Esther has posted up a blog entry about her and Antsje’s recent visit. I’m glad to say that she genuinely did seem to enjoy it and wasn’t pretending while she was here! Feel free to compare the diaries:
Category Archives: France
One of those days
This was so much one of "those" days, it made up for any amount of "not one of those days" that I may have had in the last month.
In common parlance: ARGH.
Sundays is airport transfer day. Things almost always go wrong, though usually only one or two small incidents per week. When you’re moving 1500 people around, things are bound to slip occasionally. This week, there were more slips than in a factory making flimsy underskirts out of banana skins. For once, though, very few were directly our "fault" which is in some way a little heartening.
As ever, when reporting on work stuff I’ll be honest. I know some employers don’t like you nattering about "behind the scenes" goings-on in public, but as ever I’ve not identified my employer and in honesty there’s nothing untoward here. In fact, I think at the end of the day we coped pretty well.
First off, we were forewarned that a coach from one of the resorts would be over an hour late. This is a worry, as check-in desks are at a premium in the charter terminal where we’re based and have a habit of closing on the dot. Late arrivals can cause a ruckus as the check-in staff and luggage handlers’ routine is disturbed.
The reason for the delay wasn’t good either. We serve two airports so two buses were on resort. The handbrake on one slipped off, it rolled down the hill and into the other. Which had some of our guests already on board. As far as I’m aware, damage was minor (buswise, anyway) and nobody was hurt. In fact, it’s a good thing the second bus was there, as otherwise the first one would have left the road (this I heard from one of the passengers, not officially). Luggage was offloaded and put onto a replacement coach (hence the delay) as the other coach was pronounced roadworthy and set off.
However, there was a mixup with the luggage. Most made it onto the coach for Geneva. Some of it meant for Geneva was put on the Chambéry coach, and one or two pieces left behind. By this time there were other buses arriving, picking people up for later flights so it just kind of happened. Unfortunate, but chaos – at times – reigns supreme.
At another resort, a coach problem resulted in two buses being swapped over – the later one replacing the earlier one while the earlier one was repaired to take its place. Simple enough, you think. But this had repercussions later. Bus B was due to come in from one resort, but deliver guests to another. Bus A was due to do a simple "there and back". Of course, this needed to change as well. But try explaining that to a French bus driver who’s paperwork says one thing while you try and tell him another.
The first of the buses with problematic luggage arrived and the passengers whose stuff had been misplaced (not lost – we knew exactly where it was) were understandably miffed. We rang a couple of numbers, confirmed that we knew exactly what luggage was theirs and ensured it was labelled. They left somewhat angry, but mollified that their items would be couriered via DHL at the very beginning of one week. One girl complained that all her medication was in one of her bags and on this front I would give this advice:
TIP
don’t put all your medication on your hold luggage. Always have 2-3 days’ worth in your cabin bags. Contact lens stuff, pills, creams… whatever. Yes, I know we have these annoying regulations about pastes and liquids on flights now. However, I believe I’m correct in saying that with a doctor’s note, these can be waived for specified items. Worst case, get some small tubs and squirt some of the medications into them. Enough to do you a day or three in case the worst happens.
The second bus with absconding luggage arrived. This with just one bag astray and at the wrong airport. We did get the bag transferred over, but unfortunately too late for the guest who were touch and go with their flight time anyway. Another one to DHL, but labelled and safe.
As has happened every week except last week, we had a coach (un-repped, so no staff member on it) drop guests off at the main terminal for the flight home. No use when they depart from the charter… I’m not sure if the driver had been told or not. Some are just stubborn and insist on only dropping at the main one, which is strange as the traffic there is far worse than where we’re based. It took us a while to realise the guests hadn’t reached us – the drivers of unrepped vehicles rarely make themselves known to us. We send a staff member over and found them having just discovered they were in the wrong place. We escorted them along the short walk between terminals and squeezed them onto the flight at the last minute.
In amongst all this, we had a guest arrive with us who was deathly ill. It turned out he had cancer and had taken a turn for the worse overnight. Had we known, we’d have had him dropped at the main terminal where they can supply wheelchairs – they do a roaring trade during the snow sports season. However, we did the best we could with the limited facilities. The other guests happily let the party queue-jump and the staff booked them in very quickly, not even requiring him to stand at the check-in area. This meant he could sit elsewhere and rest.
After being rather stressed and angry when they arrived at the lack of care facilities, the family were very grateful and friendly when they passed through passport control. A bad situation turned round very well, I felt. Lovely people, and I could understand their frustration. Best wishes to the man in question.
By now we were approaching late afternoon and what was normally the last flight of the day. I’d managed to squeeze in a sandwich and some cake courtesy of the wonderful staff from Zermatt. Somehow they feed all their guests, stay well under budget and still have enough food to treat the transfer staff on a Sunday. Thanks, guys!
Then another problem, and one definitely out of our hands. The luggage all arrived fine at the charter terminal. But someone, somewhere, somehow had guided all the passengers off their plane into the main terminal. We had 144 bodies (plus infants) to locate, corral and herd around the airport. Half a dozen of us trekked over and – thankfully – were shortly greeted by a large crowd of people who took it in good humour. The chance to see a rare breakdown of traditional Swiss efficiency is probably worthy of a postcard in its own right.
Their luggage was collected and buses departed. Only one man had managed to collect the wrong luggage and headed for one resort, while another guest stood in the airport fuming at one of our reps for not running after the bus fast enough to stop it. Rather unkind and unrealistic, I thought. We’ll manage to get the bags swapped over by tomorrow morning, I’m sure.
Tip
Got a bag that looks cool… but looks like a million other bags that other people have? Make it individual. I sew patches on mine – not country flags, every backpacker does that. I sew on ones from obscure heavy metal bands. Or scrawl on it in marker pen. Who cares? It’s only a bag. And better a bag with your signature on it in 7" high letters that you get back than a clone that walks off with someone else.
Another family had left a kind of modern-day papoose on the plane which we’d located but knew it would take a while to get hold of. They were fine and even insisted on leaving us to sort it out so they didn’t hold the coach up waiting for them. Said item was located and returned to them in the hotel later on.
Our final flight – an extra one for reasons unbeknown to us or the guests on it – arrived at the main terminal where we simply weren’t used to working. The coach driver flailed his arms and yelled about there being no space to park. Not now, not in "trente minutes, quarante minutes, soixante minutes!" until I realised the guy was a right wind-up merchant and actually one of the best drivers we have. I could still have kicked his arse for it after the day I’d had!
Thankfully, things went pretty much smoothly after that. All luggage in the right place, a pleasant group of guests to take back. The driver even made an impromptu toilet stop with no complaints for one of the children. I’ve heard nightmare stories about some of the jobsworths who won’t even stop at services when they have 4 year-olds leaking pee everywhere. And then complain about the mess. No such problems with Jacky – top driving.
And so back to the hotel. Then McDonald’s for the first time in well over a month. My boss had said she’d let me pass a meal on expenses at the airport as I was working an extra couple of hours with that late flight. Only I didn’t get the time to eat there! I think I was justified in pocketing the receipt for the late meal instead.
2 years and counting…
Yes, folks. Two years since I left Blighty on that fateful day in 2006 and I’ve spent it in a somewhat different manner than last year’s anniversary. Then I was in Oz, piling on the kilometres from Sydney to Byron Bay. Today I was mainly sat in an office repairing my desktop PC that blew a gasket (well, a hard drive) the other evening.
It’s kind of strange to be writing about continuing my travels as the focus of work today was on thigns coming to an end. Some resorts have their last guests flying home in around 5 weeks. We had a major End of Season meeting in Chamonix, with managers from all the resorts being told the procedures with regards to closedown. I had to tell people that we want all our PCs back, which took all of five minutes. It’s going to be a lot more slog once they turn up and I have to strip them all down and install new configurations in readiness for next season.
Catching up with all the staff I originally met during the training weeks was a blast, though. And the staff at the Sapiniére put on a great buffet lunch. Seven hours later and I think I’ve about digested all the cake I ate.
This is hardly as exciting as hitching 1000km up the coast of Oz, I admit! Still, who knows what I’ll be doing or where I’ll be in another 12 months. Travel plans past September are still hazy, though the ones for Europe in Spring are already changing as I’ve realised I simply won’t have the time to do the things I was hoping to. I think I’ll have to drop Belarus and Warsaw, and forget about a long trip through Scandinavia back to Frankfurt. Ah well. Another time!
Here’s a promise…
A brief report of the last little while then. The focus of the last week or so has been the visit of Esther and Antsje, two lovely young women from Friesland. That’s the far north of the Netherlands and an area which actually has its own language. Imagine the Dutch version of Wales – they have their own arguments about putting flags on numberplates and recognising their language as well.
I originally met Esther in Darwin where we shared a hostel room twice. She now actually lives in Haarlem on the west coast having moved from Amsterdam where I last saw her. Her visit was my way of repaying her for her kind hospitality on The Walk. Oh, and Harlem in New York is indeed named after Haarlem in the Netherlands. After all, New York was originally New Amsterdam!
The two ladies arrived on the 4th by bus from Geneva. I swear I told them I could collect them from the airport, but the happily made their own 2-hour way top Chamonix where they’d pre-booked skis (yes… skis… *shudder*). They got settled in and I showed them quickly around the town during my split shift. Ski lessons were booked and as I returned to work, they went to pick up their equipment.
Also during the week we’d popped out for food on a couple of occasions, as one does when one has visitors of such high standing. OK, I wasn’t too posh the first time as we hit Midnight Express as usual. We joined some of my work cohorts for a meal in Le Caveau another night and experienced some of the worst service ever. This was a crying shame as I’d been telling E & A that, based on my past experience, this was a great place. But being bumped back an hour for our table because they screwed our booking up, then waiting over an hour longer for the food just wasn’t acceptable.
Conversely, on Monday we headed for MBC which has notoriously bad service but half price chicken wings on a Monday. It also has some other great dishes, but I’m a cheapskate so I go for a nice volume:Euro ratio. Lo and behold – wonderful service. The food was superb as well. Antsje had the “appetiser” version of one of their burgers and just about finished it. Esther had crispy duck, and I had 24 chicken wings. And a medium bowl of their cross-hatch cut chips. And a pint.
As far as I’m aware my Dutch visitors are now back in their respective homes. Their visit coincided with the first snow we’ve had for some time, though it turned to rain just as they were leaving. Hopefully, it’s still snowing higher up and we’re just getting the damper end of things down here.
And this brings us back around to this week.
You may have noticed that I’ve added some photos for the first time in ages. I will try to continue doing this, but it’s a pain with the theme I’m using right now. I’ve had to add new tags to the CSS to get them to stagger left/right, and if I have one complaint about WordPress, it’s the clunky editing interface. I do have a Plugin that changes things to a much superior editor, but this doesn’t work with the file browser so I have to swap back and forth to insert the images into the text.
As I promised. One post a week minimum on here from now till the end of the season.
Cooking… the French way
Anyone who knows me knows I’m fussy as all hell about my food – or at least I used to be. When I was a child, I used to be packed off to other children’s parties with a list from my mother. It stretched to about 15 items and it was all the food I would eat. This was because the list of things I wouldn’t eat was far too long for her to draft.
Without wishing to sound offensive, I’d have been an ideal Jew. I didn’t like pork, sausages or bacon. Neither would I touch fish or any other seafood (some things never change…). I also didn’t like lamb very much. Melted cheese was a no-no. Forget onions, pickles, peppers, spices, curry, garlic…
Since then I have grown to live for a decent bacon buttie on a weekend. A sausage sandwich is a good way to fill up on a lunchtime. Extra-spicy fajitas (stuffed with peppers) are the order of the day at present and Midnight Express along the road don’t to anything that’s not improved by the melted cheese inside.
While I’ve been travelling, I’ve explored a few unusual foodstuffs. In Australia I had kangaroo, emu and crocodile all in one meal; and a camel-burger at another. At various points in Vietnam I chowed down on cobra, pigeon and sparrow, though I’ve yet to try dog. I did sample alligator back in the UK once. And I found the best curry house in the world in Krakow, closely followed by a doozy in Vientiane. Not to say the food in India wasn’t good – it was superb (too many links to mention!)
Here in France, I’d expected just the usual – good bread (on a par with the Vietnamese stuff at least), various cheeses (none as good as mature cheddar, but hey), fine wine (who can argue with €0.85 a bottle for rosé?)… I’ve even made a couple of "French" meals while I’ve been here, some inspired by those cooked for me when I was walking through Europe last year. An easy one is to fry some potatoes, smother them in one of the runny cheeses that comes in tubs like toghurt, mix in some meat, spices, and perhaps some pepper or onion and slap it on a place. I guess this is kind of the French version of a hotpot or stew. Damn fine it is, too.
The other night I opted for something simple. A slab of meat and some mixed veg. Now at home I used to have one of those George Formby ukulele/grill combo things. It got rid of all the fat from your meat, cooked it right through even from frozen and played songs in a cheerful Cockney accent. OK, maybe not the last bit. In my little flat I have a tiny oven the size of an antique portable TV, and a frying pan.
I usually opt for the pan (poêle) method as the electric oven just dried everything out. So I warmed up some oil and checked the cooking instructions. Yes, OK, so I know it was just a steak but it’s interesting to see that they actually tell you how to cook it. I guess they must get a lot of tourists (with French/English dictionaries) here. Essentially the instructions were to drop the meat into a pre-heated pan, heat on each side for 2-3 minutes and then serve.
Now, anyone who’s tried French cooking knows that they prefer their meat… almost still kicking. If it doesn’t bleed all over your plate when you poke it with a spoon, it’s overdone. If you want it done correctly you get a trained chef to breathe on it for half an hour. If you want it slightly charred you get him to eat three chilis first.
I prefer my meat just cooked right through, preferably without charring on the outside. I’d kind of gotten a knack for it, but it’s been a while since I made a steak, and the meat I had this time was very slightly different to what I’m used to. You’d be surprised, but horse meat takes a bit more cooking than a piece of cow’s rump. On eating, the texture is very similar but it’s pretty tricky to get it to cook right the way through without turning the outside to charcoal.
So add another species to the list that’ll want to kick my ass when it gets the chance.
