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Seven hours, it took, to plan September’s trip. From the end of a late breakfast that drew to a close at noon to the time I started to rumble and think about dinner, clicking forwards and backwards on the net buying tickets and booking hotels.

So, it looks like this. Leave on the 13th. London to Paris by Eurostar, then a TGV down to Provence to spend three days with dad. From there, up to Lyon, then on to Geneva where we (Paul and I) change trains and head down to Rome. It’s an overnight service, and we have beds in a private compartment. We’re going to be like Bond and Major Amassova in The Spy Who Loved Me, although hopefully the fight with Jaws won’t be a part of our journey.

Four days in Rome and one in Pompei, then a train across country, north east to Venice where we have a hotel on a canal (yeah, I know - they all are) just behind St Mark’s Square. So, basically, in the very centre, which is a Good Thing. It’s another Bond moment, of course, although I’m sure there will be no hovercraft-gondola hybrids zizzing through the square while we’re there.

After three days there we head back north to Paris again. It’s another overnight train, but this time we’re in a couchette, so as well as the two of us there will be four others all sharing the same compartment. I’m not sure what that will be like, but it’ll be an interesting experience if nothing else. Let’s hope they aren’t Inter-railing students who haven’t had a wash since Zagreb.

Back in Paris, all we need is someone to jump off the top of the Eiffel Tower and onto a passing tour boat and it’ll be three Bond moments in a row. Of course that’s not going to happen, though, is it.

That doesn’t actually give us any time in Paris at all, apart from a couple of hours each way to change trains, but that was by design rather than by accident, as I’m going to be in the city four times within the next six weeks, starting with Thursday and Friday this week when I have to be there for a meeting.

Going by train - first class, which will be nice - but I have to take a shirt and tie. It explicitly says so on the documentation. Which means I have to find a tie. And iron a shirt. I haven’t worn a tie since… I guess it must be my grandmother’s funeral, and that’s coming up on two years now.

Of course the tie isn’t for the meeting. We never wear ties to meetings. It’s for the Moulin Rouge, where they are taking us on Thursday night. I’m inclined to re-watch the film before going for ‘research’ purposes, but I suspect it’ll have changed somewhat since then.

I shall find out and report back.

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 31st, 2003 at 11:59 pm and is filed under Europe, Journal. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Responses are currently closed, but you can trackback from your own site.