Strange Notations From a Laborious Life

 I’m going to Europe in September. I’m flying out early in the month to avoid the coming election. I don’t like putting my political views in my blog as everyone is different and have their own reasons for the way they vote and and if your persuasion if different to mine, I don’t care. But I must say, as a working class Australian the thought of watching a Luddite like Tony Abbott climbing the dais on election night to accept the adulation of the right-wing crowd after a land-slide election victory is way too much for this little black duck to bare. But that’s just me. I’m sure most in the community will be happy.

 But, as I disagree with way the political wind is blowing I will depart for foreign climes and leave the analysis and experience for others and face the music when I get back after six weeks.

 I will be spending a week in London then doing one of those quickie tours of Europe. Thirty countries in four days! No, not really but we are doing a loop through western Europe, Holland, Belgium, Austria, Italy, Switzerland, Germany, France. Not sure if I have left anything out but as it is a whirlwind twelve days it would not surprise me if I have forgotten something.

 We will be jumping off the tour in Paris, spending four days there and that is where my trouble begins! We have another three weeks to burn after that and my mind has been racing and boggling as to how and where to spend those days.

I decided that I may hire a car, head north towards Calais cutting across the old western front between Amiens and St Quentin, the stomping ground of the old Australian Imperial Force and a land where tens of thousands of Australians still lay. I could not visit the region without seeing the grave of my great uncle who died of wounds at Grevillers and is buried in the British war cemetery.

 From there, my first thoughts wandered towards catching a ferry from Calais to Dover, the white cliffs of that English shore being a tempting vista to refresh one’s palate until the spectre of sea sickness waved it’s ugly wand above my head and my mind turned towards Eurostar, the channel tunnel train for our journey back to mother England. This is where it gets complicated.

 My lovely partner, Linda has decided we are better off dispensing with our travel agent as she feels we can do it better and cheaper than those experts at Flight Centre. This may be true but trying to create an itinary after our stay in Paris is turning out to be annoying and I do feel that any extra charge from the travel agent is worth the price when frustration of trying to do it yourself is factored into the the equation.

 The websites are confusing and the Eurostar train can’t be booked this far ahead, at least that is what their website seems to indicate. Factor in that I really don’t know where the heck to go in Paris to pick up cars or to even hire one and the divine help of the travel agent seems to be a Godsend. But convincing Linda is another task altogether. The most appealing thing is the certainty that a travel agent provides. I may have to try and talk my erstwhile partner around. Even if it is only for my peace of mind.

 A big decision will follow in England. Linda wants to go to Edinburgh in Scotland and that is something I am comfortable with as I have been there before and it is a lovely city but time constraints may start to crowd us after that. A decision on whether we go to Ireland or not will have to be made.

 So, that will be my September/October dealt with and I am looking forward to it of course but am just a little weary of the intricacies of organising these last couple of weeks. It will all work out in the end I’m sure.

 For now I will return to perusing websites and creating itineraries and wish you all the best on this lovely autumn day in Canberra.

 Until next time.