disaster, I’m sure you’ll agree. Suddenly the intrepid travellers simply want to be at home with their mothers. But we must soldier bravely on for the British consulate will not even open its doors until Monday afternoon. Oh, to be a foreign diplomat.

In other news, Mandi left out an important detail in her recollection of what shall hereafter be known as the “Hakuna Matata” incident. What was really quite amusing was that-while Mandi was unable to respond in Swahili to these charming salesmen-yours truly shocked them by being able to do so. Oh yes, they were not expecting that. But then, we were not expecting an opportunistic thief to ruin our best laid plans in one clean swoop.

The Moulin Rouge is a lot less outrageous upclose….

madavocado — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 15:54:56 +0000

…especially when two dozen OAP’s mill around, commenting mildy on the good quality of fabric used in the costumes….

in other news, Rome must wait for another day. All the trains were massively booked up, we leave for Nice instead on Saturday morning. Thatès spontaneous travel I guess.

Highlight of the day, however, was when we were stopped by two men trying to sell us chains….

“from Africa, yes?” one eagerly asked me.

“Ireland,” Eleanor immediately interjects.

“I doubt that,” says the other man. Perceptive, I think, yet to speak.

“Kenya, you come from Kenya, right?” the first guy asks me.

“Wrong,” I reply, pulling my hand away as he (shiftily?) tries to slip this bracelet on. Dear me, I think wearily. Tourist trappers aren`t what they used to be in the old days.

“I`m never wrong,” is the confident reply. I begin to realise that there may be no polite way out of this conversation. First guy seems to sense this and takes pity on me.

“Beautiful lady, I`ll see you soon when you come home to Kenya with me.”

“I’m not Ken-”

“Hakunamata, you seen lion king? don’t worry about it!”

He walks away. Eleanor and I are left with our money, passports and posessions but with a little less security in our cultural identities. Sad times.

Somehow, Parisian smog seems so much more ~chic

madavocado — Thu, 30 Jul 2009 08:23:30 +0000

Well! Eleanor and I have arrived in Pareee at last. We have taken to being obnoxious Westerners and constantly referring to it as Pareee. (Occasionally gay pareee, at which point, we giggle like six year olds, don’t judge). We do this amongst ourselves, and not where actual Parisians would hear this for fear of betraying our tourist status (says she strolling through Paris in flip flops with a bum bag. Oh, denial, oh strife).

I will now go onto list the events (dramas) of our time from the moment I closed the door of mom’s car:

Airport security which was the biggest disaster in the history of minor disasters, began when Belfast International decided to change the layout of the ENTIRE airport after the check in desks. This immediately throws both of us, being the frequent fliers that we are. “Liquids, gels or pastes” the lady in uniform says. Less of a question, more of a demand. Startled, and, at least for the moment, unable to recapture our carefree independence and strongheadedness, we meekly comply. Out comes my dozen or so small bottles, something similar for Eleanor.

“Yous’ll hafta get ridda some-a them bahttles, girls,” she says, and I struggle to maintain composure and a sense of seriousness in the face of her terracotta skin buttery hair. A battle of what could never be said to be wits, ensues. Remarkably, we lose. From the dozen bottles I came with, I procede through security with five – perfume, sun block, deo, deo spray, vaseline.

We visit Boots in duty free, soon thereafter. I have never found it so painful to throw anything in the bin. Oh strife, oh antibacterial hand gel, oh moisturiser.

Paris embraces us with not quite open arms when we get off and find that the money Eleanor attempted to load onto our shared pre-paid mastercard did not, in fact, load. I begin to regret ever trying to be super safe and not taking my bank cards. We spend the (expensive) train ride from Airport – Paris with hands on foreheads and sighing every five minutes. Native parisians are less than impressed. A headache begins to cloud my perspective. Everything seems more stressful than it really is, including the ticket machines that do not take notes (what tourist has Euro coins on them?!), the corner-shop style vending machines which hold everything from loaves of bread to condoms and cigarette skins but have three keypads to enter your selection. What is that all about.

Staved off horrible first night migraine with an entire litre of water and a crepe from nearby stand. Very very satisfying. Finished the night on a somewhat neutral tone as we were still not sure about money situation.

However, said money situation was resolved not twenty minutes ago when Eleanor, in the seat next to me, managed to wrestle the money loading system into absolute submission. Cog of corporate machine – zero. Mandi&Elly, 1.

Today, Eleanor tells me that we’ll take it easy – Moulin Rouge, Notre Dame and many many cafes. Camera is loaded for all those pictures that nobody will want to see. Perfection. Perfection on a 25 degree day in Paris. I hope you’re all wildly jealous.

Mandi&Elly.

And so it begins…

madavocado — Wed, 29 Jul 2009 11:25:17 +0000

I find myself sitting in Mandi’s living room, while she-after much nagging from yours truly-showers. As you can no doubt imagine, I am in a state of anguish about my fellow traveller’s failure to have photocopied her passport and committed her banking details to memory. But one mustn’t grumble, for soon we shall be in Paris (and then Rome and then Florence and then Budapest and then Berlin). Not gonna lie, I am terribly excited. Some may suggest that we use this day to plan what exactly we are going to do whilst in all these splendid European cities, but I perfer to think that such a military approach would be at odds with our relaxed continental approach to travelling. Or something like that.