Since I left the window open through out the night, I was awakened by a cool breeze. I looked outside to a gray sky. A gray sky!
Could it be? I can't really be that lucky, can I?
I didn't have anything to do that day either, but I did have to check out of the hotel before 11.
I went down to breakfast a little later than the day previously. In retrospect, that may have been a mistake.
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| Blurry pic of brekki. Sorry. :( |
The second I sit down, a very large woman begins to talk to me in French. She seemed to be friendly enough, but when I said 'Je ne parle pas le français', she laughed and said in French 'you speak enough!' and continued to talk at me. And continued to talk at me. And continued to talk at me. Don't get me wrong, with all the travelling to foreign countries I've done over the years, I have the 'dumb look smile and nod' down. This technique is most commonly used in Asian countries, and by Asian girls to pretend they don't speak English. I've observed it and practiced it and can do it quite well. Even this technique didn't deter this woman. 
Despite this, I cut open my baguette and spread the cheese inside. I was hoping to be able to use the napkin as I had done the day before and save it. But NOOOOOOOO this woman WOULD NOT SHUT UP! Not only wouldn't she shut up, she wouldn't stop LOOKING AT ME. I had no idea what she was saying, and since I had seen her yakking at the manager/owner of the hotel I had no idea if she would rat me out. I was guessing there was a good chance she would. What could I do? Well, there was nothing left to it but eat the stuff. I nodded and smiled (sorta) through the whole process. I thought I was going to die. I was filled to the brim. And do you know that not the SECOND I had swallowed the last bite, that broad said in English "Good Idea", slit a baguette, spread cheese inside, wrapped it in a napkin and with a 'shhhhhhh' in my direction, slipped the whole damn thing in her bag! |
| Oh yeah, that happened. |
I checked out of the hotel and hiked it down to the bust stop. Just as I was approaching, it started to drizzle.
The sky was nice, so I took a few pictures.
It must have been a Cannes rush hour because there were a lot of people on the bus already. I had to take a seat facing backwards at the front of the bus behind a heavily perfumed and pungent man.
The riding backwards, cologne and starting and stopping did nothing for my over stuffed gut. I had to use some serious powers of concentration to keep all the breakfast down.
Eventually the smelly guy got off the bus and the almost fresh air helped. When we got to the Palais, it was a good full on rain. I love rain. I really do.
I got off the bus and moved to a different bus stop with a better view. There's just something poetic about sitting at an empty bus stop in the rain.
I sat under the awning of the bus stop enjoying the rain and reading an ebook for at least an hour. It amused me to no end to watch all the people covering their LV or other couture bags/clothes running from the rain. Maybe I'm a bitch inside my head, but I did enjoy that,
At some point an old French lady walked by and screamed at me. I don't really know why, but since I'd been screamed at so much by this time I'd gotten used to it. I pretty much just looked at her and went back to my reading. She went off, presumably to scream at someone else.
Eventually GC was able to get away to say goodbye. We chatted for a bit and found the express bus back to the airport. I realized that wasn't the bus I was looking for and set out in search of it. It was only a few yards away, conveniently by a snack shack selling glasses of wine for 1 euro. I couldn't resist a 1 euro glass of wine, so I pulled up my roller bag under the canopy and sat down to read and enjoy my wine.
Here are some more pics of the Cannes rain.
I was enjoying my book and wine when this interesting fellow decided that I'd be someone fun to talk to. From what I could gather from the bizarre info dump, he is a Golf Professor (which I'm guessing is the European version of a PGA trainer) who was born in the Bahamas, raised New York, works in Italy, is very wealthy and hates to fly. This conversation was constantly interrupted by way too frequent calls from a wayward girlfriend. The guy (whose name I was never really clear on) bought me one or two other glasses of wine. I endured the odd conversation for as long as I could. watching the bus I needed come and go several times. An hour or two later, he directed me to a pay toilet in a shop next a liquor store. When I returned, I got on the next bus out.
It was during this long ass bus ride back to the airport when I had an epiphany. I realized then why the French so enjoy carbs. Cheap wine, coffee and bus rides do not mix. Despite the fact that my gut was already filled with cheese and carbs, I still felt like I'd need something to settle my stomach.
I was on this super modern bus that let you know where every stop was and how long it would take to get there. Despite this welcomed modern convenience, I fell asleep and opened my eyes just in time to jump off the bus. Don't do that. It's rather upsetting. Whatever the case, I got off the bus, walked to the airport and took the shuttle back to the other terminal.
I tried to check in so I could go through security easy when no one was around, but could I? Nooooooooo!
EasyJet has a policy where you can't check in until 60 or so minutes before your flight. That really sucks.
Ok, fine. So I had to go to the food court to get a snack. The cheapest thing I could find was a ham sandwich and sparkling water. I think this was right under 10 euros.
As I sat there munching on my snack, something caught my eye. Oh what the hell? A pigeon had gotten into the terminal. Or maybe it was more than one. I'm really not sure. I did follow him for a while.
I got caught taking a picture of the vermin by a French business man who said, "A perfect example of hygiene in France." Of course I burst out laughing. He got up and moved away. I wonder how he knew I spoke English?
Finally after about sixty billion years of waiting, EasyJet opened the gate and I could check in. Which I did. I breezed through Immigration and headed to the lounge. I really should get paid for visiting lounges. Seriously.
Anyway, the lounge was nice and as expected, full of carbs. And more carbs, and various wines, coffee, liquor, cookies and weird pastry things. The soup or whatever the hot option was was no longer with us, so that sucks.
My stomach was still really pissed at me, so I didn't go for anything evil. Just a play-dough tasting pastry (seriously, WHAT IS THAT???) and a Diet Coke, in honor of Edie Baby.
I enjoyed the lounge for all of 15 minutes when these other Americans, loud, drunk and really in love with themselves entered the lounge and ruined everything, I get it. Americans are rude and loud. Ah well.
Due to weather, we kept getting updates that the flight might be delayed. And it was. I couldn't stand the Americans anymore, so I went down to sit at the gate. Even the promise of the solace of wine couldn't calm this annoyed breast. I felt like I was going to rip off a face or two.
So yes, the flight was delayed. And delayed. And yes, delayed.
Finally, and I do mean FINALLY, we were able to board the damn plane. It had to be after midnight by this point. I was too tired and too annoyed to even bother looking.
On the plane, I sat next to a teenage girl and her mom, so that was okay. I tried to sleep, but turbulence wouldn't allow it. Why would it?
Two hours later, we arrived at Gatwick. I didn't check my bag of course, so I just rolled myself to wait for the hotel shuttle.
Hmmm... what's different here? Oh yeah... It DROPPED ABOUT 30 DEGREES!
And raining. Don't forget the raining. WTF? England? Everything was great when I left. I even worked up a sweat walking around. Now you betray me? You rat bastard. Fine.
About 30 minutes later a shuttle came. Is this the shuttle for my hotel? Well, yes it is, but he had to go to another hotel, then back to the airport. It will be about 45 minutes. BUT, I can take the ride if I like. Oh yes, I like. I do like. I will take this option.
I hopped onto the over heated bus. He drove to the other hotel. No one got off. No one got on. He drove to the airport. No one got off, no one got on... Sigh.
Whatever. We were on the way to my hotel. Thank God.
I get to the hotel (The Gatwick Britannia, the same one as previous) and checked in. This had to be after 2 am. Again, I was afraid to look.
I get to my room, turn down the sheet and...
BEDBUGS!!!!!
ARE YOU KIDDING ME? This really isn't happening is it? I had to consider my options:
I could scream. - Maybe.
I could cry. - Probably.
What I did was call the front desk. At first the guy at reception didn't know what I was talking about. Finally I said BUGS... INSECTS IN THE BED. Which lead to the question of: "Where in the bed?" Does it matter? There are BUGS IN THE BED!!!! It makes me itch just thinking about it.
A guy came to take pictures of the bugs and escort me to an upgraded room in the other building. He was almost apologetic, but not really.
I'll only post a couple of pictures so you won't be too grossed out.
The upgraded room wasn't all that worth writing home about anyway. The guy told me to go look at the bed and make sure it had no bugs. I did, and invited him to do the same. We decided that it was bug free.
So there I was, curled up like the Unabomber, (the poker player, not the nut job), trying to rest a little.
And that ends this very long day.
