The day that had to come

It really was inevitable. All had gone so smoothly that to even mention that it had gone smoothly may have jinxed the trip in some way. The day that anything and everything that could go wrong happened on Saturday. For the purposes of not making anyone bored and the fact that I am on the most archaic computer I have come across yet and its going to cost me around six dollars an hour for the privelidge I shall relay the story in point form.

* Booked a taxi for the trip from the apartment to the train station one hour before departure of train (the platform the TGV departs from isnt displayed until twenty minutes before hand so it was a rather early arrival we had planned

* Above mentioned taxi never arrived

* Next taxi took another ten minutes and we arrived at the station fifteen minutes before departure (thats fine normally but remember the travelling companions

* We go to the lift as the gma cant do stairs or escalators but thats fine as we discovered the lift when we arrived at bordeaux a week earlier.

* Lift only goes up from the platform, not down to the platform (the idea of installing a usable lift at the station happened to cross my mind a few times although this was the first occassion)

* The TGV waits for no man. We miss the train

* Everyone is not really happy about the situation

* All is not lost, we have first class Rail Passes so we book ourselves on the next TGV two hours later. We also arrange for assistance like weve had at the airport so we can get the gma and luggage to the platform.

* No problem, we arrive at designated area half an hour before departure as requested. I turn on the iPod and dissapear into my book. Twenty minutes later I look up at the clock (ten minutes until departure) and then make darting eye movements between the mother and the clock trying not to arouse the attention of the gma who may perhaps go into a panic; (she was still recovering from the previous incident)

* Go back to counter and say we are supposed to be meet by "the man in the red shirt" and be on the platform by now. The guy goes off at us saying what the hezck are we doing there and we should be over on platform four. After some stern words between us (I think at this stage I should point out that all conversations for the whole day were in french) he quickly ran off to adjust our tickets and get the "man in the red shirt".

* Second train for the day missed

* The red shirt man rushed over rather apologetically if you can rush in that way and picked up all the luggage except for one backpack and ushered the mother and I across to the platform (via a whole lot of stairs). He then ran back and put the gma into a wheelchair and brought her over using what one could only loosely define as a lift (pretty much just a one metre square hydraulic platform).

*Alot of other dodgy stuff happened around this time also but Ill leave Bordeaux at that for know, I think Ive set the scene enough.

* Maunteban - I hate this place now. Bastards. The very helpful but sometimes late red shirt man in Bordeaux rang Maunteban (where we had to change trains for Cahors) to get them to help us at the other end. We got off the train and I threw all the bags (full of lubbly Bordelais wine) onto the platform - remember the TGVwaits for noone if I wasnt quick enough, me and a bottle of cab franc could of quite easily ended up at Toulouse railway station for the night. The SNCF guy, lets call him "useless prick" grabbed the backpacks and dissapeared for 5 minutes. "Useless prick" then came back threw the gma into a wheel chair and pointed at the platform we had to get to and darted off in the opposite direction with her. I had no idea how much time we had until the connecting train came along, or were our other bags were so I grabbed the suitcases and dragged them down the stairs and then back up another flight again to discover the backpacks sitting against a wall on the platform. I was a little pissed off about this but even more so when a minute or so later he belted up the platform with a visibly shaken gma who was pretty traumatised by the day so far and really we were only half way through the trip. (we had left the apartment in Bordeaux at lunch time and it was now 8pm.

* Useless prick assured us he would help to get gma and the bags onto the train. He didnt. The train rushed in, the conductor pointed us to the opposite end of the platform and then darted up there himself and blew his whistle to hurry us up. Not happy, Jan.

* We ran, well the mother scuttled along with the wheelchair and I grabbed all the backpacks and suitcases and kinda lurched up the end of the platform and they shoved the gma on and stood around watching me drag all the bags up.

* It was a silent trip from Maunteban to Cahors

* I was at this stage dreading the exit off the train and the impending ascent of the staircase, always a difficult situation for the gma at each new hotel. (Paris and Bordeaux were fine though as they had lifts. )

* Its amazing how a little kindness from someone can salvage a complete disaster of a day. The conductor at Cahors was really lovely. Kind of like how youd expect a french conductor to look, rotund with receeding dark hair and the little round hat like the stereotype gendarme hat. We were slowly (very appreciated by all) down the end of the platform and across the tracks, same as before with the gma in the chair and me acting the packhorse. But it was disaster free. The taxi driver was equally helpful and took us to the hotel in two trips as he only had a little puegot (same as Troop but silver, KY) and carried the suit cases up the stairs to my relief.

* The other thing that helped salvage the day was the opportunity to watch Eurovision and vote. I was very excited at the prospect but found it unfair that I couldnt vote for France as I was in the country but then again I didnt much like the french on Saturday.

Anyway, Cahors is rather lovely with a beatiful river ( Lot) and equally lovely wine which I am sampling rather frequently. It seems that as much as a coffee gets me up and going in the morning so does a little Verre de Rouge. Ill try and break out of it in Ireland or go cold turkey on the plane. If I get the shakes when I get back it may not be jetlag.

Ill post some more about Cahors from Ireland - Ill be there on Wednesday, as you do, for two weeks and then Im back home. Its really quite strange that the idea of going home in two weeks is just as surreal as the idea of being here was two weeks before I left.

Before I mosey though, I have very exciting news from home that I feel the need to publicise. Positive thoughts go out to Alison who this Friday will be part of the filming of a new national tv cooking show with Paul Mercurio hosting which will go to air in a couple of weeks hopefully not until I return. Its very exciting and shell do fine. I think I should point out that Ive tried alot (and I really do mean alot) of pastries and chocaltes etc since being over here with the intention of comparing to Alisons and she really is right up there with the best in France let alone Australia. Weve tasted some of the most world renowned chocolates and pastries and some of Alisons are better, the rest of hers are equal. Bon chance Alison!!!

Timothy is also not to be forgotten, he is representing the region in a competition in Adelaide and there is a fundraising dinner at All Saints to send him over some time after I get back so you are all dutifully invited to come along and sample some of the food he'll be cooking in Adelaide. Ill send through details to anyone who wants to come along. He is part of a team so you can eat the food of the best chefs around at the moment and have some lubbly ASE wines to boot.

Alright I think all this just cost the cost of around 2 pastries so Im off. Word to your Mama. V.