Home Again, Pt. 3

Waiting outside the train station to catch a shuttle, I heaved my carry-on (I put all my heavy non-liquids in it. I didn't want to pay for my checked bag being too heavy!) on top of my suitcase and rolled into the shade. It was hot in Paris, almost 90 F, and humid.

When one finally arrived, I rolled over and asked the driver if he went to the Ibis Hotel. He pointed back at the station, sending me to the door that exited the other side.

I thanked him, confused, and rolled myself and my belongings back through the glass doors towards the other side of the station and realized that in fact, I didn't need a shuttle, because the hotel was just outside! I went in after a huge sigh of relief (I was hoping to avoid a Liam-Neeson-necessary adventure...) and booked a room for the night.

I took the elevator up to my room on the fourth floor, slid my stuff inside the teeny door, tossed my carry-on on the double bed and -- no shame here -- I cried. After a stressful day of missing the flight that I was so ready to be on, having to fend for myself in a different language and foreign and confusing airport, I was tired and sad. I settled myself, ate a less than mediocre lunch in the hotel restaurant and then rested in the room.

I headed down to try dinner, hopeful that the restaurant would be better this time around. However, I did hedge my bet by choosing to skip the salad and go straight for some hamburger -- steak haché -- and fries and a dessert. That dessert was the best thing that happened to me all day; three scoops of ice cream - two strawberry and one mango.

I eavesdropped on a conversation happening behind me and it turns out I wasn't the only person to miss the flight -- evidently the flight seemed to have left nearly half empty! I went back to my room and watched a strange film in what I assume was dutch, and then passed out.

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The journey is almost over!

Hope you all don't mind that I've broken this into so many parts, but I don't want to bog you down with seventeen pages of me whining.

Do you wanna share some travel stories to make me feel a little better about missing my plane!?

Home Again, Pt. 2

After hearing from the rather brusque flight agent that I couldn't board my flight back to the states, I was dazed.

What do you mean I can't get on the plane? It's still here?

But I am a good kid, so I did what he told me and headed towards the information desk. There, I tried to get in line, and was yelled at by another agent for coming to close to the desk before it was my turn (these people were grumpy and had no time for me, evidently!).

Eventually I got up to the counter and told them what flight I was on. The woman took my passport and the slip of paper that I had written the flight information on and tic-tacked away at her keyboard. I talked quietly with a very tall and beautiful woman next to me, whose flight left ten minutes before mine for Rome. (They held her plane for her...)

The woman, looked up and said "I will put you on the same flight tomorrow." I nodded, and smiled politely: You couldn't get me there today? Really? But I wasn't gonna push my luck -- I saw the airport Police on my way in -- they carry machine guns!

I stood awkwardly for a while, since she hadn't given me anything, and then she finally looked up and gave me back my passport.

I headed to the nearest payphone, gave the operator my credit card numbers and soon enough my Dad picked up. It was the middle of the night at home, so he was a little groggy, but I let them know what happened, and that I would find a hotel soon. After we hung up, I took off my scarf and put it into my carry on because I was about to die of heatstroke, and headed to the Charles De Gaulle Information desk.

After a few moments of confusing mistranslation, I had the name of a hotel written down and I headed to the shuttle area to catch a bus for my hotel. So I stood, and waited, in the heat. And waited...

To be continued...

Home Again, Pt.1

Or, How I almost didn't make it home from France.

Okay, so that's a little melodramatic, but I was in fact stuck in France for an extra day.

After having a really wonderful last day visiting with Christelle, my host's grandmother and then a great final dinner cooked by Yann, I made it to the train station early to get to my flight on time.

I understood that I needed to be at the airport an hour early, so I choose a train that would get me to the Charles De Gaulle airport about one hour and ten minutes early.

The train was entertaining, I sat behind some cute kids. Unfortunately, the train was also about 20 minutes late.

I finally made it to my check in area in CDG, and when I asked the girl which line I should go into, she asked which flight I was on. Mind you, my flight was scheduled to leave at 11:10 and it was about 10:30 (though I wasn't aware of the time).

Me: Charlotte.
Her: Oh. You are too late.
Me: What?
[She turns and waves a man over towards me, telling him I was there for the Charlotte flight]
Him: Do you know what time it is?
Me: No... but -
Him: Come with me.
[We walk a few feet back where he motions to a departure screen, the time is at the top.]
Him: It is 10:38, and the boarding is closed at one hour before departure. Do you understand? You have missed the flight, you can talk to information.

Me: ... Thank you?

To be continued...