Tunisia Day 1: Travel

My journey to Tunisia was very straight forward. I travelled out to Roissy with my packed lunch and waited around Charles de Gaulle until it was time to depart. I'm really getting a accustomed to travelling Air France. I take the oppurtunity to take a copy of all the free papers, in French and English. I start with the FT, work my way through the Herald Tribune, breeze through the Wallstreet Journal and USA Today, then read through L'Equipe and Le Monde (or Figarro). It's the only time during the week I really get an oppurtunity to read the paper and I use the oppurtunity to catch up on world events as best I can.

A full strength Russian team (except for Pozdnyakov) were on my flight. My bag was already waiting for me when I reached the reclaim area and I strolled out to meat the waiting organisers. It was sometime again before all the Russians got there bags and came out, along with the Greeks and the Polish. I was in the same hotel as the Russian team and while the Greek and Polish team left for there hotel we waited for a delayed flight with more fencers for our hotel.

After about an hours delay at the airport and repeated apologies from the assembled Tunisian federation officials we left the airport for the hotel - the Irish team (me) and the 15 strong Russian team. We came to a fairly battered mini-bus and loaded all the fencing bags on through a window. With all of us slightly cramped but aboard, we set off... with Jennifer Lopez blaring... on tape. I chuckled to myself as we set off and laughed even harder when after the first song was over, "Get Right" I believe, there was some fumbling with the tape deck and then half a minute later it started playing it again. It was all too amusing to think that he might only have the single of this terrible song. The joke lost it's shine however as I soon realised that it was an entire album of J-Lo I was to be subjected to for the trip. 45 minutes of trundling along Tunis' motorways later we arrived at the hotel.

This was a 5-star Summer resort hotel, the Al Mouradi - Gammarth, albeit a North African five star hotel. The place was as if the shining was filmed in sunny north Africa rather than the Rockies - miles upon miles of empty corridors; the place was almost completely empty.

That evening I was pleasently surprised to see the US team arrive at the hotel. I was somewhat releaved that I wouldn't have to try and speak Russian for some company in the hotel. The Spanish team were also staying in the same hotel, so there was plenty of English speaking fencers around eventually.

That night I ate with the Americans and then went to bed reasonably early before the competition the next day.

The Other Charleville...

...The one where Cheddar is laughed at!

We left for the Circuit National in Charleville on Saturday afternoon as the competition was to start early on Sunday morning.

The trip to Charleville passed without incident much like the actual town of Charleville. We walked around Charleville on a Saturday night for almost 2 hours looking for somewhere to eat. Despite being somewhat picturesque, the place was an absolute ghost town. Those restaurants which were even open were full and laughed at us, at the suggestion that we might get a table without a reservation (there was 8 of us, so this was somewhat understandable).

Eventually, much to my discust we found an Welsh bar (apparently they do exist) and we ate there. Reasonably cheap pizzas were greatly appreciated after the long walk. Less appreciated was when I managed to pour my entire beer into my lap - absolutely soaking my trousers. Between that and stuffing my Calzone pizza with chips I amused my French team-mates at least.

...

The next morning we travelled to the venue which was over half-an-hour outside of Charleville. The setting was incredible - it was a lake-side sports/conference centre in the middle of an evergreen forest. All this on the warmest day of the year, with blaring sunshine twinkling off the lake.

The setting seemed to suit me and produced my best performance at a French competition so far. While the referee in my poule was absolutely blind (afterwards he went back to his actual job at the refreshments stand), I managed to rescue my poule with two victories (but that really should have been at least 4 were it not for the ref). I was ranked 41st and in the Last 64 managed to overturn my opponent who was seeded 24th after the poules.

In the last 32 I faced Lombolay (the junior world #1) who I had faced in Budapest a couple of weeks earlier. The first couple of points went against me but then I started to get on a roll. I was really in the zone and started picking him off with counter-attack after counter-attack and when I launched my own attacks they were landing perfectly. Eventually, I found myself 14-9 up. Needing only one more point to secure a very impressive victory.

I suppose I started thinking of the victory too much, I suppose that when he started getting points back I panicked somewhat. Anyway, somehow I let the match slip away from me and what could have been an awesome victory turned into a crushing defeat. Damn.

...

Anyway, like I was saying, this was still my best performance at a French Circuit competition so far and I know myself now that I can perform at that level and improve my future results.

The journey home to Paris was not too long. We listened to the England - France rugby match, which was completley incomprehensible for me because of the speed at which the commentators spoke. I ended up thinking that France one and it was till the next day that I realised otherwise.

As we approached Paris, Jacque Chirac was making his final official address to the nation. I wish all french people would speak as clearly as he did - I could understand him perfectly.

Turkish Delight: Part 1 - Travelling to Istanbul

Next up for me was Istanbul. The week in between was spent training and particularly trying to work on the mental side of what had happened on the weekend before. I thought back over how I'd felt in the poules at Grenoble and tried through considering my feelings that day to change how I approach poule matches like that in general.

I'd also tried to work on several key actions that I'd hoped a reasonable point would follow from. These were mainly my initial actions after the "Allez" and I focused on make the first step small and building several actions after that which would act as queues for me to act a certain way. Basically, I'd make my mind up to do one of several rehearsed actions after the "allez" and hopefully build the points from there.

I travelled to Istanbul from Paris Charles de Gaulle with Air France. A direct flight this time to avoid the disasters with luggage of last year. While waiting for my flight in the departure lounge I ran into Keeth Smart from the US team who I'd met at the competition last year. Keeth's a fantastic fencer and former world no. 1. We talked about our schedules for the season and the monotony of airports, hotels and venues while travelling to these competitions.

We soon boarded the flights, loaded with newspapers from around the world to eat up time, and took our seats. The flight passed by without incident until about an hour in over Zagreb when we ran into the most severe and prolongued turbulence turbulence I have ever experienced. At first the plane shook quite suddenly but thinking it was just a small pocket of turbulence there was a slight chuckle from the passengers. This shacking continued at a light consistent basis until suddenly the plane shook violently. The lowered seat tray in front of me smacked up and hit the seat in front of me, as it felt like the whole plane dropped suddenly, my stomach being left behind in the air.

And on it went. I smiled nervously at the people in the row across from me but my hands gripped the arm rest tightly and my palms were sweating. All of a sudden, as quickly as it had began it stomped. A few more futile bumps to try and dislodge us from the sky but then nothing. Smooth flying for the rest of the way.

When we landed we joked about the headlines "Freak plane crash wipes out US olympian and Irish Men's Sabre team". Glad that we were alive, I was even more pleased to discover my bags in the airport in one piece. There was a representative of the Turkish Federation there to welcome us, who informed us that the next shuttle would be in about an hour or so.

We sat to have coffee and talk some more. The conversation drifted through a brief account of Irish history (I tried to make it as brief as possible) but much more excitingly than that Keeth told me about a training camp in Budapest the week before the Budapest A-Grade with the US and Hungarian teams. Furthermore, he suggested it might be possible for me to come along and train with them. I was a fantastic oppurtunity for me and I was determined to get on board if I could.

We snailed our way through the perpetual traffic jam that is Istanbul and the enourmous bottle-neck that is the Bosphourous until eventually reaching my hotel on the Asian side. Thanking Keeth and acknowledging the Germans who had joined us, who barely grunted in return I got out at the gates of the sports complex which housed the venue and my hotel.

It was the same hotel I stayed in last year and just as crap as I remembered. None of the staff in the hotel spoke English.

"AIUSHIUFSJI aLISAUGD edklfsaaliuh sdfaiugafwiu", they said to me in that excited angry sounding Turkish way of theirs.
"I'm with the Irish team", I explained in the ignorant and slow voice of a ignorant and slow foreigner. "...uhm... Esgrim... Irlande"
"AKJdflkasdoiuHlkjdsaf asoiudfh;l ado;ifklajei&%$&^ dsafhjalkjhdflkjh?" he repeated pointing at a piece of paper.
"I don't speak Turkish", I explained in the voice of someone having flashbacks of hideously rude taxi drivers in Izhmir after several minutes of them shouting at me in a language I blantantly couldn't understand. So the receptionist scuttled into the back to bring out the manager of this fine establishment.
"JDKHKLHFskjhakdhf... full... FDIuhsldhlsjfhiurwe... Esgrim... adlkjfldksjfhdf ljsdklfjalkdxcbulk... full", explained the manager who I presumeed had risen to this position because of his ability to grow a thicker mustache.

At this stage I had well figured out that they were trying to tell me that the hotel was in fact full and that I may well have to share my room with a complete stranger. Not partucularly fussed on the idea, I continued to play dumb took my keys and headed for my room, whispering something under my breath about the likelihood of Turkish asscesion to the EU.

So little time...

After a month in Paris; while my family, Rachel and friends were no doubt glad of the extra storage space my absence left for them on this tiny island of ours, a surprising compulsion of being glad to see each other seemed to sweep uniformly over us all.

Aside from a lot of catching-up and some errands to run there was only one small piece of business to attend to - the Irish Open. In order to amuse my self and mess with others' heads, I hadn't told anyone I was going to be there - I hadn't even entered myself. I chuckled quietly to my self while people asked if I was going to enter and I said "No". I am truly hilarious.

The competition itself passed without too much fuss. I was pleased with how i was fencing and found myself in a different rhythm to my previous hectic state on the piste. In the end, I reached the final only to be beaten by David Downey, who was the better fencer on the day. Giving up the nice piece of mantle-piece clutter that is the Irish Open Trophy stung slightly but then again I have only been training in France for three weeks and I'm already feeling a change for the better.

I feel I'm facing into the packed half of the season in good form and confident that I can reach my goals for the season.

...

I'm sitting finishing off this post in Dublin airport while I wait for my plane back to Paris. There probably won't be any more updates over the next week, not until Saturday at least when I am getting my Internet connection installed in the new apartment.

If I missed you on this visit, I'm very sorry but I'll be back over Christmas and hopefully we'll get a chance to meet up.

Until then...

Dutch Train Stations...

A mysterious "blockage" in Rotterdam leads me on a mystical hourney around the train stations of Holland.

Upon arriving at Amsterdam Central Station this morning, I hear a garbled annoucement which mentions passengers travelling to Paris. Hoping to travel to Paris that day I stopped at a ticket booth to ask for some clarification of the situation. Sadly, I had chosen to speak with an idiot who informed me that I could still reach Paris directly from this station.

So I went to wait by the monitors for my train to be announced, bought myself a sandwich and generally relaxed trying to pass the time as best I could. All the while over trying to ignore the announcements over the intercom which were telling me that "because of a blockage at Rotterdam. Passengers wishing to travel to Bruxelles and Paris must depart from Utrecht". Eventually I cracked and went to an information stand.

Thoroughly dissinterested the teller at the stand garbled a couple of station names at me and told me to go up and get the train on platform 2 to Den Boesch, then change to Rotterdam, where I would be able to get a train to Paris. On the platform, none of the names displayed were Den Bosch, but eventually I asked a uniformed man where to go and he told me to take the next train to Utrecht. Myself and several lost Belgians borded the train and off we went for the first leg of our journey.

When we reached Utrecht we were told to stay on the train to Den Boesch. At which stage we would have to change trains to Rosenthal. After several hours I reached Rosenthall. There was no train directly to Paris from here. In fact the closest thing was Brussels. Having no time to ask I boarded the train to Brussels, which was packed and I stood for the slow journey to Brussels South Station.

At Brussels I hopped on the TGV and I was back at Gare to Nord in just over an hour in my first class carriage (I'd gone for First Class since I figured it was such a long journey). A four hour journey in first class, had turned into a 6 and half hour journey across the train station of the Benelux nations and the delay also meant that my arrival back in Paris matched rush-hour on the RER exactly. What fun!

I'm off to write a complaint!

The Other Amsterdam

No, not the one with the drugs and the red light district. The one which is a random anonymous hotel on the edge of town. The one which is about as exciting as the Sandyford Industrial Estate.

I'm waiting for a phone-call from the organisers of the competition to see where dinner is this evening. Having no map, no idea of where the trams are and no idea of the restaurant, I'm not confident. The alternative is dinner alone in the Holiday Inn, so I may well be ringing people during my meal just to seem like less of a sad bastard.

To make things worse I've had no food to speak of, except a hotdog, since I left Paris at 8am. At this stage, I really want to stuff in to food in the hotel restaurant but I'm holding out on the off chance that the organisers (who I probably couldn't recognise if I do find the restaurant) follow-up and call me to let me know where food is. What a dilemma...

My stomach is eating itself...