The routine...
I'm sitting in a hotel in Paris, not far from Montmarte and Sacre Coeur, thinking that I should finally write a little bit about my routine. I found myself telling someone the other day that my life was rather mundane, same old same old.... to which the person raised their eyebrows. The guy selling tickets in the train station asked me this morning if I was a war correspondant! So I guess, even though I have got into a bit of a routine, life's still not exactly boring.
I'm now doing my 8th trip into Guinea in what has been nearly a year. Normally I have a few drinks with friends in Mossley on the Saturday night, then get up early on Sunday and get a lift to the Manchester airport. Cruise through to the lounge with maximum efficiency, hop on the plane, get off in Paris, cruise through to the next lounge, say hi to the other people heading back in (there's always someone I know) then sit back and relax for about 6 hours. Some people complain about Air France; personnally I have a great time. People come with drinks, then food, then more drinks... I watch a French movie with a nice glass of cognac while trying to remember how to speak the language, all most relaxing.
At Conakry I step off into the wave of humid heat and lap it up. It's just like home (Brisbane I mean, not Mossley obviously!). I get my bag (hopefully!), say hi to the Rio Tinto greeter and we all get on the bus to the hotel, before going off to work the next day. (There will be a few changes now that the Air France schedule has changed a bit, but nothing much).
On the way home it's the trip to the airport, a glass of baileys in the lounge (free), onto the plane, try to stay awake for the food then fast asleep overnight until Paris. Then it's the reverse, into the lounge at Paris, try and find that week's Economist, grab a perrier, sit down, get up, go get the plane to Manchester, fall sound asleep again, off the plane, go through the non-EU passport line all by myself (yay), grab my bag (hopefully!) and catch the three trains home, trying to avoid the junk food options at Manchester Piccadilly train station.
Back in Mossley I check my mail, avoid doing housework, go for a few walks in the hills, spend a few afternoons in the pub, do never as many things as I planned, head into Manchester for a day's shopping to stock up on creams and other things from Boots, have my hair cut, pick up a few other necessities and go to my favourite restaurant for lunch... before doing it all over again!
I'm now doing my 8th trip into Guinea in what has been nearly a year. Normally I have a few drinks with friends in Mossley on the Saturday night, then get up early on Sunday and get a lift to the Manchester airport. Cruise through to the lounge with maximum efficiency, hop on the plane, get off in Paris, cruise through to the next lounge, say hi to the other people heading back in (there's always someone I know) then sit back and relax for about 6 hours. Some people complain about Air France; personnally I have a great time. People come with drinks, then food, then more drinks... I watch a French movie with a nice glass of cognac while trying to remember how to speak the language, all most relaxing.
At Conakry I step off into the wave of humid heat and lap it up. It's just like home (Brisbane I mean, not Mossley obviously!). I get my bag (hopefully!), say hi to the Rio Tinto greeter and we all get on the bus to the hotel, before going off to work the next day. (There will be a few changes now that the Air France schedule has changed a bit, but nothing much).
On the way home it's the trip to the airport, a glass of baileys in the lounge (free), onto the plane, try to stay awake for the food then fast asleep overnight until Paris. Then it's the reverse, into the lounge at Paris, try and find that week's Economist, grab a perrier, sit down, get up, go get the plane to Manchester, fall sound asleep again, off the plane, go through the non-EU passport line all by myself (yay), grab my bag (hopefully!) and catch the three trains home, trying to avoid the junk food options at Manchester Piccadilly train station.
Back in Mossley I check my mail, avoid doing housework, go for a few walks in the hills, spend a few afternoons in the pub, do never as many things as I planned, head into Manchester for a day's shopping to stock up on creams and other things from Boots, have my hair cut, pick up a few other necessities and go to my favourite restaurant for lunch... before doing it all over again!
