The hitlist

Voila my amazing pixel art skills (not).

So this is where we'll be going, approximately, complete with a small pixellated Tegan riding a baguette (fitting as we fly to Prague, numero uno from Paris).

Before I'll even have time for a café crème we'll be swept away in 6 hours of madness.

As I write, I'm in the process of finalising accommodation. I just sent an email off to a lady who politely asked whether I'd like a private room or to be part of the fray in the 25 person dorm. Obviously the prospects of sleep seem dashed but I'm sure I'll meet some crazy people, hear some sex noises and may be collateral damage when someone smokes a bong. But it'll all add to the experience I want: seeing the rougher side to travels.

And yes I've already been asked if I've designed the toe tag for the morgue but in reality I don't think couchsurfing is as dodgy as it seems. I've planned for 3-4 places within the hostel visits for this experience.We'll see if I end up in a body bag. Otherwise, no judgments people!

The fabled VISA

So I find myself - quite late in the day - applying for a six month Visa at the French consulte. Just my luck to have chosen to do an exchange with a university in Southern France, where they are notoriously slow at everything. As Peter Mayle put it, people from Provence say "I'll do it by the end of the week", which in fact means you'll be lucky to see it done in the next two months.

Anyway, I walked doggedly up to the consulate, they even had a special room with a sliding door for you to sit and wait your turn.

The following dialogue is an example of the sheer bitchiness of the consulate. This chick was definitely a HKer but her imperious glare spoke Gallic volumes.

Lady at counter: "I need your birth certificate"
Me: *presents the original document*
Lady at counter: "No, I want a copy"
Me: "well... you could photocopy it"
Lady: "no. you do it" // aka. "COMPUTER SAYS NOOOOO"

NB: I am fairly certain I saw a photocopier at the back of the office. She just couldn't be bothered to help me.

I didn't argue with that attitude. That woman meant business. But I spent the next half hour running around trying to find a photocopier in the vicinity. I forget to mention this was in a tall office building attached to a mall, so aside from barging into random offices, I was hoping and praying there was a copy shop.

The photocopy god answered my prayers. I got her my birth certificate. And my heart began to sank with the realisation that this woman was a Hong Konger, not a French bureaucrat, so what she put me through wouldn't even compare to what happens in France.