MY TRIP TO FRANCE. Part One: The Voyage

May 26-27, 2012 (Sunday, Monday somewhere in there!)

The very long Day One



Excited to leave for my epic journey. Ric drove me down to SF.

I begin writing, a small thing when compared to what is happening in my heart. I have repeated in my mind so many times the trip I am about to take to France with Rachel. I now sit in the San Francisco Airport, International Terminal, awaiting my ten hour forty-five minute flight to London. My vision is rather detailed when gathering in all that is happening around me that it becomes impossible to begin to describe it here. So, like many journaling traveler before me, I shall lay out snippets and hope enough is said to delight me (and you) and bring back the sounds, smells, sights and amazement I am experiencing now and for the next twelve days.

San Francisco Airport.

         Standing in line to check in, I listened to a family speaking French. It is a beautiful language which I know essentially not at all. The family had golf clubs and lots of duffle bags. Cousins, sisters, brothers and their older children were in the group. While they were checking in at one desk, at least ten of us got checked in at ours. It was so cool. And I haven’t even left!

            A woman, Asian, older yet small, came up to the paper towel dispenser in the restroom while I was washing my hands. She looked up the feed trough and, finding nothing, began walking away. I said, “Here” and pulled the feed lever. She rejoiced in her language, drying her hands, smiling and loudly thanked me, bowing several times. It was short, it was brief, it was everything.

Along the causeway to my boarding gate.

           In the plane, I sat beside a Hindi woman on one side (I knew she was Hindi by the special food she was provided) and a wonderful young couple from Ireland just returning from their honeymoon on the other. Since the language barrier prevented much talking with the Hindi woman – just smiling, and ‘thank you’, I spent a goodly amount of time visiting with Joan. A lovely visit which is a nice experience as a start to my great adventure. Her new husband was white-knuckling it and resumed breathing when we landed. I watched a bit of movies and audio between spots of napping. I feel either jetlag or just plain lack of sleep. It was fun to watch a map of our up-to-date location. It didn’t seem like ten hours forty-five minutes until I stood up and tried to walk! All was well by the time I was at the airport door.

            For quite some time I just followed the crowd, who seemed as unsure as I.  There seemed only one way to go, very limited signs and no one to help us.  But we somehow all arrived through the security area and survived that.

            I headed to the currency counter and found out that I can use my debit and credit card anywhere. That is what we had suspected; now I am so happy to know it is true.

The plane that will be my home for the next 10+ hours. 

           I am sitting near my connecting gate at Heathrow Airport just a few yards from two security officers who were attempting to calm a man who was chewing out his wife in his African language. Things are calmed now.

It’s true, I missed my flight. Let me tell you the details: I had adjusted my watch in the terminal after arriving but had forgotten to push the button which activates (engages) the watch. As I strolled over to the gate to confirm boarding time, the woman at the counter exclaimed ‘you have missed it!’ At first I thought she must have been joking but she said that I had been paged (no doubt by a heavy English accent) and I had not come. I was next to the toilets and next to the African raging husband and had not heard the page.

After attempting to contact Rachel (I left a message on her cell from a payphone then emailed her from an internet café) to tell her I will not be on my original flight, and then paying the extra 174 pounds, I sit awaiting the flight which will leave in an hour. Weather is gorgeous. I have cat-napped. If this is the worse fungoo, I’ll be happy!

At London/Heathrow Airport, I board this smaller jet for Paris. 

I finally take off for Paris, and I must say how amazing is the view from aloft. The English countryside is drawn with stone and hedge fences between pastures with a house here and there. Ever verdant! Then comes the English Channel so wide and vast. It disappeared halfway across under a layer of stratus clouds, only to have the clouds end abruptly as the French coastline appeared. Then came the gentle patchwork of farmland, each square flowing easily to the next.  As I land, I absorb the realization that I am in France.  This is the first time I have ever been in Europe!

The view of the Seine River!  I am on the approach into Paris.

         The fallout and miraculous coincidences continue to amaze me. Fallout of missing my flight is that the luggage gets put on some plane and I’ve got French speaking (enough English to hold the job) guys trying to figure out where it is. That was hilarious as they kept misreading the flight numbers on the computer screen. I am thinking they might have been color blind because the printing on their screen was green. Finally it was concluded that my baggage is on the flight due to arrive in thirty minutes. So my missed flight arrives in Paris, the flight I was actually on gets there six hours later, my suitcases follow three and a half hours later, at 10:15pm.

            After plans were made for contacting the luggage desk, I begin the half-mile walk across the concourse to look for Rachel and the Sheraton Hotel (our pre-arranged meeting place) located in terminal two. As I walked out the first doors just several hundred feet from the luggage area, Rachel leaps off a luggage cart quite full of suit cases, exclaiming “Mom, oh my gosh!” and we embraced, rejoicing that no more search was to be done.  It turns out that her phone doesn’t work either. So the meeting was quite splendid (and miraculous) on several fronts.  Rachel, on her end, went through much anguish and research (mostly through her Jared) before discovering that I was not on the expected plane.

The glorious reunion!!

         We are staying at the Avalon which is in downtown Paris. The stairs wind (more like curl) steeply upward, yet fortunately for us there is a small elevator for our baggage. It is a very tiny room with a ‘full’ sized bed which we shared. And did we both sleep hard!           

Our second floor room, very tiny but it is in downtown Paris. 

          We were hungry tonight and for Paris, the night was young.  So Rachel proposed enthusiastically that we join the many along the street at midnight to find a kebab café.  The first thing we saw was a girl on a bike involved in a hit and run.  It looked like only her arm was hurt. She was struck by a car then ran into a pole, maintaining her position on the bike.  She was quite verbal (and wore a white dress which I found unusual) and several that were nearby came to her aid. A patrol car arrived rather immediately so Rachel and I (both medics) felt that merely observing the scene was sufficient from across the street. It is a reflex for us to focus our attention upon a scene, fully prepared to render aid in case our assessment finds it a necessity. The injured girl seemed to express more anger than pain which relieved us greatly.

We found a café and I found their kebabs utterly delicious. Rachel’s more discriminating pallet declared we would find another one that is better. I find I am quite willing to eat the most basic or the signature item on the menu, just to feel I have not missed something. While we ate, a fire truck went by. After several fire trucks went by, they seemed to me to be more on patrol than to be going to a scene, although their sirens and lights were going.

            The people along the street consisted of youth (a lot) maybe college age, and a vagrant who requested something like money.

This is the entry from my travel journal.