Tied Down

Back tracking a little in this adventure as the memory bank starts to recall some interesting events: A few months ago having arrived at Sabrinas place, in the Cote d’Azure, I knew I was going to enjoy the place – well a girl can tell this by the simple things like: a decent wine can be purchase, that’s two (not one) bottles of red for less than garbage disposal liners or better still where a café crème is double the price of the red brew.... well I’ve needed to cut down on my caffeine and it makes sense in these cost conscious days to drink the more economical of the two.

What’s not to like - a city by the Ocean, surrounded by mega yachts that come with their own sailors; a fortress wall for protection from invaders; plenty of good food and instant friends. Having dumped the travel bags, I gave the bathroom 10 minutes (ok, it was more like 30, too many champers) and to counter the dehydrating factor of flying we went to a local bar to replenish. As can happen, usually not within said guest (moi) arriving only 24 hours before, however, extenuating circumstances (read male & gorgeous), Sabrina has disappeared (with entertainment) and thus my lodgings are not available 'ce soir' (this evening), this event is prior to our relocation to a more entertainment friendly abode.

Hours later…perhaps days (but who’s counting) I find the room moving – don’t panic it’s Ok I’m in a boat….no,no, it’s a yacht….oh, yeah I remember: went to dinner on one yacht and end up sleeping on another (this is the way things should be done….junior girl cadets make note, do not eat and sleep on the same yacht if you can help it, it’s really not good form when you can share your charms)....when I notice, whoah, there’s an extra arm and a couple of legs and a couple of ……. that’s right a phone call was made at some mid-night hour and an invitation was accepted and thus watching the sun come out through a port-hole is the right place to be. Just took another look, yeah my choice was fine, no harm done and even managed to pick an extremely nice yacht – not just is my equation but most of the yachties get a little star struck at the mention of this one. The Italian sailor that has my arm trapped under his waist is starting to wake – hope he has good coffee on board because there was a rope tying competition that’s still to be adjudicated on and an ability to undo what I thought a slip-knot that hasn’t slipped…the other arms getting a real crick and rope burns…oh bugger, do hope someone checks the barbeque on the balcony I tied down at home.

Medina

Desperately needed some thawing out and trying to catch a couple of sun rays by following said planet by moving bar to bar looking for an outdoor seating position to indulge a glass of vino and primarily preventing scurvy – I know it’s been unheard of in over 100 years, but why risk it I say.  With this technique you get about 20 minutes to order and drink before you lose the heat and forced to move to next sun-soaked position, thus its an endless battle to stay warm; stay sober; find your way to the next naturally occurring hot spot (now which way is west)? Damn hard work.

With all of the above to contend with one Duchess and Princess made a decision (this is always cause for celebration, - glasses went ‘chink..chink’ - because decision are more painful and sometimes more embarrassing than a quick dip in the neighbours pool (indoor) at 3am in Winter – don’t want to dash across frost bitten lawns in the buff again…and of course the conversation that needs to be had the following day, with or without law enforcement officers present... phew). So off we go finding more appropriate atmospheres and thus within 24 hours we find ourselves jetting off to Marrakesh, via Cassablanca. The travel agents suggestion of going via Paris which didn’t make sense to us, (for those with limited geographic talent this is a bit like leaving Rome for Athens via Antarctic –get the picture). Although it was tempting to stop in and see how the Gods (Gucci; Prada & co) were doing mid-season and with prevalent economic disaster we thought (again problem..we were thinking) this could work but then a light came on in the travel agents over coiffured head and the more direct route was booked.

Landed in glorious sunshine in Marrakesh, transported to our painfully selected Riad (went through at least a hundred potential options before settling on the most gorgeous dark brooding, recently refurbed abode, well yeah of course we wanted the real Marrakech without the reality). We get dropped off in the centre of the old Medina with MoMo (the Riads goffer) on hand to greet us and escort us the rest of the way, there aint no getting a vehicle through these laneways (a donkey, one on serious food rations, and cart just fit), as we’re more concentrated on not falling over in our stilletos – perhaps not the most practical footwear, but the locals were transfixed with our tootsies and one should always try to make an impression with the community, we really were not paying too much attention to the directions we were being taken in, but MoMo landed us in front of a non-descript door and welcomed us in – wow, nice, very nice, may choose not to leave for a while.

As we now have a home with caring staff (read: others to think for us), we headed straight out into the pre-dusk of the Medina, again it may have been an idea to note directions, well that’s easy to say now, but then there didn’t seem much haste. Walked and walked, gaped at all the sights – the souks with their multi-coloured offerings; the dress code from every century since Adam was a pup and the mange cats – what’s with Marrakesh and cats don’t they cull or eat them?.... well with this much entertainment who wants to think about getting back to base camp….4 hours later, having sampled ‘Chateau Sahara Blanc’ it seemed like a good idea to head for bed, although the local souks were very generous in offering their lodgings to us (do believe it was a shared situation they were referring to)…..Ok which way, and you can’t use the buildings as a reference as they’re all a faded terracotta colour and the street grid is non-existent so being the practical girls we are, we stopped a young street urchin ‘Mohammed’ and asked him whether he knew our Riad….Mohammed took one look at our feet and said sure he did (obviously the grape-vine had been working and our choice of sandals had reached all corners of the Medina). Mohammed proceeded to escort us home with references to the local sights – why we went by the Jusef Mosque three times was a mystery to us – it could be religious tokenism and we don’t want to be messing with gods we’re not on a mailing list with, so we indulged Mohammeds track to home).   The born trader that Mohammed is negotiated a per kilometer deal that would have put us into another pair of designer sandals (each), but Chateau Sahara had weakened our resolve and we're grateful to have the sense not to have taken the local souks offer of accommodation although they told us it was for "free".

Transport

I know I shouldn’t have tried, but this was a new leaf and thus new experiences were to be explored – public transport (although excellent in France, I’m told compared to other places in the world) is not an experience I’m willing to repeat too often…oh, just had a thought - do airlines count as public transport???? – if so, can private jet owners please contact me for future commuting. Thus a couple of trips along the Cote d’ Azure were pleasant (read with a tinge of sarcasm), and the couple of attempts at commuting which were foiled by the rolling strikes of said public transport…I know it doesn’t take a lot – never claimed patience or long attention spans.
Hunting for a vehicle is not so easy, when as described before my French is limited and thus I could be purchasing a submarine rather than a sedan, which may in fact work just fine…..there shouldn’t be too many tolls or parking issues, there wouldn’t be issues of which side of the white line one should stay on and this is enough thinking without purchasing a right hand drive in a left hand drive country, thus the conflict of road sides with seating arrangements gets all too much, did I mention the gear shift aswelll….it’s almost all too much – anyone out there with an available chauffeured limo please contact writer.
No really, I am going to persist with this purchase – after all the world economy is crashing and I’m going to see a normally overpriced vehicle is acquired at a bare minimum value from a banking director whose last bonus cheque would float a small nation, but of course he can’t flaunt such obscenity and thus the relinquishing of four wheeled toys to those of us who can’t believe their luck …..this may apply to jets also, heard a couple of mega-companies who’ve put their hands out for government bailout funds are finding this little tickets item hard to explain to the funding tax payers….starting to love the recession.
So here I go purchasing a vehicle in a country that not only drives on the other side of the road but the driver seat is on the wrong side and do I need to mention that there hasn’t been a sober day (well maybe one) since I arrived…..Oh the memorize of childhood with dad driving.

Maison - Chambres Deux

Sab and I have found a fabulous new apartment, situated above a shoe store, a pattisserie is next door and directly opposite there’s Swarovski’s, what can one say even if we develop a weight problem due to the bakery we’ll have gorgeous looking feet and lobes thus providing distraction from midriff, this little crisis can also be improved on with junior Fire Fighter (this category ‘FF’ shall be expanded on) providing a source of energetic exercise, one must be frugal in what one discards or at the very least recycling should be practiced as you can see potential in all proposition.
The house warming is being delayed due to all the categories of ‘damaged finger’ parties we need to get through first and also a few of the ‘court members’ are away on designated leave and work duties and of course such an important event needs a bit of attention and currently the distraction of wine stopper selection (when you have wine out as often as we do this little devise is seen in public more than Paris Hilton). There’s also the issue of having a chandelier fitted, well one can’t be regal without dangling crystals and with my predilection to shiny objects I wouldn’t feel at home without one and so said necessities of comfortable living must be attended to….yes I know we’re living in times of economic hardship, but can’t someone else take on this burden for a while, it’s ever so boring and requires such discipline I don’t think I’m qualified.
My French has been tested and found wanting – I thought I had pre-ordered 2 baguettes for 6 o’clock, but at time of collection found that my request was for 6 baguettes in 2 hours – not wanting to add conflict with the gorgeous bakery staff (Maree who explained the possibility of ‘reserving ones baguette’ and Aimee who indulges my semi-conscious; finger pointing; 8am on the way home puchases of pastries – of which I usually don’t eat, however, I love the selection of these indulgences and the packaging in which they come, sounds familiar as I pick my men in a not dissimilar way), or create another addiction, especially one involving excess weight, so off to Patrick’s with these fresh temptations (as Patrick is still skiing while yours truly has had her plans for getting her toosh to lift itself off the back of her knees canned, so I figured he could work off the carbs with two down hill runs either on the slopes or in his bed, to my mortification, - ok, it wasn’t mortification, purely circumstance I’ve seen Patrick at both of these activities and must say he cuts well with or without an accomplice), now I’m thinking that perhaps this little bakery mispronounciation has also been conflicting my love life with my latest entertainment, perhaps I’ve been asking junior FF to leave at 2 when I thought I was asking to be entertained by 2….better get this bit of communication sorted otherwise we’re in for a very short affair and one not worthy of script.

Broken

It’s 10 days since the dislocated thumb party (this theme is currently winning the local ‘reason to throw a party’ competition, damaged body parts are usually hard to beat); a trip to Paris for New Years Eve; as well as taking in some cultural sites – a girl must stay in touch with what’s happening at the Louvre and of course the lords of fashion ‘Gucci’; Jimmy Choo; Hermes and Cartier all expected a visit. There have been another couple of parties on my return to C’ote d Azure and the apartment move did not allow the inconvenience of another visit to a specialist, other than my beauty parlour – can’t be doing all the above with rampant leg hair, so finally I get to one Dr Pierre (of most appealing appearance) who proceeds to do the ‘pull my finger’ trick …. and when I finally let out a yelp – I’ve learnt to keep quiet through some excruciatingly good moments and although this wasn’t one, remembering Dr Pierre is terribly cute, however, he has a wedding band, so I figured it’s not too early for a little practice. The upside is I get to hang out with Doc for a little while longer and we’ll see if that reclining examination table will come into good use and perhaps a little hypochondria will see me through the Winter days.
Of course now there’s going to be a broken thumb party, followed by the removal of the cast party; followed by the I can wear gloves again party – you get the idea.
It's few more days on and I’ve had to have said derelict digit x-rayed again, there came a clucking sound from the radiologist – never the noise you want to hear outside a farm yard – back to ‘le’ Doc was the instruction….but of course, if you insist – more pull my finger stunts but with greater intensity of pain than I wish to ever again experience – there is no fine line between pleasure and pain as far as this babe is concerned, and it was difficult to summon even my most vivid imagination of Doc and I embracing over the sterilizing unit when the natural reflex is to bury my left fist in the side of Docs head – one of the great things evolving from this little mishap (apart from Adonis and the Doc), is the new implementation of skills with my left hand, how underutilized had this appendage been, my left hand has been living the easy life…not any more it is learning life skills at an intense pace – to date all personal duties are handled (no pun intended) by leftie, as are cutting; serving; carrying; zippering; shampooing and of course the signing of Visa card so I think life with a broken right thumb is bearable when one can shop unassisted.

It only happens down hill

Skiing they offered, yes I said, off to Auron they said, lead the way I said, so there we are – Patrick, who stopped drinking and self medicating for 12 hours so that he could take charge of our transportation, because you should not be operating heavy machinery, we know this even though his medicine pack doesn’t come with a National health warning. In the back seat trying to get an extra hours sleep after an exhausting evening with a particularly healthy specimen of a young man the one and only Mel babe in uber-glam gear – we deliver ourselves into the milky cold fields of the French ski slopes and proceed to have a fabulous time.

Thinking I’ve finally mastered the trick of staying upright while plummeting down a mountain with only a couple of icy pole sticks and some very swish new ski gear (de-riguer for this pseudo-Royal) when for reasons beyond my 5th grade physics I came to a grinding stand still, planted in said white snow (and its never as soft as it looks), thinking this was one spectacular landing I commenced to pull myself together, while concerned fellow skiers brought the paraphenalia I’d strewn across the field to one sorry for her self Duchess. At this stage it seemed important that I should remove right hand glove to inspect damaged manicure, when I find one’s thumb in a most distasteful position, I chose to bury it immediately in the snow – do not need to look upon such brutality – having first noticed that the French polish wasn’t chipped.

Medic was called, he insisted on inspecting the damaged goods, which was now buried under 30cm of snow….I really, really didn’t want to see my mangled digit….he insisted, so while he excavated for the now preserved member a little pray for mercy was answered in the form of a second medic of desirable stature and extremely pleasant features to distract me from the unpleasantness of my condition, thank-you snow goddess, three hail margaritas were quietly said in reverence as snow Adonis proceeded to strap me into sled (unfortunately without him, although this request seemed reasonable to me and I’m sure I saw a glimmer of amusement and possibility, both of which I’m partial to).
Having been delivered to medical centre, I made promise to Adonis I’ll return to throw myself down his slope as soon as all my parts are in working order again.

Once more offending digit had to be excavated from portable snow, do I have to say it: I really, really did not want to set eyes on this sight until all was pretty again, so yes I carried 5 kilos of ice with me, Doc removed my hand for inspection while I distracted myself – focusing on something shiny usually helps, however, his medical utensils only intensified the stress, so Mel babe stood to one side with her Hollywood smile (as good as any mirror ball), bless my considerate friends. Well the old joke of ‘pull my finger’ wasn’t quite so funny when relocating of a thumb is involved, especially ones own.

For the trip home Doc provided some excellent pain relief (although he didn’t see the funny side of my asking whether I could borrow a straw – I thought I may have been given a choice of medications, after all I’ve got private medical cover) and thus Patrick’s manic adrenaline induced driving seemed like a Sunday ride through the country, Mel babe seated in the rear took one look, squeeled and refused another look out the front windscreen - in all fairness we were deposited home without incident or further damage to anyone’s person….shower; champagne and bed – good night.

Duchess & Princess

Got to love a place that gives you a title within 48 hours of arriving at its shores – a bit like Grace when she arrived in Monaco (junior cadets, read a little on royalty if you’re not sure about this, or ask your gran if you’re busy with make-up), perhaps its tradition in these waters.
I’m sure it’s the same the world over - one walks into a bar meets a 70 year old English fag and is presented with the title of Duchess, he may be slightly deaf and legally blind but I’m convinced he has a sixth sense for these things.
Basically we walk into the local bar – that’s Sabrina and I, someone calls out ‘hey bitches’ and thus Sam (the blind/deaf fag) starts calling me Duchess. On hearing this new title Sab proceeds to fain indignation and claims to have been in said company (Sams) for several truck loads of champagne and never had such recognition – well Sam couldn’t quite make out the fuss, but thinks it has something to do with Sab buying him the company of a trucker and thus calls her Princess…..it’s as simple as that, there’s absolutely no need to try and find a band of marauding warriors to conquer the local principality, too time consuming and predictable and so one Duchess and Princess are currently attending all the local soirees and making decrees at a whim – eg. No going out in public without a minimum of 3 items of make-up (mascara doesn’t count, this is a medical item, which should be tax deductible); never have one glass of champagne when you can have two; never leave your two boyfriends together in the same bedroom – this is a serious one I’ve experienced this twice in my time now and although they’re all very happy with each other I’m still trying to get my glomesh items back.

Simon Tahiti

Travelling in style, business class from Melbourne to Nice , flight relatively empty so played mind game of ‘Simon Tahiti’ while summoning the limp wristed flight attendant (so cliché, so de riguer), trying not to drink too many champagnes on the flight as I am wearing a pair of heels and it is never a good look to stumble out of the plane declaring ‘we landed didn’t we’ – this game doesn’t work so well any more as they lock the pilots cabin at take-off and you can’t borrow his hat for the landing performance, most folk would think that the cabin lock is to do with the world wide paranoia about terrorism, from a girl who’s seen the inside of a few cockpits, let me tell you it’s all about the missing hat and occasional pilots jacket (this really, really works as you can get through customs and baggage at amazing pace with the extra smokes and booze and then if your entourage is waiting, well it’s simply the talk of arrivals for the day).

It’s always fabulous to get through customs and see a familiar face and Sabrina’s was the one I was glad to see striding toward me, arms outstretched (a couple of slow movers received a smack to the back of their heads – they’ll learn), hugs, kisses, more hugs, the joy of seeing a familiar face after too many months apart.
I was picked out by Sab’s designated driver ‘Preston’ who quipped “there’s a posh bitch coming out now”, at this point Sab had no doubts who this would be and thus the fervent pitch to get to me before someone else made claim or I chose a different ride home, both of which have happened in previous landings and usually when one is forced to fly economy – lack of sleep and the frustration of trying to open the salt & pepper packs leaving you looking like a bad dandruff case impairs judgement and I’m yet to have a good experience with this little travel event, not even the gorgeous thirty year old with a Porsche was a good idea, if living with your mommy is the only way you’re going to afford a luxury car “Don’t Do It” and then it was a real bugger trying to get my then boyfriend to see the funny side of this caper. So you see Sabrina’s need to make claim was most appropriate as it has been harder to get me back than your lost luggage from ‘Toss a Coin Airlines”, without a docket or a masters in hieroglyphics.