So who in their right mind would go from a glorious 24o in Australia, to a shivering 4o in France?
So this is where I find myself 24 hours after leaving Australia. We travelled Business Class and it really is everything it's cracked up to be. After saying goodbye to the BOSS, we settled into the Golden Lounge at Sydney airport and I wandered off to buy some Duty Free grog.
Nine hour flight to Kuala Lumpur where they fed us exquisite food every 20 minutes. How can you resist when it's placed right in front of you. Purposefully didn't sleep and waddled off the plane and straight in the KL Golden Lounge - where more exquisite food was on offer.
Wandered around the shops looking at all the hideously expensive scarves and handbags then got back on the plane 3 hours later. Now - Duty Free grog sold in Australia - and even though it is still in the bag and unopened - WILL BE CONFISCATED at KL airport. But if you buy the exact same bottle at KL airport, they will let you through. I was very cranky that the salespeople in Australia, knowing that I was transiting through KL, should have informed me of this little gem of information. I wonder how many other unsuspecting travellers fall for this rort?
3am body time, still peeved at Customs, I have a window seat and I should be happy. The hosties are delivering drinks and hot towels even before we are settled in with luggage stowed and it's at this point that the guy in the seat beside me knocks both our drinks into my seat, completely soaking me and the cushions. Great! 12 hours with wet knickers!
Luckily this did not turn out to be the case as the fabulous hosties changed the seat cushions with spares and the aircon in the plane dried up everything in record time.
I skipped dinner and as soon as we reached altitude, put my seat in full recline (gotta love Business Class) and settled in for a decent sleep. Alas, turbulence interfered with those plans and I only managed 6 hours of very broken, but reasonably comfortable dozing. My leg behaved itself and I didn't even need pain killers. (I am dreading the return flight when I will be relegated back to cattle class).
Arrived at Paris 6.30am, got through Immigration in record time and collected our bags and went looking for the Peugeot car hire people. The lovely lady at the information desk said the guy would be waiting for us at Gate 2 downstairs. After wandering around dazed and lost and asking any poor stranger for more directions, we finally worked out that Gate 2 is actually Exit 2. Walked outside into the bitterly freezing wind, quickly layered up with more clothing and then asked another stranger where the Peugeot Counter might be. "You are looking for me" he says!! Would have been very handy if he had been wearing some sort of Peugeot identification.
He drove us to the depot, gave us a brief rundown of the features of the car and how to work the SatNav - of which only about a quarter was absorbed by my foggy brain - and sent us on our way north along the French freeway.