I know I should be telling about my travels — how there are almost as many psychics awnings out on the streets of Manhattan as there are Starbucks, and that’s a hell of a lot, how I’ve met three women (an Australian, a Scot and an Englishwoman) who go to Las Vegas once a year or so, how Paris is fabulous, not least for its peches plates — but my time on my host’s computer is limited, and as soon as I sit at her keyboard my mind goes to my computer troubles.
There was a splendid moment of hope when the CEO of MacMD (or similarly named enterprise, tucked away on the 12th floor of a building on West 35th Street Manhattan) told me he could replace my screen for only $450 US, and do it in time for me to catch my plane. That hope was dashed when I turned up four hours later: he hadn’t realised it had to be an LED screen. He could still do it, for £600, but not before I had to leave. So I reclaimed my poor damaged ordinateur, and pretty much as soon as I arrived in Paris (where free WiFi seems to be ubiquitous) took it to a promising place in the Marais.
‘Parlez-vous anglais?’ I asked. ‘Pas du tout,’ said the jeune homme behind the counter, then added when I showed him my screen, now even more alarming than the image I posted the other day, ‘But I don’t need to speak English to understand what your problem is.’ He said that in French, but I caught his drift with complete confidence. He told me it would cost €1050.
I protested, in what seems to have been comprehensible French, that the guy in New York had said he could do it for 600 dollars, less than a third of the price. In civil and unmistakable French he gave the universal response to such protests: ‘Well, take it there then.’ And you know, even though it means relying on the kindness of friends and the availability of cybercafes for the whole month we’re in France, that’s what I intend to do.
Speaking of the availability of cybercafes, would you believe there are no internet kiosks in the International Terminal at JFK? Not even paid ones! I asked and was told I could join something called the Galileo Club at $50 a day, which would enable me to log on. Yet the poor oppressed people of the United States continue to believe that they have the highest standard of living in the world.
Paris is beautiful. My attempts to speak French have been laughed at, but not in a nasty way. Many people are away for the summer, so the streets are comfortably uncrowded. It’s our second day and we’ve already been to two museums, eaten excellent Israeli kebabs, and figured out what to say in order to get coffee that’s up to Sydney standards (that’s not for me, but for my addicted companion). Soon I’ll have grieved sufficiently over my laptop to be able to give you proper traveller’s tales. Au revoir for now
Me fail? I fly! 