On the one hand, it's work, lots of sitting around in boardrooms, drinking bad coffee and pretending to be a mature, civil, human being.
On the other hand, the expereince is bookended by all the trappings of a Holiday, getting up at quarter to balls in the morning, buying strange currencies at inflated prices and having your belongings bombarded with X-rays by people who really wish they did better at school.
Going to Paris on Valentines day, with work, added an extra layer of sureality to proceedings.
Seriously. I'm becoming slowly used to the pidgeon English circus that is getting a restaurant table (discovering Parisian's hilarious grasp of what vegetarian means is an especially French experience), but trying to do it, as a party of six blokes, on Valentines day is like wandering around Israel trying to get a bacon sandwich.