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2004-04-17 - 12:14 p.m.

Reuni0n Island, Indian Ocean

I was balking at the near-dawn starts that this trip looked like it was going to entail, and sure enough, after i�d put in a polite request, the french showed their customary accommodating ways and made everything half an hour earlier. My local contact, Laurent, is helpful in the way that the guy asking you if the straps are too tight as you settle back into the electric chair is helpful.

Ferrying myself around the island is my own responsibility, but luckily i find driving on the right as easy and natural as, say, unicycling backwars through a firey maze. It�s not so much thqt the ,echanics are reversed, though i do tend to indicate via the means of my windscreen wipers � it�s more where the other cars suddenly come from. My natural inclination is to swerve to the left which doesn�t help matters. Well, that and pull over for a cry.

This keyboard is weird, so pardon typos.

On my first day, i was taken on a pre-dawn helicopter tour. I don�t like doing this too much as it�s the kind of activity that gets you on the news: �A helicopter tour ended in tragedy today, resulting in the death of an english tourist. The helicopter was forced to crash land after it got into trouble, instantly killing the English man, who was in his thirties. The island said that it was the first ti,e that an English person had died on the island, and that they were shocked and stunned at the waste of a young life. Thirty six French people also died.�

Afterwards, i was talking to the pilot.

Me: How many flights do you do a day?

Him: About four. All in the morning. In the afternoon, I have �other business�.

And with this, he gives me a conspiratorial wink, as if I�m supposed to know what illegal activities helicopter pilots get up to in their leisure time. I can only imagine he means running drugs or transporting island prostitutes to hard to reach clients.

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