The Eiffel Tower in an Early Morning Paris Sky

After writing yesterday's journal at 5.30 in the morning, I fell asleep for a while longer, and got up around seven, feeling relatively refreshed. I exercised my abs until Jean-Marc got up. It looked like being a beautiful day, so I told Jean-Marc I'd like to go for a run, and he outlined a route for me. It really was a lovely, fresh morning and my heart skipped with it as I ran along an island in the middle of the Seine, then across a bridge and right underneath a deserted Eiffel Tower. Then through the peaceful streets back home to Jean-Marc's.

I'd been counting the hours until it was time to go to the airport to pick up Ben, and finally it was that time. Only fifteen minutes after we got there, he suddenly appeared in the doorway from customs and my heart did extraordinary gyrations I've never felt before. We caught up with each other as we drove Ben back to Jean-Marc's place. It turns out he'd also watched "Under the Tuscan Sun" on the plane - it had been one of the two movies shown in economy class, whereas I'd chosen it out of around thirty movies.

Back in Jean-Marc's flat, Ben took a shower, and we took a quick five minutes in the privacy of the bathroom to reacquaint ourselves with one another. He'd brought me a beautiful card, and I think we both felt this was a magical moment; starting off our great adventure together. Soon we were out in the Parisian sunshine, in the Marais, where we sauntered for a while, then had an excellent lunch, before heading back home again so that Ben could take a nap (after we'd had sex, of couse). While Ben napped, I worked out at the local Club Med gym. Despite it being just the day after my flight, and despite having poor sleep the last few days, I felt quite energetic, and I had a pretty good workout.

Our bags ready for loading into Jean Marc's cars - it looks like the bags for a large family. Or two gay men going on a cruise.

We'd decided to not take any risk of being rushed with our Venice train, so we started packing up our ridiculously large bags around five, loaded them into Jean-Marc's car, then took the subway over to Bercy station while Jean-Marc drove (there wasn't room for anybody else in Jean-Marc's car after all our bags were loaded). At the station, we learned our train was delayed, so in the end we waited well over two hours before the train arrived. Then there was a mad rush, and we learned just how difficult we'd made this trip for ourselves in bringing so much baggage. You had to fit all your bags into your own tiny sleeper car. We were told we'd have to buy a second sleeper, which would cost us 160 Euros. In the end, our kindly coach monitor, Alicia, took pity on us and only charged us fifty Euros.

My pre-trip, James-Bond-like vision of traveling in a sleeper car in Europe was not exactly fulfilled by the aging, rather uncomfortable carriages. But we were excited to be traveling together in Europe, and we made the best of it. At dinner in the restaurant car, we had some great conversation about some of the issues that I've begun to worry about now that we're considering moving to live together sometime over the next few months. Then we returned to one of our sleeper cars, turned the lights down, and had sex, which felt all the more sexy considering the cramped conditions, and the gently rocking train.

In the sleeping car

We'd been advised to each sleep alone in one of the sleeping cars, because of the risk somebody might try to break into whichever car we'd leave empty apart from luggage. So we split up, and tried to get to sleep. I was awake for several hours, and watched amazed, at one point, when lightning lit up a field as if it were daylight as we sped through the French countryside. But by three o'clock, I'd given up and taken a sleeping pill, and I slept for about three hours. And here I am, waiting for Alicia to knock on my door with breakfast. We arrive in Venice in ninety minutes.