Ah, Paris

I think I might love France. Admittedly, I have just arrived in Paris and given that I am basically waiting for people to be rude to me, I am not expecting the mood to hold. Nonetheless, French people have been nice so far, so maybe it's all just a horrible cultural stereotype.

Want to know what isn't a cultural stereotype? French people going on strike. I suppose it isn't really a complete holiday until you have been in someway inconvenienced by striking French railway types, but I had vainly hoped to avoid it. Queue train strike the day I wanted to get from Nice to Lyon. Somehow I managed to get a seat on one of the few trains that were running that day but it involved queuing. Extensive queuing.

Nice was great. Beautiful weather. Having a picnic on a beach wall with Lauren, who I met in Munich, then La Spezia and the Cinque Terra, her friend Jen and two random American guys who had come all the way to Europe to see Radiohead. Twice. One was a lawyer who supported Hillary Clinton. I think I had to pick my jaw up off the ground. A young MAN who supported HC? It defied belief.

I liked Lyon, though I wasn't precisely sure what I was supposed to be looking at while I was there. So I kind've wandered aimlessly. It's a beautiful city. The weather was good. I was staying in a one star hotel with no windows to my room, which was excellent as it enabled me to sleep in. Not so excellent the way there was nothing to open to let the smoke stench out.

Now I am going ot report something that will make my mother despair of me. Cue Wednesday morning when I wanted to leave my one star hotel room. I couldn't find my keys. The door was locked. I tried unlocking it, and at that point I realised that I had left the keys in the lock ALL NIGHT. And it's not like I was in some secluded room. My room was right at the top of the first flight of stairs, which meant that EVERYONE in the hotel had to pass by my door to get back to their rooms. Worse, someone had turned it and locked it so I couldn't get the door open. I sliced my hand open playing (screaming at and aggressively turning) with the lock and banging on the door loudly. No one came to help. After about 20 minutes of this I managed to jiggle the lock just so and it came undone.

What made it worse was that I left the lock in the door that night as well, but only for about an hour before I realised that I may actually have premature altzeimers. Be assured, I am not normally this daft. Mainly because most hostels don't give me keys.

So far in Paris I like the canals and the way they give you a small baguette when you buy salad. I also think it is weird that you can get beer with a McDonalds meal. I think French people are beautiful. It's raining on and off.

Anyway, this hostel runs on a swipe card system and is truly the poshest hostel I have ever seen. There are little curtains that close on each bunk and you have your own reading light and power plugs within your little enclosed area. It is perched on a canal near where Amelie was filmed. Paris is such a cliche. As soon as I finsih this I am going to buy pastry.