This would have been annoying no matter what; that I had to get up around 6.30 to make sure I made it to my 7.35 train from Tours to Paris (assuming it was running) made it truly vile. I couldn't do anything about - for starters I didn't even know where the noise was coming from, and I wasn't going to wander around in the dark in my pyjamas trying to find out, since I couldn't imagine there was much point asking them to stop. I kind of hoped that someone else – given I can't imagine I was the only one trying to sleep – might. But either they didn't try or did but didn't succeed, because it didn't stop until the aforementioned 2.30-ish.
And then, of course, my brain refused to let me sleep. At least not properly. So, when 6.30 rolled around I was quite awake.
Checked that my train was still running – I was fairly sure it was 'cause the last time I checked it wasn't on the list of strike-affected lines – and then toasted and ate my last French bread (sob) and packed everything up. I put the battery back in the wall clock and hung it up again – early on I'd taken it down 'cause it had a loud and annoying ticking – and left the apartment. I may have wished very unpleasant things on the noisy neighbours as I descended the stairs. Made my way to the train station - a relatively stress-free five minute walk from where I'd been staying, which made a nice change from the past couple of places – and found my train very easily. It helps that Gare Tours is only one level.
That journey was pretty straightforward; now I had to the hope next one would be as well – catching the metro from Montparnasse to Gare du Nord. There was flooding in central Paris, and I wasn't sure how likely that was to affect the metro – though everything i'd double-checked that morning said the number 4 (the one I was going on) was only affected at one stop, which wasn't either where I was getting on or where I was getting off. So, after having some fun navigating my from the TGV level to where the metro entry was, I found myself at the gates where you put your ticket in before going through. I already had a ticket, the last of the carnet (ten ticket book thing) I got not long after I first arrived in Paris and saved for this purpose.
Which of course didn't work. Sigh.
Fortunately I had a reasonable amount of time and I knew what to do, so it wasn't exactly panic stations just yet; I lined up at the counter and told the woman it didn't work – Cela n'a pas fonctionné – and she typed a number (from the ticket, presumably) into her computer and issued me another. Easy.
It was quite a ways from the ticket counter to where the metro actually stopped, and having had a less that optimum amount of sleep, I wasn't really up for belting along too fast. But I got there eventually and then double- (okay triple-) checked it was the right line and the right direction for where I needed to go. It was, so I hopped on board the next train that arrived.
From then it was straightforward – albeit slow and somewhat annoying – to get to the Eurostar section of Gare du Nord. I was still concerned about whether or not my ticket would actually work, but I went to the ticket counter first rather than try to use it to swipe (it has a QR code on it) through the gate; the woman said 'this is a ticket' in a way that didn't fill me with a lot of confidence, so I replied 'I believe so..', to which she said 'No, no it is a ticket'.
Much relief on my part. It wouldn't have been too problematic at this point to have had to buy another ticket (it wasn't full), but I was not ready emotionally for any more setbacks, no matter how easily overcome they might be.
Then came the annoying part: lining up to get through the gate – though I did get to occupy myself here my filling out my border control card, i.e. the thing you put your name and passport number and how long you're staying in the country for on; it also asks for slightly annoying things like where you're staying, which I had to dig through my satchel to find my itinerary to obtain – then lining up to exit 'France' (having your passport stamped) and entering 'The UK' (even though we were still in France) and going through a brief interview regarding what you'd doing and when you're intending to leaving. Mine was fairly simple: London for five nights then Scotland for a week, going to Ireland (which is a separate country, of course) and then back to Australia.
The trip on the Eurostar was trouble-free. I didn't realise you went underground as early as you did; I thought I'd get to see the ocean/sea/channel before that happened, but we didn't. 35 minutes later you pop up on the other side.
After getting into London and walking to my hotel where I left my luggage, I wandered around a bit and took some photos. I also found a Citibank branch to ask them why the heck the debit card I'd gotten specifically so that I didn't have to sign (that happened with the previous card I had and I found it annoying and so I wanted another and opened a new account specifically for that purpose) was still making me sign.
That proved fairly pointless because a) they couldn't do anything there because it's a Citibank Australia account (seriously, what the heck is the point of signing up with a big global bank if the countries can't correspond), but what they could do is make the call for me so I could speak to someone in Australia (hahahahaha, no; I think it's the Philippines) to sort it out.
And that, of course, proved even more pointless because they said it was the vendors and not them. Uh-huh. Useless sacks of shit. I guess I just had to hope I came across more places that had paywave (or whatever the equivalent is).
Was tempted to go in and yell at them for discontinuing the Prince of Wales variety in Australia, forcing me to import it from the USA, but I didn't.
Australia House is quite an impressive building. I learned last time I was here that its interior was used for shots of Gringott's in the Harry Potter films.
I had some time before I wanted to have dinner, so I went into the British Museum; handily it was a five-minute walk from my hotel.
I like his expression.
This foot is huge. I wish there was something that indicated scale.
Nothing terrible interesting about this guy, other than his name, which is in the photo after this one.
Meet Sir Robert Smirke. I don't think I knew it was a name before now.
This thing is carved out of wood. I shudder to think how long it took.
By now I'd gotten hungry, and I was in the mood for noodles. A quick Google search took me to Chang's Noodle, which was not far from the museum; I walked in and found it pretty busy, so I had to wait a while to get a seat. It had all the hallmarks of a good Asian place, i.e. simple furniture, packed with people, very few of whom were not Asian.
I ended up having some good fried dumplings and a tasty chicken chow mien. And paying a very reasonable (for London) price.
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