The eagle has landed, en France

I'm exhausted.  Not even just "Oh, I didn't sleep well and I'm a little tired", but bone-weary exhausted.  Are humans meant to MOVE this often?  Regardless, I've made it to France, and now I'm slowing things right the hell down.  When it gets to the point that *I* can't stay awake anymore, it's impressive.  I can stay awake for days on end if I need to, but every time I stop now, even if it is a 5 minute wait at a train station, I fall asleep.  I'm going to bed early tonight, and not waking until I naturally wake, and then I'm going to venture out into the grand, French world I've found myself in, find myself a patisserie, and sit my bum down for a while. 

I reckon it will last an hour before I get bored.

Right-o, a whole ton of things happened today, and I shall do my best to convey them, though I suffer from a strange throbbing headache at the moment, so my thoughts may be slightly more convoluted than normal. 

I went to bed at half two last night, and didn't fall asleep until half three because I was dumb and chose a cheap party hostel to sleep in.  My bed was on the THIRD tier of a bunk bed!  NOBODY should sleep 10 feet in the air, damn it.  I woke up at 7:30, ate their crappy continental breakfast, which consisted of odd tasting peanut butter - Dear England, please learn about Kraft peanut butter.  Thank you.  Merci - and odd tasting jelly, and brown bread.  So I ate toast and marmalade (which wasn't half bad, but I was hungry) and made a sandwich for later, and blew that gin joint like it had never been blown before.  Rule of thumb: no looking back. 

I met up with Steve at Baker St, and we wandered around the Sherlock Holmes museum (221B Baker St, oh yeah!) ...well, we saw the address, and went to the gift shop.  I wasn't paying six quid for entrance to the museum.  Snagged breakfast (or in my case, second breakfast) at a brasserie - pain au chocolat, how I love thee so - and then we parted ways, possibly for good, at St. Pancras Rail Station.  Endings are sad. 

I FINALLY GOT TO SEE THE WHITE CLIFFS OF DOVER.  It only took me three visits, sheesh. 

...and they're gorgeous.  The whole time I was there, which was only 45 minutes or so while I waited for the ferry, I spent pretending I was an invading French army, staring out at the ominous cliffs of Dover for the first time, about to attempt to conquer England.  This is how I amuse my brain in the silent moments I'm not staring in wonder at something.  Oh, and I climbed threw a fence I'm pretty sure I wasn't supposed to, just to get a photo. 

The photo:

The fence: 

England, I'm not sure if you know this or not, but I would like to inform you that you have lizards.  See?  

The whole 90 minute ferry ride across the Channel from Dover to Calais was stunning.  The winds were blowing as though Poisideon himself was angered at the crossing, and the waves were INCREDIBLE!  They're so strong they were rocking the ferry from side to side, and one particularly strong gust of waves sent salt spray all over my face.  Seriously, incredible. 

I spent the duration of the ride on deck (as I tend to do) speaking to a couple from Birmingham.  Well, they live in Birmingham and are attending some adventure tourism school (how rad is that?) and one is from Germany, and the other Estonia, and their names are Talvi and Benjamin, and if they ever come across this blog, you guys were fantastic company.  We drank a beer together, and fed my fish and chips to a seagull, and a good time was had by all.  They were planning on hitch-hiking to Germany tonight from Calais, and I hope they made it just fine. 

Approaching France: 

Actually being in France is incredible.  There's that word again: incredible.  I wonder what the word count for that specific word is, if you could count it up throughout all of my travel blog posts over the years.  INCREDIBLE.  Magnifique.  Fantastique.  STELLAR. 

C'est incroyable!

I took the train (and finally got to use my train pass) from Calais to Boulagne Ville, and then Boulagne Ville to Amiens, where Silke picked me up from the station du gare and here I am.  Her is untidy, but quaint, and as I sit upstairs typing this, with a fresh cat scratch on my hand for tempting her feline, I might add - I smell the delicious smell of ratatouille and I realize I haven't eaten in 6 or 7 hours.  I'm going to find out if I can't snag myself some food before bed. 

Oh, and I had my first real french conversation with a french man today - uhm, I think he was trying to take me home.  It was an interesting series of miscommunications in two languages. 

Side note: I could indeed snag dinner.  I left this unfinished as I sat down at 10pm to a 3 course french dinner, complete with cheese, wine, and bread.  I think I'm in love.