On an overcast and lightly raining, but not altogether unpleasant morning, we decided to head to one of the better, or at least better known, galleries in the world. We crossed the Jardin des Tulleries and the river Seine, and found ourselves caught up in a crowd of excitedly murmuring tourists. With the Musée d'Orsay a short walk away, we assumed the murmuring was about the gallery, about what they would soon see, what they no doubt understood deeply.
But no, it was about something between them and the gallery, something 100m or so away, leaning against the wall of the gallery. Something that warning tape was keeping the hoards of excited tourists 100m away from. In broken French and broken English, we spoke with the police officer manning the tape. While alot of the conversation was not understood by either side, the word 'bomb' was.
A while later, and following much hurried goings on by some kitted out officers, a small device was detonated on top of a motorbike. To the obvious disappointment of the crowd, after the small device detonated, nothing happened.
After specialist officers had inspected the motorbike, the crowd was allowed to pass and the gallery was reopened.
It appears that a motorcyclist, copying the parking strategy often seen in Paris, parked his or her bike against the wall of the gallery. Suspicious about its position, and the large cases strapped to the back, the police services blew off the locks on the cases. With nothing of interest inside, they left a ticket on the bike and went away.
Living in London, one of the most surveilled cities on earth, in the lead up to the olympics, I have had many a moment to wonder about the world we now live in and where it is headed.
30 years ago the bike would have gone unnoticed, 20 years ago been booked and 10 to 15, taken away. Now, it gets blown up. Now, matters of security, take precedence of private property rights and privacy. Now, you are surveilled, scanned, x-rayed, dusted, sniffed and questioned. Now, even your communications are monitored or at least stored.
But don't worry people, if you are not doing anything wrong, you have nothing to worry about.
I suppose, to the many who sprout or accept such garbage, it is easy to forget the recent and not so recent past. It is easy to forget the same people who said, "it wont happen to me", have had it happen to them. It seems easy for the many who condemn our governments as incompetent, hopeless or even corrupt, to forget that most security, surveillance and intelligence activities are carried out by people within the very same governments.
Little of note happened in our time in Paris, apart from the visit to the Musée d'Orsay and a great catch up with two dear friends from back home. We walked, ate, drank, walked, explored, looked and walked, and learnt that doing last minute travel related errands when we don't speak the local language is a slow and painful process.
From Paris, and after less than 24 hours in London, we flew up to Bergen in Norway, in whose airport I sit writing this.
After a silly amount of sleep, a quick breakfast and what seemed like an eternity at the Post Office, we caught a train to Luton, a plane to Geneva, and a bus to Chamonix. The seven plus hours it took from leaving London to arriving in Chamonix, gave the first (of many I would imagine) opportunity to stop and reflect on the year that has passed since we left Australia.
A chance to reflect on our experiences, the people we had met and the places we had visited.
A chance to remember the good times (BBQs when the forecast was for snow, partying on rooftops, 3:30am rickshaw rides, midnight snowball fights, sunday sessions, the football, sunset over a moonscape and sunrises over the city) and the challenging times.
We leave richer people, richer in experiences and richer in friendships. I will miss London and many of its people (especially those I didn't take the opportunity to tell).
Upon arriving in Chamonix, and many a time during the days following, we sported a goofy look of wonderment and happineVvss. Being surrounded by stunning 3000m + mountains, it was hard not to.
We opted for an apartment, rather than a hotel room, and were glad for the extra space when soon after arriving I heard the familiar, though thankfully uncommon, rumbling of illness approaching. As it edged closer, and the particular nature of the attack became apparent, I became more and more confident. My loyal, proud and experienced immune system had repelled many a like attack in the past. With the attack imminent, I thought it only proper to check in on my troops and to wish them well. Where the battalions should have been massing, was simply a note. Due to poor working conditions, and a failure to satisfy even the most basic of their needs, my immune system had gone on strike. The assault was brutal and as a result, my time in Chamonix was not as active as I had hoped. We still climbed, walked, and flew, just not as much as I had hoped for.
One morning, after the attack had began to fade, we set off for a walk into the Alps. Near the foot of the mountain, and while we were having a brief rest, we were passed by a couple of guys who considered our geared up state a source of amusement. One expressed that "It's not that far, as if you need water". Two paths, of a similar level of difficulty reach the top. We opted for one and they the other. After climbing for three and a half hours, and after a little explore around the top, we reached our lunch destination and stopped for a rest before the walk back down to the bottom. As we were finishing up, and feeling quite relaxed, the two guys reached the top, the confidence and bravado had been replaced with exhaustion. They both looked worse than I do after a heavy training session, and I have been described as a sweaty corpse at such a time. When a man of about 75 jogged up to the top, looking like he ran up from town every other day, we were quickly put back in our place.
Chamonix is something of an adventure travel hub. As a result, it is quite common to see people walking through town with all manner of sporting equipment, from ice axes to climbing kit, from paragliders to mountain bikes. Feeling inspired by the location, we decided to go paragliding. We checked the weather for the next day, chose a company and a launch site and booked it in. Not to celebrate, but rather because we were hungry, we had pizza for dinner.
The next morning I had left over pizza, which like the night before didn't taste great. Thinking nothing of it, we went to the launch site, on the edge of the mountain side some 1,000m from the valley floor. Bren launched first, misunderstanding the direction of run towards the edge as meaning run on the spot, then backwards, then jump. Not making the same mistake, I ran us off the edge and up into the air. It was amazing.
After circling over what in the winter would be an incredible ski run, the pilot asked if I was scared or felt sick. I didn't, so I said no. We picked up some thermals and circled up, past 2,000m, and past 2,500m. Again the pilot asked and again I said no, albeit with less confidence on the later question. At 3,000m, I remembered that the pizza had not tasted right. At 3,500m, there was no doubt.
We maneuvered out away from the top of the cable car (some 1,000m below) and, with the pilot confident the worst was over, out over the town to start our descent. Unfortunately not. Sorry Chamonix.
Another day we took a walk up into the mountains, with the goal of reaching some lakes beyond a mountain shrouded in cloud. Like most days walking in the Alps, our walk involved alot of up and then alot of down. After lunch overlooking the lake, we meandered on across some snow towards another lake. Around one bend, I was met by a mountain goat standing square across the path. With dark, focused eyes, it watched me reach for my camera only to bolt upwards and out of shot before I got the lens cap off.
Later in the day, as I had a rest on some rocks, and David (who had come to visit) and Bren continued to another lake, I saw a lady appear clinging to some rocks a few meters below the chain path. As she realised she had run out of room, and had to backtrack, she lost her balance. As she started to fall, with a life ending drop below her, the five or so of us who were watching launched forward, even though we were each at least 10 meters away. Somehow, with time having slowed, basic principles of physics were suspended and she got back to the face and spread herself across it. From eyes that were all panic and dread a moment earlier, shone relief.
After a final night of watching the sunset over Mont Blanc, and a pleasant walk along the valley floor, we left Chamonix for Paris.
Due to an issue with our camera, I won't be posting any photos from Chamonix.
Over the next four or so months, Bren and I will be making the long journey home to Australia. Rather than heading straight home, and subjecting ourselves to the epic 23 hour flight, we have opted to visit a number of countries along the way.
Our journey is made up of three parts: Europe, the Middle East and Africa. I will upload links to a map for each part, which shows where we are visiting.
This blog will share some of our experiences and our photos. In order to save my sanity, this time the posts will be shorter and the photo sets larger. Unlike 19in90, I will endeavour to write and post as we go (apologies for my spelling and questionable grasp of grammar), rather than in a rush after the trip has come to an end.
Enjoy!
