Au revoir; Adieu; A Bientot; Salut; Farewell; Goodbye France!

And we are off...

Sitting on the train to London. Paris is now but a memory, as is France.

I am always amazed how time flies and what it means in different scenarios! Arriving on the sixth, five days in France seemed glorious, and now the time has vanished. And in another two hours I will be in a country where I understand most things, including menus.

My last evening was an adventure, I watched Bourges battle against Lyon. Lyon clad in netball style dresses were far from ladylike. The game was intense, physical with Bourges players being spat out and rolled across the court. Valerie Garnier did superbly, every time one of her players started to get a bit agitated, she substituted them. Celine Dumerc got ruffled a few times but mostly had a bemused smile on her face. Her training buddy Stella got irritated when her opponent just kept pushing her until she finally lashed out but got blown by the ref. Garnier immediately changed her. When Bourges did manage to get a movement in, it looked splendid. The only player that looked completely unphased by Lyon's brash play was the youngster, Romanie who was like a jumping jack livewire bouncing around like a pup.

The final score saw the home side victorious but it was a battle.

I strolled back to the hotel and sat in the hotel bar for a bit. I had a 1664 beer on tap and people watched. When I next glanced at my watch, it was pumpkin hour. I disappeared to my quarter, jumped into bed and was quickly asleep.

The next morning I showered and then packed. I had a long trek to the train station-crossing on road and a parking lot, so didn't want to be late. Snow had tumbled down again and the temperature was on a mere 3 degrees.

After a crowded train trip, I landed in Paris. I purchased a 24 hour metro ticket and headed to the familiar district of Gare Du Nord. I made it to Altona by memory and dumped my bags. I then headed out into the city.

First stop, a French kebab at my local. I devoured the huge meal, charged and ready to go. I was now ready to wander.

Snow, snow and more snow! The vast city of Paris was under a dreamy snowy blizzard, with the white particles continually gently falling. I tackled the exploration with illa inspired music (and every Morris Column-advertising boards in Paris advertising the movie) I had Les Miserables lined up on my I-Pod. I jumped out of the metro nearest the Eiffel Tower. The familiar attraction was lost at the top with the low clouds. I crossed the river Seine, the river was swollen and was lapping across the lower walkways. Brave locals strolled along the pavements, skirting the high lying water and making alternative plans where the walkways were flooded and impassable. I walked from the Eiffel Tower towards the Arc de Triomphe, at the top viewing section, the best view of the city I was stopped by a chap who made me a wool bracelet, he claimed it was warm colours and thinking back it is of course the colours of Valentine's. As he was tying it around my wrist, he stated that at the point of tying it, I should be making a wish.

I discovered the Arc, it was exactly where I had last seen it! I strolled around, the snow was relentless so I made my way to Virgin Records where I mainly stopped to dry off a bit. I met a lovely lady who served me in the cafe, bubbly character with piercing eyes.

After warming up and drying off, I left the cafe and wandered around the cd collection, finding a few Les Enfoires but they weren't on sale so I continued on with my sight seeing.

One thing that is totally bold is the fashion in France, it seems that if you were it with spunk, you pull it off. I passed a man wearing a pink hat with childlike animal figures popping up from the hat, leather boots and sparkly knee pads. He looked just darling.

Eventually after hours of strolling around with my beanie soaked through, I headed back to Gare Du Nord and the warmth of the hotel. I stopped at the shop next door to the hotel and got a beer, a lemon cooldrink, and a chocolate. Enough to top up after the huge French kebab.

In my room, I defrosted under the covers, made sure everything was charged and watched some French telly. This morning I checked out of the hotel early, left my bags at the reception and went sightseeing, on the hop on hop off bus. When I left the hotel, it was still snowing mixed with bog standard rain.

For five hours, I hopped off and on, enjoying the great city sights. Most of which I have seen and a few that I hadn't. The weather improved, so much so that I even wore my sunnies. A complete contrast to the landscape that I pass now.

Sitting on the Eurostar, I guess I am in no mans land. I checked out of France and a few paces later I was at a British passport control.

Train rides are all about the changing landscapes, Bourges was green, wet and flat. Around Paris, it is crowded filled with street art and buildings on top of each other, now on the Eurostar, the hilly surrounds are covered in snow with small villages rising out of the stark whiteness with a church spire dominating the skyline, mixed with wirey naked trees.

I think I have another hour left of the train trip. I have yet to go under the English Channel, but for now, I will enjoy the last of France listening to Mozart L'Opera Rock.

Pooh is almost in his homeland! We shall be surrounded by Brits. I am having High Tea with Trayci Tompkins which I am most looking forward to!

The end is nigh...

Again, I sit at the airport awaiting to check in for my flight, the one that will whisk me away to the land of familiarity and English speakers.

What a whirlwind tour of France, and Spain. A mixture of emotions, a sensory overload and the best thing of all, loads of tremendous memories, again!

I arrived in Paris, an airport called Beauvau (sp). What not many people realise is that the airport deceivingly has Paris stated infront of the name but actually is 80km away from Paris. So from Terminal 2, you have to march to Terminal 1 and purchase a bus ticket for 15Euro to Paris. I did this willingly as the other option was a 125Euro taxi ride to Gare Du Nord.

I sat next to two young Americans for a third of the flight, they talked about the state of their hair, what shampoo they recommend and what they class as a decent salon! The rest of the flight they went through their pictures and reminisced. I was glad to be rid of them, generalising about Americans. As I stepped onto the bus, who would sit in front of me... Brash Americans, three of them who got to know each other. Two from Texas and one from Alabama. The whole bus knew about their stand on recycling and that it actually isn't helping the planet, their fear of tornadoes and their expectations of Paris.

Miss Alabama irritatingly amused with her persistant self portraits, she has pix of her on the plane, on the tarmac near the plane, walking from the plane, collecting her bag and on the bus. But she did this whole wiggle but only her head would be in the shoot!

It was rather amusing as all of us sat on the bus and most of us didn't have a clue, besides Paris, knew where our end destination was an hour later we were all safely alighted at a bus terminal near some big convention centre.

I found the metro and made my way to the familiar Gare Du Nord.

Close on three hours after the flight had arrived, I had made it to Gare Du Nord, I went to the familiar taxi stand and showed them the address, a band of them all gathered and refused to take me claiming it was too close. I got directions and off I went.

Their assumption that the hotel was just at the back of the train station was slightly misleading as after forty minutes, with the helpful assistance of google maps, I arrived at the Hipotel. I checked in and went up to my room, simple is the only word that comes to mind. I had a bed, a desk, a chair and a basin. I then went in search of something to drink but everything was closed, no supermarkets in the area stay open past 9 so I had to settle for a restaurant. The nearest was a Istanbul spot that served non other than kebabs, so I enjoyed a French kebab and have to say, worlds apart from a Spanish kebab.

Having eaten handsomely, I walked around this colourful neighboourhood of Gare De L'Est. On one side there are the Arabs and Hindis and on the other the Nigerians and fluttered betweenare the Europeans.

Everywhere, and I do mean everywhere, the tag artists have made their mark. If a delivery vans is stationery long enough it gets sprayed. In the more architecturally pleasing side of Nigeria, this artists has gone around pasting her work onto the walls covering the graffiti, and the tag artists seem to respect this.

I then headed back up to the hipotel nearing eleven, I think. I had the humourous honour of chatting to Helen as she gave me blow by blow accounts of the EUFA Cup Final, she was supporting Bayern!

I woke this morning with the sense that this hotel, that wasn't so hip, would not allow me to leave my bags for the day. I quickly packed for the final time, showered and then headed down a beautiful wooden staircase and asked. There was a young chap, age hard to tell due to his obesity, eating three yogurts and some chips. I was third in queue and quickly realised he didn't speak a word of English, I went back upstairs and got my google translate out. Twenty minutes later, having had his chubby finger waved at me several times, I found out that the train station close to us was the only place that offered lodgings for bags.

I had passed the station on my travels to the Hipotel, so back tracked and not long having entered the awesome train station, I had a ticket with my bag safely stowed away in a locker!

A few hours in Paris, what to do. The weather wasn't looking the happiest, so I debated whether to go straight to the games but then opted for the sightseeing choice and caught the metro with stopping at the Louvre. At the change, I decided that I have all ready done the Louvre and yes it had been winter but I should venture somewhere new so fifteens minutes later I was walking towards the Paris Opera House. I walked around, took a few snaps and then headed to the Palais, looking up a road, I discovered a huge Nelson like Statue so went to investigate. It was wonderful, all aged bronze with fabulous detail. The whole area around it was posh shops, the Hyatt Hotel was a stone throw away.

Happy with my time here, I then continued to the Palais. Again getting side tracked, I found yet another statue, a magnificent glass building with woven bronze encassing it, another building till eventually I was alongside the Louvre, as I wondered down a corridor lining curios shops, I came across an artist. I watched her work for a bit and we chatted. She was from the west of Finland and she reckons I have seen more of her country than she has. I parted as she took up her brush and charismatically applied some more paint to her canvas.

I still hadn't found the Palais. Running out of time, I started looking for a metro as I had no idea where the stadium was. Forty minutes and two stations later I emerged from the underground and was welcomed by this huge stadium right in front of me.

The stadium cleverly called the Omnisport hosted even concerts here. I entered easily, the ticket takers were all dressed in black suits and had FBI hearing devices. They waved me through, and I stepped ever closer to the court. Three rows from the front, I settled in my seat and armed myself with my cameras.

The game was mainly dominated by Bourges, I had their whole supporters clan behind me, with the band at the forefront of the group. So I had the drums and rattles ringing loud and clear two seats away.

In mid-flight going for a 3 pointer, Celine Dumerc for Bourges

In the fourth quarter, the tables turned and what had once been easy pickings changes and Bourges couldn't do anything right. They lost steam and as the clock ticked past 9seconds Celine attempted her second 3throw and everyone watched as it spilled out. She dejectedly ripped her armband off and a heartbeat later the whistle blew with all the pink players celebrating. I watched everyone, heartbroken. Interesting how passionate people are about a sport!

Eventually, I left the comfort of the exciting venue, the men's final was coming up and all the stands were separated, green on the far side and red around me. Flags, bands and songs filled the air. I bid them all farewell as I made my way towards my locker.

Easily reuniting with my belongings, I then started the ride to the airport.

Forty minutes and a herd of travelers all made their way up the escalator, and charged to their check ins, that is all but about 20 who had problems with our train tickets, admittedly I only had a zone 2 ticket and was now in zone 6. Someone out of the blue passed us all and waved his jacket on the otherside and the glass doors and they magically opened, one of our flock tried it and it worked. So another tried, alas we couldn't open the gate. Eventually a real person went through and someone charged the gate and made it, then we all one by one flooded out, with the second released traveler holding the gate for us all.

I thanked him and then headed to Emirates check in. Standing right at the back of the queue, behind several tour parties, I waited patiently, irritated as I hadn't checked in online as there was no one in my usually queue. Twenty minutes later, having not moved very far, an angel plucked myself and another bloke from the back and fast tracked us through business class. I quickly made it through, then said my thank yous, heading towards the customs. The three business class check in ladies laughed at me as the customs had moved, blushingly I then headed to the new customs and flew through.

I now sit in no mans land, a few minutes till we board. Again I say good bye to Europe, hoping to return soon. Pooh is happy, he saw Winnie...

See you all soon...