First day in Paris, continued...

Eating my peach and apricots, I meander up the street, looking in shop windows. This is a good place to stay. There is a beautiful bakery, three pizzerias and a supermarket over the road. And, just what I need, a laundromat! I decide to go back and get my clothes. Returning to the laundromat, I can make sense of the instructions for using the machines, but I can't figure out how to get washing powder. I ask a young man with a nice face, who has just come into the laundromat, and he is very forgiving of my halting French and shows me how to get the laundry powder from the vending machine. It turns out his English is much better than my French. I put my clothes in the machine but it doesn't start. Il ne marche pas. I ask him again for help and he doesn't know, but helpfully rings the number on the wall for me. The manageress is very apologetic, but she is out of Paris, and if I come back after the 3rd of September she will refund my 4 euros. I have to pay again, but the machine still won't start, so I try a new machine and then the first one starts. My new friend and I crack up laughing. He tries to give me the four euros and tells me he will get it back from the lady when she returns, but I won't take it.

We have a great conversation in both English and French while we are waiting for our laundry. It is so good that the second person I meet in Paris is so friendly and kind and so willing to go out of his way to help me. He tells me he knows what it is like to be a traveller and that people in Paris are not usually helpful, so that is why he tries hard to help people. His name is Florian and he works as an aircraft painter and is training as a cabin crew member, but first he has to learn English properly. He is planning to spend six months in Australia some time and I tell him he must come to New Zealand as well. He is keen on snowboarding and I tell him he could probably get a job as a lift operator on the ski fields. I get such a good feeling from talking to him, and feel that it's no coincidence that I couldn't do my washing in Maastricht and that we both came to the laundry at this point in time. He adds me as a friend on Facebook on his phone.  I show him facebook photos of my family and he tells me that he will take me to ride a bicycle around the city some time if I want. I think I will take him up on that on Tuesday morning. 

First day in Paris

I wake up at 4 am as usual but lie there for some time before I decide that it wouldn't be too disruptive to my room mates' sleep if I was to get up and have a shower. The only one of my original room mates left is Carole from Toulouse and she and I have planned to go on a short bike ride this morning, as we are both leaving today. Breakfast is not until 8 am on a Saturday and all three of us - Carole, David Pitt from Queensland and me, take extra rolls, cheese and fruit so that we don't have to buy lunch. My Scottish ancestry is showing through.

With my things all packed and in the lockup storage, Carole and I set off on our bikes. Carole is a very lovely and confident girl, and very kind; the sort you know would help you out if you had a problem. She speaks very good English but she patiently allows me to practice my French and she gently corrects me if I get something wrong, like saying "dix-cinq" instead of "quinze". I knew that! We don't have long before I have to be back for the taxi, and I was hoping we could get back out to the chateau as it's so close to town, but we get about two thirds of the way there and I take a few photos and then we have to turn around or we'll run out of time. Carole says she will ride back there with her camera and take some photos and email them to me.

Saying goodbye to her is a little awkward because I go to give her a hug as we do in New Zealand and she thinks I am doing the "faire le bise", kissing the cheeks one, two, three, four times. A cultural faux pas? I explain this is what we do when saying goodbye to friends in New Zealand.

I worry that the taxi won't come in time to get me to the station, but truly I worry too much, and the taxi driver is very nice and points me in the right direction. I go to the ticket machine to buy a ticket but the machine doesn't accept credit cards, even though mine works like a debit card, but suddenly I hear a familiar voice and there is Mark Bosson. So good to see him, and he walks me to the ticket booth. They don't take credit cards there either and I don't quite have enough cash so Mark offers to buy my ticket... what a blessing. I am really being looked after.

In the weekends they maintain the railway tracks so the first leg of the journey will be by bus. I'm a bit worried, again, that I might get on the wrong bus, or there might not be room, or the bus won't get me to Sittard on time, but I should really learn from experience not to worry, since everything has worked out exactly right so far, and sure enough I get a seat, the bus makes it, and I end up at Sittard station.

Obviously my journey around the western side of Holland was through the nicer parts, because this time I am going up through the central city of Utrecht, and I realise Holland is not all pretty green canals and windmills and picturesque farms. There is an ugly side too and you probably see the worst of it from the railway.

Arriving at Schiphol airport feels very familiar now and I have no trouble finding my way to where I'm supposed to be. I have a couple of hours to wait.

The flight to Charles de Gaulle is only about 50 minutes and almost before the poor air hostesses have had time to serve out crackers and drinks and collect up all the rubbish, we start the descent. France is flatter than I expected and the rivers I can see have a bluish green tinge. There is a patchwork effect from all the green crops and ploughed fields, and dark patches of trees. Coming closer to the ground I can see villages with little spired churches.

Once again I am worried that by some chance my luggage won't have ended up on the right plane. Oh Kara, stop worrying! Shouldn't you have learned by now? With my bags in hand I nervously find a phone and dial the 0800 number I was given by the shuttle company. "Bonjour, j'ai reserve un taxi." The guy on the other end speaks rapidly in French and I catch the word "huit". Momentary panic but eventually I say "Pardon, en anglais s'il vous plait?" so he tells me in perfect English that my driver will be waiting outside gate 8.I have to wait for about ten minutes but then a Paris Shuttle van arrives and the driver jumps out. He is a short man of Indian or Pakistani descent and he has a goatee and is wearing Miami Vice sunglasses. I speak a bit of French to him but he also speaks good English. He asks me if I am traveling alone. Yes. Do I know anyone on Paris? No, I don't know anyone at all. He says "Well now you know me! Would you like to sit in the front?" so he stops and I get into the front seat. He tells me his name is Raj. Now I start getting worried. I have heard there are bogus taxi drivers in Paris who will pick you up and leave you somewhere and take off with your bags. He asks me if I would like to sit in the middle seat, right next to him. I say, "no thanks, I'm ok". Now I'm really frightened. He makes some kind of joke, and horror of horrors, pats my knee! He asks me if I'm married and I tell him yes, with three children. He seems to get the idea after that, as I've clammed up and I'm probably as white as a sheet. Luckily by this time we have picked up more passengers so at least I am not alone with him in the van. 

At first the motorway is just like being in Auckland, only the road surface is not so well maintained. Raj is reading my destination and programming his GPS while driving at about 140 km per hour through a motorway tunnel. My life flashes in front of my eyes and I remember Princess Diana died in a tunnel just like this, probably with a driver just like this. But it must not be my day to die today, because then we are off the motorway and suddenly I see that we are heading up the Champs Élysées, and I can see the Arc de Triomphe straight ahead. I have heard about the traffic around the Arc de Triomphe and it is every bit as bad as they say. From what I can see, it's an absolute free-for-all, with about 100 cars on the roundabout at any one time, and no marked lanes. You decide you want to go somewhere and you just start driving there, and don't catch the eye of another driver or they will think you are giving way to them. This is all happening at about 80 km per hour. There don't seem to be any road rules here, and Raj is thundering up narrow streets at a rate of knots. Note to self: it would be a good idea to run across pedestrian crossings while I am here just to stay alive!

Finally my hair-raising trip comes to an end, and Raj lets me off in front of the hotel, with my bags. He is not a villain after all. But I certainly hope I never see him again.

I immediately fall in love with the hotel and its lovely setting on a quiet suburban street. Going into the lobby, everything feels so clean and modern. The man at the counter is very nice and he gives me my room card. I am staying in room 101. I go up to the first floor in the lift, and exit onto the tiniest hallway I've ever seen. It's only about half a meter wide. I open the door to my room, and what a perfect little haven! It's absolutely gorgeous.

I drop my bags and then the first thing I do is drop to my knees in gratitude. I've been guided and protected once again.

I decide to have a walk up and down the little street. Right next to the hotel is a little grocer, so I buy a beautiful big peach and "des abricots aussi". The grocer is a friendly little man who looks Vietnamese and I am pretty pleased with myself that I could buy something in French without making a fool of myself. 

Last day in Maastricht

So it's the last day of the conference and there are quite a few tired and hung over people coming into the plenary session. The party didn't finish till 1 am. I got back about midnight but still woke up at 4 am as usual, and couldn't go back to sleep. My room mate Anoma is leaving this morning so she is up at 4 am too. I'm going to miss her - she is such a sweet person. 

I have been trying all week to meet Simon More from the University College Dublin and Margaret Good from the Department of Agriculture in Dublin. They have both published a lot of papers in TB research and I've arranged to go to Dublin at the end of next week, so I need to meet them today or it will be too late. Finally I spot Margaret coming down the stairs to morning tea and I introduce myself. She is a nice lady in her 60s and I feel very comfortable with her. She phones Simon and he comes over too. Simon is a lovely gentle, kind, soft spoken man and I like him immediately. He's Australian but you would never know! These are some more of my heroes in the world of TB research and I'm so excited to be finally meeting them.

I leave the conference a little bit early because I want to get some washing done. I feel a strange tinge of sadness handing in my ID badge and heading out the front door. This place and these people have been my life for the past five days and now it's over. I will definitely have to do my best to get to the next ISVEE conference in Yucatan, Mexico in 2015. 

On the way back I decide to visit the museum that I ride past every day on my way to the conference centre. How much is the entry? Ask the girl behind the counter. Nine euros. Well that's a little expensive, but I'm here now and I won't get another opportunity. So I pay the money and she gives me a receipt. At the bottom of the stairs I'm stopped by a security guard. He is trying to tell me something in Dutch. Sorry, Engels! English? OK, you have no clip. No clip? What clip? He points to the small metal lapel badge that other guests have. I head back to the counter and the girl says sorry and hands me a clip. I put it on and then go back to the stairs. The security guard stops me again. Sorry, no bags. You have to put them in the locker. OK, where are the lockers? Through that door. I can't seem to get the latch to lock until I realise that you have to put a one euro coin in the inside of the latch, and THEN it will lock. Third time lucky? The poor security guard has to stop me again. Sorry, you can't carry your cardigan over your arm like that. You must wear it, or put it in the locker. By this stage I'm thinking, this has got to be Candid Camera. This museum better be worth it! Slightly exasperated, I ask why and he shrugs... Just the rules eh? 

Decardiganed, I can finally go up the stairs. It is an art museum and I'm not sure it was worth all that bother. There are three levels, each featuring a different artist. At the end there is a big domed turret room with some sort of large white stone sculpture in the middle and the walls painted black with concentric white circles going all the way up to a point in the centre of the ceiling. Looking up has a weird effect on me and I start to feel a bit tearful. Maybe it was the art but it was more likely the tiredness, sadness at the conference ending and my frustrating exchanges with the security guard.

There is a room with some quite ordinary looking furniture by some famous Dutch furniture designer, apparently quite a leader in his field. I find it all a bit ho hum... perhaps I just don't have an eye for art. After all that, I'm only in the museum for less than ten minutes. I can think of better ways of spending a euro a minute.

Out of curiosity I drop in to the supermarket near the cycle bridge. I'm interested to see what Dutch groceries look like. It's far more interesting than the museum and costs me far less too. There is a bewildering assortment of ready prepared vegetables and lovely fresh looking meals. A whole wall of dairy produce, including sliced Swiss cheese and lots of other products I don't have a hope of identifying. I check out the biscuits aisle, and find a packet of crispy almond and chocolate fingers. They look yummy and I know the kids would like them, so pick some up. They are only 95 cents. I also get a punnet of lovely fresh big blueberries that will do me for afternoon tea. I don't need to tell the checkout girl that I don't speak Dutch; how hard can it be? I pay her the money, smile and say "Tank u". I just completed my first transaction in Dutch and I'm rather proud of myself. 

Some Dutch is very easy to decipher, at least on signs, and I already know place names and how to count to ten, and a few words. The checkout girl had a badge that read, "Kan ik u helpen?" and it wasn't too hard to figure out what that meant. "Tank u wel" is "Thank you very much". The most interesting one was on the train platform. "Verboden over te lopen". I figured that meant "Forbidden to leap over"!

Time to do some laundry. I put my clothes in a pillowcase and start walking in the direction of town. Apparently there is a laundromat on the other side of the town square. I walk past tall brick buildings with window boxes and people sitting outside drinking coffee. It's all very charming, but as I get further north there are a few seedy shops and businesses... I have heard how bad it is in Amsterdam and this just shows that even in pretty little Maastricht there is a shady side to town, and you don't have to go far to find it. I'm looking for the town square, which is where I've heard Andre Rieu has his concerts. The laundromat is on the other side. When I get there however, I'm shocked. There are trucks packing away scaffolding and planks and there has obviously been a giant party because I have never in my life seen so much litter, and such a filthy mess of bottles, paper bags, old chips and everything else you could think of. Everything stinks of old fish and garbage, but people are walking through the square as if this is the most natural scene in the world. It seems a harsh contrast with the historic buildings and lovely trees. I can't believe Dutch people are capable of being this messy - everywhere else I've seen has been so tidy and well kept. It was probably a student event as it's the first week back from summer vacation for Maastricht University. It certainly wasn't an Andre Rieu concert since the only things that would be thrown during one of those would be old ladies' knickers :-)

Arriving at the laundromat I am disappointed to find it closed, and I have walked all this way for nothing with my pillowcase, feeling like a homeless person and getting a few funny looks along the way! I should be able to laver les vetements en Paris, bien sur! Demain après-midi, je vais a Paris. But for now I am going to go back to Stayokay and read a book and have an early night.  

A fancy dinner in a Belgian chateau

The conference dinner is going to be held just over the border in Belgium, in a castle called Chateau Neercanne. I've been looking forward to this! The coach picks us up outside the backpackers and we travel past the outskirts of town and into the most beautiful countryside I've ever seen. Tomorrow I plan to go back here on my bike to take some photos.

We are greeted by four guys in traditional dress swishing enormous flags around on the end of long poles to a drum beat. The gardens below the castle have sculptured box hedges and there are stone steps up to the first terrace, where we can see out over the farmland, which is bathed in a golden early evening light. Espaliered pear trees and grapes grow up against the castle walls. It feels like being in a fairy tale. it's hard to believe I didn't even blink and I am in another country.

We walk up spiral stone steps inside the castle, lit by candles. I'm with Alberto and Ariadna from Spain. Behind the castle there is a complex of interconnecting caves, hollowed out of the hill in 1698. The caves are lit by candles and there are several white-uniformed waiters handing out drinks. Everyone has a glass of wine and I wonder if there is even an alternative, until I spot a waitress with a glass of orange juice near me, so I ask her for some orange juice too. The other person with orange juice is Jos from Holland and I say, "Ah, a fellow orange juice drinker!" and we clink glasses. 

The food is very European... scampini in lobster sauce, veal with prunes, potatoes in mozzarella cheese, and this slices of raw beef with bacon and salad (I couldn't bring myself to try the raw beef!) Different dishes are served in different parts of the caves. There is a jazz band playing outside and a DJ inside.

It's a great atmosphere and I talk to some interesting and nice people, but after a while it's getting pretty loud and there are so many people, and I feel the need for a bit of space. Not sure where to go, so I wander around and then discover that inside the castle itself is a wide wooden staircase going up to another level. There are no signs saying not to go there, so I decide it must be ok. Upstairs there are two high-ceilinged dining rooms, dimly lit, with heavy patterned curtains and ornately framed pictures and mirrors on the walls. One of the dining rooms has several large chandeliers and I figure out that this must be where the Treaty of Maastricht must have been signed. The other room is warm and ambient, and has classical music playing, so I sit down on one of the dining chairs, feeling a bit guilty about being antisocial, but at the same time knowing that this is the way I'm built. I'm quite capable of being sociable and making conversation, and I've very much enjoyed people's company, but I don't handle big crowds for extended times and I do like space and solitude to balance that up.

A girl pops her head around the doorway and it turns out she is also looking for some peace and quiet. Kindred spirits! She is from Kansas and her name is Sarah. We sit and talk for a while and then we go down to get our dessert. Feeling like naughty kids we carry our plates up  the stairs and back to the grand dining room. We have it all to ourselves. 

Leaving on the bus, I can hardly believe I've been so lucky to have dinner at a castle in the Belgian countryside. I'm going to remember this for a long time.

I explore Maastricht

The plenary talk this morning is by Dr Theresa Bernardo, on the effect of social technologies on disease control. It's a fascinating look into how Facebook, twitter, the Internet can be used to gain disease information and how they can be used to control diseases. For example, crowd sourced radiation readings were plotted on maps after the Japan earthquake. When there is a spike in searches on google for "flu symptoms", this is highly correlated with actual cases and in fact " Google flu" is as accurate as traditional passive surveillance methods for tracking flu incidence around the world. Doctor visits are only the tip of the iceberg and actual diagnoses are very slow and cause significant time delays in putting control methods into action, but by using these technologies, interventions can be much more rapid.

By 2020, about 75 percent of the world's deaths will be caused by non communicable diseases like heart disease, cancer and diabetes. One researcher aims to recruit one million women from around the world for breast cancer research. Numbers can be gained much more rapidly than by traditional sampling methods. Web forums and online support groups have organised themselves into large clinical trials.

Collective psychology and intelligence can be used to solve elusive problems. A conundrum in how a particular protein was folded in nature was solved by making it into a game and putting it on the Internet, on a site called Foldit.com. Fifty thousand people played the game and one woman solved the problem, but all 50,000 were included as authors on the paper that was subsequently published in Nature.

After the lectures are finished I ride my bike into "Old Maastricht", the part of the city that was not damaged by bombing in the war. The streets are cobbled and narrow with tall brick buildings rising on each side, and hanging baskets in the windows. High up on the wall of one of the buildings there are carillon bells and it must be on the hour, because they are pealing a tune. There is a festival atmosphere, with street musicians and people of all ages milling around. It's the first week of the new semester at Maastricht University so there are a lot of students about. I can't get over how beautiful almost everyone is here, and how slim people are. I've seen only a few overweight people during my time in Holland so far.

It's obviously not due to the lack of accessibility to calories though. There are waffle shops and gelato parlours in between the clothes and shoe shops. Then I see the most amazing sweet shop... something out of Matthew's dreams, with a whole wall of amazing pick and mix, all labelled " sweet " or " salty ". I have fun selecting a few hundred grams of assorted weird and wonderful candy for Matt (and Hannah and Josh as well!) 

A multicultural experience, and I meet some of my heroes

At breakfast I sit with some girls from my dorm room. There is a lovely lady from Sri Lanka, who gives me her card and I see that her name is Hitihamy Mudiyanselage Anoma Pushpa Kumari Gunarathne. Imagine writing that on your IRD form. I ask her how to pronounce it and she says she goes by Anoma. That I can pronounce! The girl sitting across from me is from Toulouse so I get brave and practice my French. It can't be too bad because she understands what I am saying.

Riding to the conference centre, I feel very European indeed. The route is becoming second nature and I'm no longer having to constantly remind myself to stay on the right. The first session of the day is an extremely interesting talk from an English professor of veterinary epi, Derek Smith. His talk is about the case for and against global warming, and how climate change affects the spread of animal and human diseases, especially vector borne disease. They have sophisticated habitat mapping and seaport climate dendrograms which are capable of predicting where vectors are likely to establish next, so that targeted surveillance can be implemented.

Outside one of the rooms while waiting for a lecture, I get talking to Tim Carpenter, the professor in charge of Massey's Epicentre. A tall friendly man with glasses and a Canadian accent comes over and Tim introduces him to me as Ian. He asks me some questions and I explain what I do, and then I start to ask him what he does. Then I look down at his name tag and I realise I am talking to Ian Dohoo. "Oh my goodness," I gasp. "You wrote the book!!" Veterinary Epidemiologic Research, the standard text used by veterinary epidemiologists all over the world. He is probably the best known epidemiologist in the world. I feel all shaky, like I just met my hero. It would be like going to a conference and talking to a man called Steve and then realizing you are talking to Steven Covey.

As the jet lag and tiredness recede, I'm getting more confident in talking to people. I spot Francisco Olea-Popelka outside a conference room, while waiting for a talk. He is another of my heroes - he has done some good work in the area of my research and I've cited him all over the place in my literature review. So I get brave and introduce myself. He is a nice big friendly man and we have a good discussion on bovine TB research. I get even braver and give him a copy of my poster summary with the web reference and tell him I'd appreciate his feedback if he has time to look at it. He tells me to keep in touch and I'm definitely going to take him up on that.

I've booked for the conference cruise so after the programme is finished at 5.30 pm I head downriver to where the ferry takes off. It's a huge boat with 3 levels and a full restaurant on board, and an open deck where you can sit. Everyone is talking and I don't recognise anyone, so I'm not sure what to do, but during the evening I end up talking most of the time, to two guys from Thailand and the Netherlands, a girl from Canada, a man from Ethiopia, a man from California and a lovely lady from Cornell University. The network of rivers and canals is amazing and the scenery is beautiful. We go under a bridge built during Roman times. Much of Maastricht was bombed during the war, so some of the buildings are newer, but there are still a lot of beautiful old buildings. A Dutch man near me tells a very funny story about when he spent three weeks at a Franciscan monastery. I wish I could tell it like he does. Maybe I will try when I get home. 

My first day as an international delegate :-)

I've never had a more uncomfortable sleep. It must have been 32 or 34 degrees in the bunk room. At least my room mates seem quiet, though there is one girl who snores a bit. In the night I have to get up and have a cold shower in my underwear and go back to bed with wet hair. It's the only way I can get back to sleep. I seem to have a very awake time between 2 and 4 am and this morning is no different. On the other hand I am very sleepy around 4 pm. Morning seems to take forever to come but finally it's 6am and I feel justified in getting up and not worrying too much about disturbing others.

The shower feels great and I decide to let my hair dry by itself so as not to disturb my room mates. I get my bike out from the basement and start riding over to the conference centre. It's not quite 7 am yet and the air is cool but summery. There is something to be said for not wearing a helmet. Here it's very safe because you are not riding on the road. Bikes have the right of way where cars are turning and there are separate traffic signals for cars,walkers and cyclists. I just have to keep reminding myself to keep right, as it still feels more natural to ride on the left.

The bridge over the river is amazing. At each end there is a ramp with low steps and a channel for bike wheels. However if you choose you can also take the lift up or down! There's a great view over the river and this is just how I pictured Maastricht, with beautiful old buildings close together lining both sides of the river. Jet streams are starting to appear high in the morning sky and they look like they are converging on one spot to the northwest. I bet they are going to Heathrow. We must be right under the flight path.

I arrive at the conference centre and it's pretty amazing. I get my conference pack and pay for my poster and then find out where to put up my poster. It looks great, though there are a couple of things I'd change for next time. I notice another poster, two away from mine, done by my supervisor Mark, and it also has my name on it as a co-author. I'm pretty chuffed as I didn't know about it until now. It's the paper on network analysis of dairy cattle movements in New Zealand, a project I haven't had much to do with, so it's kind of Mark to include me.

I ride back to where I'm staying for breakfast. I'm interested to see what's on offer. There are three kinds of rolls with jam, chocolate spread and chocolate hail and colored sugary things to sprinkle on your bread (Matthew would be impressed!) then there is a big plate of salami and thinly sliced big slabs of Swiss cheese. Hard boiled eggs, pears and mandarins, and thick unsweetened yoghurt in little glass containers with a crunchy but not very sweet kind of muesli to sprinkle on the top. There is no other cereal or milk. I only have about five minutes to eat before I have to get back on my bike to go to the conference centre. it's not bad; I like the Swiss cheese.

Back at the conference centre there are lots of people milling around but I don't see anyone I know. I feel a bit nervous; most of the world leaders in veterinary epidemiology are here, so i have to remind myself that I have as much right to be here as anyone. Inside the auditorium I find Mark Bosson and it's so good to see a familiar face. The auditorium is huge; there must be 1200 seats.

Some drumming starts up in the foyer and a big percussion band works their way up to the stage. The rhythm is very complex and they are so energetic. It certainly makes an impression to start the conference. The opening speakers talk about the theme, "Building bridges, crossing borders" and how in veterinary epidemiology that is what we do- bridges with the medical profession, public health, immunology, microbiology, and lots of other fields, and in that way we can work to solve the world's emerging disease risks. One of them is H5N1, the bird flu virus, and the next speaker gives an interesting talk on some research to define how possible it would be that the virus will mutate enough to transmit from human to human.

I move around various talks and they are mostly very interesting. But jet lag has set in and my brain is so foggy. I'm desperate to lie down so when no-one is looking I go near the back of the auditorium and lie down on the floor for 20 minutes during a lecture. It helps; I'm able to carry on for a while. But I have to leave at 5.30 instead of staying for the networking event. I'm so desperate for a sleep.

Back at Stayokay I meet two of my room mates. They are from Sri Lanka and Thailand. They are also at the conference. Nice ladies, but all I can think about is putting on my eye shades and ear plugs and getting off to sleep. It's still so hot but not as bad as yesterday. I've started to miss home a lot. Sounds like everyone is fine so that's good. Ahhh sleep.