An American in Paris the airport

Almost a year ago, Kevin and I were discussing potential trips for us to take with his remaining time in England and we got on the subject of France with our Francophile friend Katie and how both of us would love to not only go back to Paris, but to take a trip down south to Provence as well. Since Katie’s husband is a teacher and taking vacations during the school year is out, we decided that a Lester/Felty trip to France for Christmas was in order.

Originally, Kevin and I were supposed to have a full day in Paris before the arrival of the Feltys. (I could have flown with them, but since John carries a black cloud over him when traveling and I generally have good luck, I decided to fly out by myself the day before) . However, what we really wound up having was a day in the Charles de Gaulle airport. My flight was due to land 1 hour earlier than Kevin’s. We made plans for me to wait outside his gate for him, unless his flight was delayed for some reason. By the time I made it through the Death Star maze of Terminal 1, on the tram and to the gate where Kevin was due to be coming in, it was shortly before Kevin’s plane should have come in. When checked the board and saw that flight 3123 was due to get in in 30 minutes, I settled down with my latest Teen Read from Borders (I seriously need to mature my reading habits) until shortly after Kevin’s flight was due to land, when I stood up and started looking for Kevin. I stood for almost 30 minutes with no sign of the infamous Red Sox cap, but plenty of British people walking out until I realized that Kevin wasn’t on flight 3123, he was on flight 3121. THIS flight was still in Manchester and wasn’t due in until 12:00. Bollocks! Based upon our previous plans, if Kevin were to be late, I was supposed to meet him at the hotel. So, I picked up my stuff and dragged it a good 10 minutes away to the RER terminal where one could get a train into Paris. Locating a ticket machine was easy. However, paying with an American credit card was not. The machines only took cash or chip and pin credit cards, neither of which I had. Plus, all I could find in the way of ticket offices was one for the TGV. There had to be an atm somewhere, right? Wrong! It took me 15 minutes to find an atm, located half way back to Kevin’s terminal. I got some money, glanced at my watch and realized that Kevin’s plane was due in in 45 minutes. I might as well wait for him at that point. I got back to the gate, and checked the board to make sure Kevin’s flight was still on time, and once again settled in with my book. When 12 came, I once again stood up and waited. However, 12:15 and then 12:30 came with the board still saying “Estimated arrival 12:00”. Weird. FINALLY, the board changed, but instead of saying “Arrived”, it said “Estimated 13:37”. BOLLOCKS again! Thoroughly fed up, I decided to go get the train, now that I had cash. I walked all the way back to the train station, found a ticket machine only to realize that the machines only take COINS and I had paper bills. At this point, I was seriously ready to strangle someone. I wandered around looking for someplace to buy something – ANYTHING, so that I could get coins. Finally, I realized that in tiny, tiny letters at the very top corner of the TGV office, the sign said RER. In pretty terrible French, I was able to ascertain that I could buy tickets in the office, which really pissed me off as I could have been taking a nap hours ago at the hotel if I had realized this. After taking another 15 minutes to make it to the front of the line, I realized that Kevin was due in in 45 minutes, and once again, I might as well wait for him. I bought two tickets and made my way back to terminal 2E for the 100th time that day. By the time Kevin got out of baggage claim, it was almost 3pm, and I had been at the airport for 7 hours. I ‘ve never been so happy to see someone in my entire life!

When we got off the train near Notre Dame and had a huge issue finding the hotel because Kevin printed the wrong thing and I forgot my directions on my desk at home, I was glad that I had such an issue buying tickets. I would have gotten off the train at Notre Dame and then wandered around the city with my suitcase all day, because the only information I knew in my head was where to get off the tran and what the name of the hotel was.

DISASTER!