010908 - Jordan to France

010908 – Amman to Lille

Following the argument about room charges, we piled into the taxi-van for the trip to the airport. In stark contrast to my arrival in the Middle East, this driver not only took his time but appeared to revel in it. I'd been a little worried about my check-in time, and he was doing little to ease my anxiety. 35 minutes, 5 Dinar and a delivery to the wrong terminal later, I followed the directions of a police officer and ran to the adjacent building. Check-in was directed by startlingly pleasant security personel.
From here, the suprises continued to escalate.

My check-in was through business class, as it was drawing particularly close to departure time.
Progresssion to the gate required no less than 3 security checks (6-7 if you include the ticket checks and passport control), I had to relieve myself of anything metal twice and the amount of x-rays that my gear would have been exposed to has me thinking I may need to invest in lead underwear.

Once in the lounge it was an eye-glazing wait, they'd already ripped my ticket so I couldn't go out to the gift shops and buy the last few little pieces of Jordan. iPod out and Sneaky Sound System teamed up with Ministry of Sound to relieve my boredom. French, Arabic and English announcements punctuated the imminent departure and eventually my plane was called.

“Passport”
“Bonjour”
“Seat on the Left”
“Cheeky Bugger! He put me in an Emergency Isle!”
~GRIN~ I could almost kiss those check-in security officers

The next 5 hours alternated between very pretty french hostesses handing out drinks and turkey sandwiches, the lights dimming and brightening, my marvelling at the amount of leg-room but how narrow the seats were (I have NOT put on that much weight...) and attempts at avoiding another viewing of Kung Fu Panda.
Despite the narrow seats, Air France is a living Saint. Considering the last few flights I've had..
The leg room was enough to stretch out and do the variety of exercises prescribed for long flights,
The other passengers were not smelly,
The other passengers seemed to acknowledge your personal space, they were even respectful when trying to pass you,
The staff ACTUALLY SMILED and with the few words it took to ask for your beverage of preference, they struck you as charming,
Having stepped in from a street of a Middle Eastern Kingdom, it was immediately revitalising and refreshing. If I'd boarded this plane in Cairo, there is a genuine chance that I might have tried to handcuff myself to the seat.

The only possible gripes I could have about the flight was that the chairs were a little narrow in the waist and that my gentle submersions into sleep were carefully divided up with immediate clear wakefullness, filled with a panic that can only be described as “THE TRIBE IS BEING ATTACKED BY SABRE-TOOTH TIGERS”. Who knows, maybe I was snoring and the guy next to me held my nose.

As an international ambassador, Air France is a marvel. Even the crying babies seemed somehow muffled, absorbed into the ambient sounds and the deep hum of the engines.

My arrival in Paris continued the lucky-streak of travel. I managed to get in front of the pack after the first passport check, bolted past the race-leader on the travellator and I think I was the only one from my flight on the train to immigration.
The trek through the airport is incredible, it really felt like I had traversed a small city in getting central terminal. The layout in the airport is fairly well signed, but not intuitive in its layout. Lifts in particular were hard to spot. The staff were mostly pleasant and the immigration officer even smiled.
Having performed quite well in the race to passport control, I took my time getting my luggage. It is the little things like stopping to freshen up in a FIRST WORLD TOILET that makes a travellers day. It had toilet paper, it had towel or hot air hand drier, it had soap and automatic taps, IT HAD A TOILET SEAT!

I think I could almost have cried..

Having checked in through bussiness class, my pack was already on the carousel by the time I got there. Kissing a Jordanian Security Guard once again crossed my mind.

It was about 10 minutes later that the penny-dropped.

Things are expensive here.
REALLY expensive..
Having been used to paying about $1.50AU for a lunch to big to finish, I was a little shocked at some of the prices.

It cost be $16 for a coffee and 3 crossaunts.
That in mind, IT WAS REAL COFFEE. Overly milky, not particularly strong, they'd gotten my order wrong, but at least it wasn't burnt. I was almost kissing the cup with every sip.

About half way through my second small (Petit!) cup, a lady who I'd helped upstairs with her ticket sat down next to me. She was from Peru and was meeting her daughter who was studying in France. We had some light conversation while waiting for our respective departures, I waited on for the extra 20 minutes after she had taken her train.

Now it's just down to the long wait for my train to Lille, the attendant had been very specific in her instructions for my train and once again she was very pleasant.
God, I love being back in civilisation!



Paris - Lille

Having finished my breakfast of Crossaunt and Coffee, I ventured down to the platform. Playing a little Monkey-See Monkey-do, I stuck one end of my ticket into a small machine at the enterance to the platform and wandered down. There was a little confusion when trying to board the train that was at the platform, the guard simply looking at my ticket and repeating “wait”.
I went a little cross-eyed when no further explanation was offered until the young chinese guy, who had I'd just given a light to, elaborated in pretty good english that I was on the next train.
A few minutes later I'd perched myself for the 5 minute wait, savouring a little solitude with the noise and bustle of the station clunking away in the background.
*do dah dah-dah* something in French... “Lille” at the end
*clunk clunk* ~whine~ here's my train

The Chinese guy pointed out which carriage I was allocated and the correct end to get in. The gaggle of 20 or so people wandered up the stairs and down the isle, I found my seat with the other half already occupied by a lady pretending to sleep. The seating had ample leg room, the train was quiet and in all very comfortable. These are the kinds of trains that you could traverse half of the world in and still be in a respectable condition at the other end.

As it ended out, the Chinese guy from the platform was seated on the opposite side of the isle. When I started to repack my day-pack, he noticed my chinese notes and struck up a conversation. Ling is a Transport and Logistics student in Lille, on his way back to university after the summer holidays at home in Xiang Hi. For the rest of the trip I got to practice my incredibly poor Mandarin while he corrected my pronounciation. Ling explained some of the finer points I would need to know for my trip into Lille and how he had found his time studying there. In all it was a very pleasant trip. I took a few breaks in my Mandarin practice to watch the stunning country-side fly past the window.

Cruising into Lille, I got an SMS from Justine to meet her at “Q” on the platform. This ended out to be immediately opposite where I exited the train. Hellos, hugs and kisses on the cheeks later, we were on our way.

Justine had changed very little since I had seen her last. Still very short and possibly more athletic than when she was in Australia, she set up an impressive pace on the way to the stairs and across the square outside. She started to take a bee-line towards some nearby buildings before performing a double-take of my backpack and heading to a nearby escalator. Passing me a small ticket on the way, she appologised saying that she would usually walk home but would take the subway on account of my backpack.
The subway enterance was clean and efficient, with no noticable choke-points despite being reasonably crowded, the trains being smaller than in Perth and reminding me of the style used in Germany. Two or so stops later, we exited a station very similar to the one we entered and wandered the handful of blocks to her building.
The weather was absolutely spectacular, a beautiful clear blue sky and a mild temperature with a gentle breeze and no excess humidity.

While entering her apartment block and taking the break-neck speed up the narrow and sharp stair-well, Justine began to explain that it was a very old building, that the rent was very cheap and displayed her pride at how close it was to the city centre. Her domicile was on the top of the 3 floors, she seemed very accustomed to the climb.

Entering the house, I dumped my bag in the enterance-way and got the short tour.
The home was built just over 100 years ago and had been renovated many times. This floor was composed of a short corridor with doorways on the left and right, just after the coat-rack and shoes. Leading to a generously sized living room/Justine's cousins room (divided by a curtain) and the short hall-way to the kitchen, respectively. At the end of the entery-way was the door to Justine's room, on the side of which was another small living room that housed Justine's sofa, computer table, closet and, for the next few days, me.
Several things that struck me as odd about this flat was that the short hallway to the kitchen was arranged to contain the toilet in what I would have otherwise mistaken as a small cupboard. Off to the side of the frugal kitchen was the bathroom, opposite the bathroom door was the kitchen-table under a large window that might have once looked down on an Atrium. Now it only saw brick-walls, a slightly grey sky above and supposedly a skylight far below.

With the immediate formalities satisfied, I went to have a shower while Justine ducked out to the street to get some things for a late breakfast. On her return and my successful sanitisation, we sat in the kitchen as Justine prepared drinks and light refreshments in the form of delicious pastries. We started to discuss what we would do for the rest of the day while transferring to the main living area. A clunk at the door, quick hellos and kisses later, I met Justine's cousin. It took three attempts, a confused look and then a request for a “short-version” before Adelaide's name was explained as being the same as the city. I gave an appologetic look and repeated the name in the most profound Ocker-twang while asking her to forgive me for not being able to pronounce it properly. Both girls assured me that it was fine, once they'd stopped laughing.
Adelaide was quite a bit taller than Justine, having brown hair and darker eyes but still having a noticable family resemblance. She was studying Law and had just finished an exam. We joked and laughed for a while before everyone made excuses and we departed, allowing Adelaide to study for her next exam.

Making our way into the city centre, Justine showed me the convoluted lay-out and the main features of this small city including the cafe where Adelaide's bother, Frederick, works. We wandered away from the blue sky, through a nearby shopping mall, allowing me to buy a cheap canvas belt to replace my broken one from home. Happy with the purchase, we exited as I finished tightening my overly loose pants to a more suitable and publicly appropriate style of attire.
Just as I finished the last wiggle of adjustment in my now comfortable trousers, we almost turned back to ask for a refund. My new belt seemed to come with the terrible price of inclement weather. Dodging the rain and cold for the next 2 days, I have found my new “Rain-belt” to be most comfortable and convinient, but it also appears to come with profound powers of summoning cold winds and rain that varies from light drizzle to almost driving. As I have been coming to the end of my course of tablet to treat the lingering “nasty-butt”, the theory has occurred to me that it may be a cosmic link of meterological phenomina to my gastronomical conditions.
With Great Power comes Great Responsibility.
I must be cautious of a diet too heavy in chilli, beans or raw onion. A strong Tacco could run the risk of wiping France off of the map.

With me struggling to contain my new-found powers, we made a series of brief stops on the way home to source some wine and ingredients for lunch. With Adelaide studying in the living room, Justine treated me to five different cheeses, french-bread, delicious little tomatoes with carrot and a home made dip. We sipped cheap red-wine while waiting for the vegitable pie (Pait?) to cook. It was a stunning and most amazing lunch, I ate suprisingly little but felt much better by the end of it. Filled and miraculously revitalised, Justine admitted that it was a ~little~ more ellaborate than usual. This varied assortment of flavours were usual reserved for dinner or when entertaining guests, I was suitably over-whelmed.

Having been fed and watered, we departed to see the rest of the city. Entering the “old city” I was astounded at the shops, the people traversing their day-to-day lives in simple but elegant cloathing, the broad palate of smells and flavours. I was appologising for much of the afternoon for the light rain, adjusting and re-adjusting the magical belt to try and find the correct setting. Justine was suitably amused. We had coffee in a street-side cafe and bought some yohgurt and blank discs for sending my photos home.

We walked through part of the city to find the main park, that has a small but free zoo to one side and an ancient citidel in the centre. There was nothing too ellaborate about this park or the one we saw shortly later, but both of them displayed a purpose that had never been forgotten. It was uncrowded, open, free green-space, gifted to the people of this country. Small groups of families with children walked through, joggers bounding nearby between the fortified walls, an occasional soldier walking past with a fixed gaite. There need not be a reason to use this place, it was a part of your life and an essential piece of your day. At home, I find the need to drive past the ocean, or the river, or King's park. That is often a trip that requires effort or a diversion. Here, these parks are what you rely on, the essential route to get home or have a distraction from your day.

Returning after an amazing afternoon of seeing french life in a beautiful city, I started my photos copying before an afternoon nap.

That evening, Justine, Adelaide and I met with one of their friends from a particularly active sport that Justine plays called “Horse-Ball”. My understanding is that it is a mix between soccer/football/basket ball where two teams throw a ball about the size of a volley-ball, trying to get it through the hoop at the other end of a field. All of this is done on horse-back, requiring dramatic dives down the side of your saddle to pick up the ball, which has loose straps looped about it.
Dinner was a great deal of fun, it was at a restaurant that was also a small brewery. I was lucky enough to have a Blonde beer and a sampling plate of local cuisine comprised of a cheese fondu, a dish made of bone-marrow, small pieces of meat in a cold ale jelly and a type of small sandwhich. Costing a little more than I was comfortable with, I insisted we all share a desert. After a long heated discussion in French, the girls decided on a small chocolate cake with custard and ice-cream that was powerfully rich, increadibly delicious and offered a suitable diversion for me to pay a sizeable portion of the bill. Justine mounted an impressive resistance to my payment, but was noticably relieved at the prospect. I'd not had an overly expensive meal, but I still wish I could have afforded to pay for everyone.

Wandering the streets shortly after our gastronomical delights, the rain had stopped in response to the meal. Adelaide said goodbyes and kisses before retreating home to study before going to bed. Justine and her friend (who's name I still struggled to catch) decided to make use of the remaining funds and go for a drink somewhere.
Being a Monday night, most of the bars and restaurants are closed in France. Finding quite a trendy place about 10 minutes from the restaurant, we settled down. Having spent some time in the city centre, I can see what Melbourne is attempting to emmulate. The integration of daily life with history and modern trends would be completely intoxicating if you were fully immersed. The clothing and interaction of the citizens is something that is fun, seemless and sophisticated that demonstrates a type of classiness that I've not found in Australia. I know that many people love Melbourne or Sydney for these features, but I have never really noticed it in either place. While not wanting to speak poorly of any part of my home country, here I can “see what they are trying to do”. If I were to be unkind and unfair, in Melbourne the streets of small shops that many people love and enjoy simply struck me as buildings that needed a good clean, decent wiring and proper construction for the ceiling and walls, even the expensive designer shops either had an interior or exterior that others would describe as “rustic” but I would more likely compare to my Dad's shed on the farm. In Lille, there was a quality of not trying too hard, having a careful and almost delicate simplicity. Ancient buildings that didn't look like soot, old facades that spoke of wealth and decident times and now housed businesses that embraced their surroundings, belonging in them rather than simply utilising old husks as shelter.
Like I said, I am being unkind. I have never understood Melbourne's appeal, apart from the people there. Here I can see what they mean.

Having failed at the first bar, of only one staff member and it being very full, we went across the road and had Mojito's at a small pub. Justine and her friend (I really need to find out her name..) talked about how these places belong in daily life, it being common to meet there with friends on the way home for a soft-drink or just to sit and talk. It really struck me that what we use cafe's for in Perth is what they use pubs and bars for here. I have yet to figure out in which facet of life a cafe fits in here..

About an hour of laughter and mixing up our drinks for every last drop, we had goodbyes and kisses. I let having insisted that Justine's friend (who's name I had remembered, but now I had forgotten) come to perth some time.

Returning home and quick hellos to Adelaide, Justine and I retreated to joke around for the rest of the evening. I pulled up photos of my trip to date and showed off photo's of Jenny. Justine seemed impressed by the one of my army uniform. I was amazed at some of the experiences that Justine had never spoken about before. Her photos are a lot more active than she lets on, showing her horse and the game Horse-Ball in all it's glory. Mountain tops with her family scaling them, skiing, horse riding through Iceland, her family learning how to para-sail off of mountian tops. Morocco, Tanzaneir, Scotland.. She has spent some time in Iceland and is continually invited back to help with one of the horse groups. Justine is currently planning on taking a year off to go to Canada and possibly Iceland.

At a suitable hour, I made up my bed, said goodnight and set the last of my photos to burn to disc. It had been a long, far day and I was certainly richer for every minute of it.