under another sun

Woke up in plenty of time feeling rested and calm. Then I realised my reading specs had gone AWOL. Had to get down on my knees, shining my iPhone under the bed, and checked the room over a dozen times before I found them wedged between the wall and the top of bed after twenty minutes my stress levels were restored. Hotel staff were very friendly at The Best Western Diva Opera close to La Folies Bergère, which I could just glimpse if I craned my head out of one of the windows. All business for me, and I trundled my case around the corner to Rue Papillon where the little agency was, noticing how stylish everyone looked and hoping I didn't look like a tramp in my Berghaus dragging my cheap case. There, after going into the wrong door, I found Valérie, originally from Quebec, who introduced me to her team and gave me chouquette  for breakfast with a cup of tea, bless her. I liked Val and her project manager Marie right away. And it seemed the most natural thing in the world to go out...

Nervously getting ready this morning, breaking off to chat to Betty. Hopped on a bus and into town, then a train up to St Pancras. Arrived early and hung about in St Pancras for a while looking at the sculpture of John Betjeman, and phoned Mum and Mas. Then onto the Eurostar, the closest thing to a Shinkansen in the UK, zoomed across Kent and even remained calm under the channel trying not to picture myself at an average depth of 48 metres below the seabed, with all the English Channel overhead. Distracted by seeing a Toby-lookalike and also an actor who was in the Spiral TV series we saw on TV (although it took me several minutes to work out who he was). Strangely once the train surfaced in France I felt as if I'd crossed a weird Rubicon. My apprehension was replaced by pleasure looking out at the flat greyish landscape of northern France punctuated by churches poking up from little villages. I glanced at the man sitting across the isle from me and he was reading Proust's Sw...