I love a good challenge, and the effort to transport about 6 cubic meters (a large van full) of stuff from Paris to Nice on short notice during a national holiday provided an exceptional series of challenges.

The first challenge was to transport the stuff 1.5 Km from Stade de France to my hotel at 3 AM. Thankfully, there were a load of crew hands around. After chatting with them for a bit and with the people managing them, I received some free assistance pushing all the the equipment (thankfully everything fit on 6 flight cases with wheels) to my hotel – picture of this effort above. About 45 minutes later I paid my cheerful helpers with beer, orange juice, and candy bars, and convince the hotel to let me stash all of the stuff in the hotel conference room until the following evening. One down.

The second challenge was to find a way to transport all of the kit down to Nice, 950 Km away. Something told me that 5 set of helping hands wouldn’t do the trick this time. First thing in the morning my colleague help ring around to various “man with a van” services while some co-workers in London tried to find a suitable rental van. After just a couple of calls we realized that there was no legit service that was willing to do the delivery the next day – Bastille Day, the biggest national holiday in France. A while later we found that there were no vans to be rented in all of Paris. When continued searching all day in vain.

At 4:30 in the afternoon a glimmer of hope appeared as we found the last van in Paris – it was far to large and very far away, but it was something. I hopped in a cab and raced over. Upon arrival at the supplied address however, my heart sank. It was Rue de Rivoli 93 – the Louvre, which, in case you have never been, isn’t a van rental agency. I went in anyway and much to my surprise found that two floors down where the tour buses park, there is indeed a van rental company. I grabbed my vehicle at the last possible moment, loaded up my kit, and went to bed for an early departure the next day.

The drive down to Nice was a bit wet in the morning, but pleasant enough cruising through France and surfing local radio. The truck was a bit unwieldy in the cities, but proved to be a capable beast out on the road. The rain cleared as I left Lyon and found myself driving through Provence on a perfect afternoon. But then 7 hours into my 9 hour drive, the next challenge arrived. With the fuel gauge still reading 1/4 of a tank, the van started to sputter and stall. I was lucky enough to be right next to an exit, and pulled off the road. I hopped out and opened up the fuel tank, which was empty as I had feared. Checking the dashboard again I saw that the fuel gauge now showed 1/8 of a tank. At least it was optimistic.

I was blocking the exit, so I hopped out and with adrenaline surging, pushed the van back 15 meters out of trouble – to the spot you see in the picture. Then I turned to the phones, and with a little help from friends with access to a French land line that could dial local toll-free numbers, managed to explain my situation to the rental agency and also contact emergency services to dispatch a crew that could give me some diesel. I have never been happier to have studied French. A couple hours later I was back on the road with Hertz covering the cost of the breakdown as the emergency services technician explained that there was indeed a fault with the fuel gauge.

It’s the type of trouble that I like to get in while I’m out on the road – challenging, but with no imminent threat to my health or well being. It was stressful, but sipping a beer that evening it didn’t seem like a half bad couple of days.

While the item in the picture may look like a finely shaped poo, I assure that you that it was two delicious flavours of ice cream sculpted into a a flower. This sweet chocolate rose was the nightcap on an evening out in a lively area of Paris with one of my friends in town.

It appeared as thought I was going to miss out on having a meal out with a local in Paris, but thanks to an unfortunate travel arrangement I was stuck in town and managed to duck out for dinner, a bottle of wine, and ice cream. We headed to Rue des Lombards, a lively and lovely strip of gay and lesbian bars near Centre Pompidou. We settled on a crowed tapas place and played a long game of catch up over a large meal, and a bottle of wine that felt too small in the end.

I suppose what you expect to find in a place is what you end up finding, and dinner that evening was no different. I felt surrounded by young couples in love, people smoking hand rolled cigarettes, and beautiful food. Maybe that’s really how Paris is, but every time I’m there I feel like I wander into that same stereotypical dream of cheerful “bonjours” and life lived with time to smile and smell (or eat) the flowers.

In my short stay in Geneva, I decided that despite the incessant rain and grey skies, I could live there.  I began believing this pretty much from the get-go as my flight into Switzerland overlooked the Alps.  The idea became more and more solidified for these top 5 reasons (amongst others):

1.  French!  I can speak the beloved language of French as much I want, and people are nice about it! They actually want to talk to me in French.  This is just glorious news.

2. Instead of a bible in the drawer of my (very swanky and upscale) hotel room is a book on the teachings of Buddha.  This must be an intriguing city.

3. On Thursday, I went to an Irish pub with a Canadian, an Indian, un Francais, a German, a Dane, and an Italian to listen to a Texan woman sing the blues.  Enough said.

4.  It looks like a mini-Paris in which you can literally walk everywhere.  This is good because I am a Washingtonian after all, so the only modes of transportation I know are the public kind and my own 2 feet.  Bonus: whilst walking, you get to stare at the pretty mountains surrounding the city.

5 (and most important).  There are chocolate shops everywhere.  This is every woman’s fantasy.