Paris in the not-Spring
Dec. 1st, 2005 01:14 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sarahxAh, the joys of technology. I've been stranded at a trade show all week (and trade shows are in my top-three most hated things, so you can imagine how happy I am to be here). Until today I was doing the show's daily newspaper so all computered-up. Today being the last day (hurrah!) the G5s have been packed away. So I opened up my laptop to start writing the show review copy (deadline: tomorrow lunchtime) and huzzah! One of the exhibitors nearby has, most generously, set up a wireless cloud around their stand and failed to password-protect it. So I'm back on the interbadger again. Can't be arsed to write - think I've got a cold coming and my brain resembles mashed potato. I'll do it in the morning.
Anyroadup, here I am in Paris. Or, more accurately, Villepinte - yes, one of those delightful Parisien suburbs where if you had a car last month, this month you've got a burnt out wreck. We were also stranded at the Hyatt at the airport - which isn't really at the airport at all, it's a trek in a shuttle bus away. And, despite the proximity, an utter pain to get to at the end of the day. Going on the train involves going to the airport and getting on said shuttle bus. Going in a taxi involves braving the vast queue that is inevitable when there's 10,000-plus people at a show all being kicked out at the same time.
On Tuesday it was less of a problem, as one of the nice companies I do re-Englishing for took me out for dinner (yes, Stu, I booked the table and it might just have been at Les Bouchons, and no, I was good and didn't have cheese and dessert). However, I did get back to the airport just nicely in time to see the arse of the Hyatt bus disappearing into the distance. It was a 'sod it, I'll get a taxi' moment. Proof that claiming it's an airport hotel is a joke: it cost €12.
But at least I wasn't hanging around in the freezing cold at Charles de Gaulle for half an hour. Unlike when I arrived. They claimed the bus picked up at both terminals and the train station. So (having gone on the Eurostar and caught the RER back up to the airport) I stood at the train station, at their bus stop, and the shuttle bus sailed past down the road without pulling into the stop for me. Then did it again. When it ignored me for the third time, I called the hotel, got very cross (erm, yes, well, and a little bit sweary). Well, I was freezing. The bus then deigned to pull in to rescue me. It took nearly an hour for my fingers to thaw out once I finally made it to the Hyatt.
Tuesday dinner aside, I might just as well have been in Birmingham. Glamorous it ain't. And as I'm here working for the show organisers, I was stuck in the hotel with them. They're proof positive of Sarah's Law of the Dutch: the men are lovely, the women are, um, not. And, unfortunately, most of them are women. Fortunately the Dutch contingent of the newspaper team (two photographers, one designer and a manager from the printers) were men, and hence nice. We've all been avoiding the women.
Oh, and I feel the need to have a bit more of a rant about the hotel. When I'm booking and paying for them myself I always ensure they're either within walking distance or a sensible public transport ride away from where I want to be, so I'd never dream of booking this one myself. If I had, I'd feel ripped off. Hell, I feel ripped off and it cost me nothing! The rack-rate of €330 is quite outrageous for a room that looks pretty tired, and even the much better rate they will have been paying was, frankly, too much. For example, two huge chips in the enamel bath had been 'disguised' with white gloss paint that just serves to make them more obvious. The shampoo etc were crap. And then there's the cost of the incidentals. No Wi-Fi cloud at all - and the broadband access was an eye-watering €23 for a day. When I arrived, I had a sandwich - which cost €20. I came to check out this morning, and they tried to charge me €7 for something from the minibar - which I hadn't even opened. Bah.
Thank goodness I get to go home soon - I'm on the train a little after 6pm. Fingers crossed it's on time. I'm knackered and I want my bed!!
Anyroadup, here I am in Paris. Or, more accurately, Villepinte - yes, one of those delightful Parisien suburbs where if you had a car last month, this month you've got a burnt out wreck. We were also stranded at the Hyatt at the airport - which isn't really at the airport at all, it's a trek in a shuttle bus away. And, despite the proximity, an utter pain to get to at the end of the day. Going on the train involves going to the airport and getting on said shuttle bus. Going in a taxi involves braving the vast queue that is inevitable when there's 10,000-plus people at a show all being kicked out at the same time.
On Tuesday it was less of a problem, as one of the nice companies I do re-Englishing for took me out for dinner (yes, Stu, I booked the table and it might just have been at Les Bouchons, and no, I was good and didn't have cheese and dessert). However, I did get back to the airport just nicely in time to see the arse of the Hyatt bus disappearing into the distance. It was a 'sod it, I'll get a taxi' moment. Proof that claiming it's an airport hotel is a joke: it cost €12.
But at least I wasn't hanging around in the freezing cold at Charles de Gaulle for half an hour. Unlike when I arrived. They claimed the bus picked up at both terminals and the train station. So (having gone on the Eurostar and caught the RER back up to the airport) I stood at the train station, at their bus stop, and the shuttle bus sailed past down the road without pulling into the stop for me. Then did it again. When it ignored me for the third time, I called the hotel, got very cross (erm, yes, well, and a little bit sweary). Well, I was freezing. The bus then deigned to pull in to rescue me. It took nearly an hour for my fingers to thaw out once I finally made it to the Hyatt.
Tuesday dinner aside, I might just as well have been in Birmingham. Glamorous it ain't. And as I'm here working for the show organisers, I was stuck in the hotel with them. They're proof positive of Sarah's Law of the Dutch: the men are lovely, the women are, um, not. And, unfortunately, most of them are women. Fortunately the Dutch contingent of the newspaper team (two photographers, one designer and a manager from the printers) were men, and hence nice. We've all been avoiding the women.
Oh, and I feel the need to have a bit more of a rant about the hotel. When I'm booking and paying for them myself I always ensure they're either within walking distance or a sensible public transport ride away from where I want to be, so I'd never dream of booking this one myself. If I had, I'd feel ripped off. Hell, I feel ripped off and it cost me nothing! The rack-rate of €330 is quite outrageous for a room that looks pretty tired, and even the much better rate they will have been paying was, frankly, too much. For example, two huge chips in the enamel bath had been 'disguised' with white gloss paint that just serves to make them more obvious. The shampoo etc were crap. And then there's the cost of the incidentals. No Wi-Fi cloud at all - and the broadband access was an eye-watering €23 for a day. When I arrived, I had a sandwich - which cost €20. I came to check out this morning, and they tried to charge me €7 for something from the minibar - which I hadn't even opened. Bah.
Thank goodness I get to go home soon - I'm on the train a little after 6pm. Fingers crossed it's on time. I'm knackered and I want my bed!!
