Everything was packed, garbage was taken downstairs, everything in the apartment was put back in its place, and I was turning the key in the lock to take myself and my suitcases down to meet the shuttle driver (early!), and my phone rang. It was the shuttle company. They had bad news – my driver’s vehicle had broken down – I should call a cab to take me to the airport and they’d refund me my fee. Rats. A wrinkle. I’m OK with things not going as planned during the core of the vacation, but a little less OK with things going awry relative to transportation to the airport for the return flight home – there’s a bit less wiggle room.
But I was planning to grab a café crème at the corner café while waiting for the shuttle driver, so I thought I’d ask the waiter to make the call for me while I was enjoying my crème – he’d be better at giving the address, etc. When I asked him if he’d do so, he looked at me like I was some kind of crazy tourist – he explained that there was a taxi stand just down the block. I tried to explain to say that yes, but two suitcases plus a carryon plus my jumbo purse were a bit much for me to haul to the taxi queue. He agreed to help, but instead of calling a taxi on the phone he started looking down the street, trying to hail one as it drove by, frequently expressing frustration when the only ones that went by were occupied. Of course, he also had friends to greet on the sidewalk and people to serve who sat down, and an available taxi drove by at least three times when he happened to be greeting a friend or had stepped inside. I’m not sure what his problem was with making a phone call to get a taxi, but after about 20 minutes of this I decided to head for the taxi queue.
So off I set. I should have stopped at the cash machine across the street to ensure that I had enough for the taxi (the shuttle had been pre-paid), but one less street to lug my bags across was one more good thing (and I didn’t want to leave the bags sitting at the café). My wide load and I slowly proceeded down the sidewalk for about four blocks, providing a morning frustration to people who had to wait to get around me in sections where portions of the sidewalk were under construction. But finally, after crossing one more busy street, I reached the taxi queue in a little island in the middle of the giant “Place de la République.” I waited just a few minutes for an available taxi to stop, and the driver had an animated conversation with another potential fare while putting my bags in the trunk, but eventually we were off! (I discovered later, when looking at my detailed street map again, that there was indeed another taxi queue only about a block from the café, behind the bank in which the cash machine was located. No wonder the waiter thought I was crazy – I was! So the lesson from this is “take the time to pull out your map!”)
But anyhoo, off we went to the airport. I asked the driver if he accepted Visa – he said yes, although he clearly wasn’t an English speaker. He stopped once to pick up a piece of fruit for himself at a market, and traffic in town was, as usual, stop-and-go-and-wait, but traffic moved well once we reached the highway to the airport, so it wasn’t too much of a problem, schedule-wise. The driver was very friendly – he was making plans to visit many relatives in Canada, so he had an audio (British) English-language course going in the car. I joined in the fun of repeating the phrases and answering the questions.
When we arrived at the airport I gave him my Visa to pay, and he said no, no, he didn’t take Visa – cash only. And I was about 20€ short. So I had to run into the airport, looking for the cash machine to give him the rest of his fee. Found it, transaction done, now it was a matter of standing in the long queue for checkin. Happily, this went smoothly, although it was long and I knew it was another long walk to the gate, with probable delays at passport check and security (I was right), leaving little-to-no time for perusing the goods at the duty-free shops!
The flight back was smooth, and I was seated in a row with a French mom and her two little girls (they appeared to be about two and four years old). The older one would occasionally poke me and say, “madame, madame, …” asking for help with her video system or asking for one of the cookies I brought on board, or showing me the book she was reading. Very cute. She even stood up on her chair and addressed the flight attendant this way, asking (unsuccessfully) for some food she wanted. Just before we landed the mom asked me if I had a air sickness bag in my seat pouch – she was sure that the younger one, sitting next to me at the time, was about to puke. I didn’t, nor did anyone around me, so the poor kid ended up puking all over her cute little shirt (a favorite, apparently) that had a little kitty on it. She cried softly and kept saying “désolé, désolé” (“sorry, sorry”) to the kitty on her shirt. So sweet!
It turns out that one of my suitcases (on international flights you can check two – such a luxury these days!) decided to fly to Minneapolis via Amsterdam, so it will be delivered to my house on Thursday. And my cat Cyrus the Great gets to spend one more day with his friend Nancy at Cat Nap Inn since some emergency arose for her and I wasn’t able to pick him up on Wednesday evening. But all in all, the “will” found the “way” and my journey ended happily.
Thursday, October 2, 2008
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