The Longest Day

We were pleased to have a 777 which provided 300 or so viewing choices on the back of the seat 9" screens. Several movies and soccer replays were squinted at through bleary eyes in the many uncomfortable hours fidgeditng to try to minimise discomfort enough to sleep and our brains were working that bad then.

We had an 8 hour leg to Singapore, 1 hour refuel, 7 hours to Dubai, 2.5 hours layover, 6 hours to Rome, 1 hour on the plane waiting for the final 1 hour leg to Nice.

We got the car OK after rectifying that we wanted it for 36 days and not the 6 they had recorded.

Since we were travelling light, it was no surprise that Tricias two bursting at the seem bags were almost unmanageable as we drudged around the car park and over-ramps to the pickup point for the car.

We started out of the depot and managed to remember to head right around the first roundabout and even cleared the airport at the first go (it took us three goes last time). "Why did we get a manual?", er, "Why on earth did you get a manual?", er, "What were you thinking?", er, "You know how hard it always is on the first day", er, er, ... The traffic was solid but we clung to the rear of another tourist crawling along in the slow lane. The beauty of the Promenade des Anglais was a little dangerous to motorists nearby, we missed the unmissable first turn. Gambled on a turn, then a right then a left, we were lost. Oh shit, I'm on the left hand side of the road, I better get accross to the right, through those yellow concrete blocks with large gaps, oops, its a bus lane and we are in a one way street, but at least we aren't fully in the bus lane, but I can't turn back into our lane because of the yellow block, where's reverse. It's marked on the gear shift but no way known will this go into revers, it doesn't have reverse, "Why did you get a manual?", ... Try and try again, no reverse, a bus is now hurtling towards our rear end. Arrgh. Tricia opens her door to make a run for it, oh no shes gone to the front of the car so now I can't go forward, why is she glaring at me, oh OK, yes push us back into our correct lane, more glares, push harder!, and I might just innocently take my foot off the break too. Bus driver is now presumably swearing at us.

A couple more turns and were magically at our hotel. Its on a quiet street, and we turn off the street into a little winding alley to iron gates. They remotely open and welcome us in. A frantically friendly hotelier, seems to recognise we are not entirely in control of anything, tries to assist us to park. Eventually success. We are two flights up big stairs with thos monstrously heavy bags.

After a 36 hour day, and in complete panic, the first need is a shower.

Then we head out on foot to explore that pretty promenade along the beach and get some real food at a restaurant on the beach watching the waves and the sunset, and the planes flying by to land every 2 minutes. It was 26 degrees at sunset, shorts and t-shirts, no jacket for painful stroll back to the hotel. Feet no longer happy.

Finally to sleep after a 42 hour day, at 8 PM. Kept waking but much better than the plane.