Travel scribbles

Being in the conference was the best sun block, it actually renders use of regular skin care products optional.

I deemed her dangerously good looking despite her appearance, sensual lips but slightly oversized hips, after she arranged a backpack in the over head compartment that later fell on the head of a poor unsuspecting Air France customer. The backpack was only moderately large so the guy could not press charges.

Air France sucks. They printed on my boarding pass information about the new terminal, how it takes 45 minutes to get there and how I was invited to the lounge. When I got there I found it was for business class only. And I thought they were inviting me for my earned miles. They'd better buy a computer programme to print the information selectively on business boarding cards, and I'd better take a picture of the boarding card next time.

On Charles de Gaulle I could actually read the worried looks on the faces of fellow passengers. They gave us the complete tour of the airport on the way to the new terminal, and it was indeed 45 minutes I might add.

Once air born to the island I was seated on the right side of the plane, in order to see this magnificent view complete with l'Arc de Triomphe and La Tour Eiffel. It all faded the moment I accidentally buried my face in the Air France blankie (who died in this blanket?!?). The jerk next to me moved one seat away, so I could actually spy on all the other hunks on the flight. A few words about the in-flight movie: does Queen Latifah actually die here? I doubt it. And I don't really need to know, since I supposed a happy end was becoming of this lame light light comedy.

I was sitting on my balcony admiring the view, when it started raining. Raining is by far common on the island, but in this particular case I was witnessing it only on the left hand side of my balcony. The right hand side was rain free, but somehow dump. There was also sun in the sky.

I am having coffee with a view at the ocean. It's just me. And some jet legged guy roaming sleeplessly and pointlessly in the garden. And the hotel guard. Very cozy.

My patience through out the conference and my excellent presentation were rewarded by divine retribution when I finally hit the waters of the Caribbean. Somebody on the beach found me a pair of shades in the sand of the beach and left it with my stuff. The only bad thing is now, that I am an "activist" supposedly expected to write serious stuff for the "all those people" (you know, *wink), I cannot write how, instead of leaving them with the front desk, I soap washed the sunglasses and wore them in the shower where, one thing led to another, I masturbated. It felt pretty good, so I decided to classify them at tourist casualties and keep them.

When instruction reads "Tear carefully" it means they don't want you to actually see the coffee in the sealed coffee filter. Too late! Now, if you see the coffee, at least don't add tissue in the coffee maker. Makes coffee taste like chemicals. but I loved having this thing in my room, complete with coffee and sugar supplies.

If you are jet legged and slightly recovering, it is likely you will wake up once the power surge occurs at four in the night with a big crash noise and deafening silence after. All the better for preparing my conference presentation.

One of the nights we were off to the French side of the island, where we had a ridiculously priced meal. Ridiculously expensive that is. And designer small. But the company and the ambiance was super. I should stop drawing comparisons between my monthly rent and the price of a meal. You already know I am a deluxe hobo. My rent and amenities due for the past two months could have covered for the money I paid dinner with last night and the night before. Last night in particular. Call me a cheap bastard, but I think fifty bucks a person is way too much, even by the standards of the fancy fish restaurant by the sea in the French side. By the way, I had beef.

Then I must be about the only person who would steal a decor-pineapple at the welcome reception and then, later, getting a craving and eat it at one in the night after a hot session of taking pictures. I guess the tiny French servings finally caught up with me.

Being for the first time on the island, I brought some Romanian wine to serve as ambassadors, only to learn our Romanian dancers have been here first. Makes me sad.

LATER edit: I learn from Vava that it is LA TOUR, not Le Tour, as I would've expected and being the Romanian speaker that I am. Lesson learnt. I should really brush up my French.