As I described in yesterday’s post, last night was my first over night bus journey since being diagnosed with myasthenia. Calculating the amount of sleep you get on an overnight bus is near impossible. It comes in minutes rather than hours, it’s fickle and frequently broken by noises, both human and mechanical. When a rare comfortable position is found, you drift into such a deep sleep that it feels like you may never wake up. When you do it’s with a fright. You find villains – talkers, snorers and rustlers. You also make friends – those also enraged by the villains.
Our journey was 13 hours rather than 10, with a ferry crossing starting at 2.30am. Nothing for it but a nightcap (see below). While not great for the MG, when we returned to bus I slept for more than two minutes at a time because of my cerverza.
Although Sarah and I mentioned seeing the sunrise, we slept through it and woke up to blinding French sunshine. By the time we reached the outskirts of Paris, eating some breakfast to take my medication was priority. At this stage, dazed and confused about how the past hours had flown by, we both realised that, dare we admit it, we were feeling ok. Good even. Now we’ve made it to our Pigalle hotel, we’re ready to take Paris on in the 35 hours we have to share with the city.