voyage dans le modèle

from ammocity.com

politics and society
voyage dans le modèle
by diplomat's daughter
aug 20, 2004, 14:39

this week i would like to recount my travels to and through france. travelling is a priceless addition to one’s knowledge and soul but can be as uncomfortable and degrading as an east european peasant township on market day, if not done correctly.

one ‘correct’ way to travel is to immediately upgrade to business or first class. doing this on a p&o ferry to calais can be tricky, as there are far too many ordinary passenger bods with too few servants and minions to attend to their needs and whims. the result, as i am sure many of you are aware, is an overcrowded cess pit of proles with fat children in adidas and a small number of over-worked, highly stressed waiters and travel reps.

diplomat’s daughter decided the only way to escape this base state of affairs was to hi-jack the business class lounge, (in a non-terrorist format unfortunately). a great deal of arrogance and self-awareness needs to be applied to this task if it is to be carried out successfully. here is daughter’s suggested method.

a dignified strut transported me into the lounge; the over-worked aspect of the staffing situation means there is usually nobody to turn you away. i plonked myself next to a gaggle of pissed up captains – finished for the day i wondered? probably not. i stole a glass of champagne from their table and began sipping in a dignified manner, flicking through the mandatory trace magazine. the champagne was important, as i needed to give the impression i had already been legitimately handed the glass upon arrival.

soon enough, a p&o pleb approached. i tried – and failed – to hide my disgust at the pink eye shadow and fake chanel earrings as she questioned my presence. i did not dignify her with a response, merely a raised eyebrow. i was conscious of her reluctance to make a scene next to the merry captains, as i am sure her training had included that well-conceived mantra: “the (business class) customer is always right”. i played on this and raised my voice in albanian - i went out on a limb that she would not understand me and so be wrong-footed; albanian can be such a wonderfully aggressive language. blank expression then moved towards panic as pseudo-chanel realised her embarrassment would defeat her. she looked around for what, moral support, security? a menu. mission accomplished.

after disembarking in calais, and forcing a michelin starred meal and two bottles of matrachet down my neck, i decanted the remaining bottles and some bollinger into thermos flasks and plastic evian bottles. the next stage of my journey, which would take me south to provence, was to be on a train. how novel for daughter, an overnight french train! the irksome thing was, as i stiletto sprinted down the platform with my beverages swinging and clunking, i passed the unadvertised bar carriage. c’est la vie.

my allotted travelling cell was air conditioned, but in economy, and as dostoevsky and drinking can only entertain one for a limited period of time i decided to seek out the four pretty youths bound for nice i had spotted in the departure area of calais centre station.

weaving and wobbling through the carriages, spilling precious nectar as i went, i reached the bar to find no sexually ripe teenagers, just a milieu of french rail workers doing card tricks with some children. the disappointment was short-lived however, when i spotted a single replacement in the form of a goliath, tanned and pissed train manger who originated from a small township on the right side of bristol! oh how daughter laughed!

the point of the story is functional. if you find yourself travelling alone on an overnight train through france and you wish to upgrade your accommodation, remember this tip: french rail workers are given first class compartments to sleep in; so cross your legs, get boozed up, make a friend and travel in style. bon voyage!