Air travel days are a bit time conscious but I was determined to fit in one last musee before enslaving myself to airbus time.
It was to be the Musee du Post but being closed became the Musee Jean Moulins. I also accessed a strange place which is a forested garden tennis centre with no less than two musee on the top of the Montparnasse station and shops. A funny place ive wondered about. The large treetops are its only sign from the street. Yet the half acre complex is a visible oddity from the top of the 200 metre tour de montparnasse. All wet with the pock of tennis mixed with stetorian world war voices and bombs exploding.
Woke to steady rain and almost dry smalls. Packed for aero travel and organised with Clancy the well spoken and nattily dressed concierge baggage storage for several hours. The tramline immediate to the hotel us closed for repairs. Decide to engage the Cameroonian cabbie Jules Armand who gave me such a good hoy when I first regained this elegant wet city.
He has a new child Nolan and has a time of it getting me through the pre bastille day practice traffic jam. He is a true spirit and philosopge driving very carefully through rain and others frustration, so even though the price is agreed I give him a bit more to ensure he is not out of pocket.
At the airport nice to talk to fellow aussies. The line is long. The bike must be flown with a triple signed waiver. I am told to put it (in its well travelled sac) and the two other ortlieb bags into oversize storage. I trust the system to ensure all the pressies and my dirty sox make it to Melbourne where I must take it through customs and transfer.
Now the timelessness sets in and I will soon be on the plane. So see you all at the end of,as Sheila puts it, the time tunnel.
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