Picture Perfect

As most of you all know, I went away for a few days, that place being the French Alps. I shall now regale you all with tales of my perilous journeys, up mountains and down them, braving elements like the scorching sun, dense fog and many cow pats.

The first day was lovely. The weather was perfect - for sun bathing, not deciding to walk up this massive mountain. But alas, due to the rarity of sandy beaches and open seas by the alps, up the mountain we went. The views were stunning. The cow pats were manyfold. By the end of the day, I had two nice, big, juicy blisters, one on the back of each foot, both of which were burst by my constant walking.

The second day was also lovely, the weather was yet again perfect, but this time, we went bike riding. Aha. Now the fun really began. Zooming down the mountain is an amazing thing, struggling up it - not so much. Thusly, whoever invented the sport of mountain biking certainly did not have a good head on their shoulders - who in their right minds would like to take a bike up a narrow path with massive stones/small rocks on it, with a large fall on one side of the mountain and weird plants on the other side, all of which, by the way, has many a sting and even more weird insects which seem to also carry a sting, or like to bite people. What's up with that?

Interestingly, I saw a fly insect thinggy on my arm, sucking my blood. I could actually see my blood in its "stomach." My friends were aghast that I was watching it and not killing it, but hey! Science is fascinating stuff, and watching a bug suck your blood is science. For those of you who are shocked that I'd allow an insect I couldn't rightly identify to suck my blood, I wasn't exactly concerned about diseases it could carry...there haven't really been any reported cases of malaria or anything like that in the European areas since 1886 or something...but don't worry, if I start foaming at the mouth, or am suddenly able to speak good French, I'll let you know. I did remove the insect in the end, it still left a nice red bump where it had been on my arm, though.

The high of this day was, without a doubt, the rubbishy beach we happened to stumble across in our misery. My friends bought ice lollies and relaxed in the sun. I bought an ice cream and winked at one of the pretty girls at the next table I thought was most likely to be single (there were tons of them! She winked back ;-)
My friends were anxious to leave such a place. Satan, no doubt, attempting to ensnare us all with half naked girls. There is a related story here which happened in that place, but I shan't publish it. Ask me privately and I'll consider telling you it.

Day three was ok. We wanted to go horse riding. We were told that, without a car, the quickest way to get to the place was to take a ski lift up the mountain and walk down the other side, which would take about 2 hours. The weather at the top was ghastly, so foggy and wet and slippery. My friends slipped a few times (not I, however! I was also the only one to not fall off my bike the day before - and NOT because I didn't get on it in the first place) and I avoided slipping by taking my time getting down.

But I did notice the tendancy for the sides of paths to scarily lack any safety wires or netting at all. Instead, some bright spark had the idea to fix it with - not just electric wiring - but razor wire. What if someone slipped off the side? Not only could they look forwards to falling some distance down the mountain, but they would be cut up by razor wire before that happened. Charming. Surely safety netting would be a better investment? Personally, on end of every downhill path, I'd like to see gigantic edible marshmellows. That way, not only is your fall broken before you start tumbling down the mountain, but you get a conciliatory sweet. And let's face it, everyone loves marshmellows.

But you wanna hear the sad part? It took us 3 hours to get down the mountain (slippery! steep! fog!) and we arrived at the horse riding place an hour late, so it was closed by the time we got there. We found a bar and drowned our woes in a few beers, before going into Evian itself (we were staying about a 15 minute car ride outside of Evian).

The next 2 and a half days poured with rain - rain rain rain rain! The locals said they've never seen it rain so much in such a short time, just our luck! What was supposed to be a day of water skiing, fare du kayak et le canoe, turned out to be a day walking about in the rain and freezing myself silly in lake geneva, which is where I went. I was all for the heated olympic swimming pool, but apparantly, we weren't allowed in with swimming shorts - only the pant-like type which accentuates your bum and reveals the exact size of your penis is allowed. I hate it when men wear those. If you're a guy, please don't. Go invest in a pair of swim shorts. Or at least consider the environment (i.e. me) when wearing those sorts of swimming costumes and wear a towel! It has to be embarrassing if someone get's an erection (said with complete professional sterility, read it the same way too!) whilst wearing those things and I'm pretty sure lil' John Doe 'aint so lil' and would pop out the top and say "hi!" to the world.

Which brings me on nicely to the paradigm which is France. They're Catholics. Many of them still religious, especially in the remote country areas (I imagine, at least). Yet there is a disturbing amount of intermingling with the sexes. Don't get me wrong, I don't mean men and women talking. I mean, in that beach place? The men's toilets was the same thing as the women's toilets. Ok, fine. A little surprisin, but I've seen that before. At the Evian spa (where I spent a day and a half) not only were the toilets the same for men and women, but the changing room area was the same too. What the hell's the point of having a changing room area if the opposite sex can just come in to the changing room area and stare and drool? Just what privacy is being achieved here? Privacy from whom, or what? I don't know, I'm at a complete loss. But I did have fun exploiting it...

...Not really. There were private stalls for people. And anyway, I didn't stare and drool at anyone in the changing rooms...

That actually came in the swimming pool and jacuzzi :P
If ever I'm at a loss for a place to meet pretty girls, my first stop shall be the spas, beauty salons and the like...brilliance. But anyway. I found that the jacuzzi is the worst place - or best place depending on your perspective - for "funny stuff" to take place. I only had a brief brush (literally) with the dark side of the jacuzzi; it had nothing to do with me. Don't forget you can't actually see what's happening beneath the water in there. Too bubbly (I always leave when the old men come in and their hands aren't above water).

I was just minding my own business, enjoying the bubbles and wondering how many diseases were breeding in the jacuzzi, when an old lady gets in. She stays for only a brief time, but she kept smiling at me. I tried not too, but every time I looked at her, *old lady smiles.* She tactfully positioned herself opposite me too. When something like this happens, I usually think, "oh, what the hell, she's an old lady" and smile back, to the more persistant and pervy ones, maybe a wink. But here, I was naked! not completely, no, but I felt vulnerable.

Anyway. Away she goes. My friends now join me, after having been in the steam room. The jacuzzi is about 1/3rd full with 3 of us in it. We're having fun talking, laughing. In come two girls, both of whom choose to sit on my left hand side (heh heh). My two friends leave lest Satan trap them (lovely friends I have, really. Couldn't ask for better ones, I love the odds they provide me with) and I stay (blatantly). I was in there for a little bit longer than you're supposed to be (50 minutes) but eventually got out and went to the steam room. Upon my return to the pool jacuzzi area though, I couldn't see either my friends or the girls. I was the only person in that area, in fact. Funny.

Anyway. I tire, now, of writing this, so I'm going.

Bye!