Well, the road trip started fairly uneventfully...


... albeit with two hours sleep and leaving an hour late, but P1 and I managed to meet P2 at Dover docks to exchange some goods before boarding the ferry to Calais.

I have to say, France ferries have gone up in the world since I last sailed on one 22 years ago. It reminded me of a downmarket cruise ship, and I had some serious flashbacks to the successful trip I took with Phil and Lisa a few years back (see this link). I even got accosted by some people who were far too keen to talk to me for my liking (a little like Table 39).

Anyway, a drive down the French freeway and we made it to Paris by 6pm. Two hours later, several near crashes and some very frayed nerves, and we made it to our hotel in Paris.


P1 had warned me of Parisian driving, which I promptly ignored, saying that people had said similar things about driving in London, LA and New York and I had yet to be fazed. However, Paris is a different matter. With five lanes merging into two, no lane markings on the road and a crossroads with no traffic lights (or at least, no one obeying the traffic lights), combined with a cluster of very dented cars, caused me to wonder whether the Chrysler's roadtripping life was soon to end.

But we survived. Only to realise that the petrol gauge was reading '0'. Fortunately, a gentle slope downwards to the hotel and only a small number of red lights meant we made it to our destination. Obviously, a trip to the Eiffel Tower was required to celebrate...


... which resulted in a torrential downpour and a broken camera (courtesy of P1). So we drowned our sorrows in an Italian dinner and some Californian wine.