Adventures at Charles de Gaulle airport that don't involve roofs caving in.

Delta Flight 8608 operated by Air France is scheduled to have myself and Madame Gadalito-Newhart-Rodgerson on it at 10:20 Monday morning zooming through the skies to Cincinnati.  The night clerk at the Sully St. Germain Hotel, "Gerry", was selling taxi-limo service over the counter so we booked a trip to the airport for 8:00 am to give us plenty of time to get to the airport.  We were the first stop, at 8:00, and he made 3 more stops that got us to Delta gate C2 (as stated on my paperwork) at about 9:15.  Tight, but possible.  

"Non, Monseiur,  this is an Air France flight.  So you need to go for a 20 minute walk with everything that you own and half of the St. Michel Souvenir inventory in tow, to a totally different building.  In the future it is best not to confuse me with someone that cares, au revoir."  I find a cart and start schlepping crap, too much crap, to Air France.  

We find the line, that they tell us is ours, all crammed into Air France space.  We overhear the words that "The Cincinnati flight is closed".  A  gaping hatchet wound of an old devotchka starts bitching that she is getting on that flight and that they can't stop her.  And the squeaky wheel got on.  They got her through the line and off she went.  Marsha mentioned that this is the only way that it works, she has seen the reality show, Airline, and only if you are a pain in the ass bitch, do they even think of accommodating you.  I am pissed because I followed their directions and it made us late to the counter, and there was originally time to make it happen.

Air France sends us back to Delta with another American couple that had the same problem.  The lady at the help desk went a little dense for a minute and my better half went all medieval on her ass.  And then the lady at the counter turned into St. Benedicte of the Service Desk.  For $200 more on my plastic, she got us through security and on to the next plane to Cinci.  She wasn't able to get our luggage on the flight, although everyone assured us that it would be there.  It was not in Ohio to go through customs, and Delta said "It will be in Flint, if not, make a claim at your FINAL DESTINATION."  I saw that turkey of a movie.

Delta charges for drinks, actually, they don't have free wine like Air France, and the hand sets aren't set up for games.  We got to Cincinnati late for our connection to Flint.  We were sort of LAID OVER waiting for a later flight to Flint.  I felt like Bette Midler in The Rose sitting in a phone booth.  "Hello, Mom."  "We are going to be late, kill the cats, drink the Kool-aid."  Screw the kool-aid, gin sounded real good to me, so we stopped, drank, ate and drank.  And then watched Michael Jackson get acquitted on 10 felony charges.  All the chaos was a bit upsetting, Marsha was sorry for treating St. Benedicte like a bitch, but we wanted to see our cats, but did not want to leave summer camp.  Alberto, Giovanna, Katya, Riccardo, Roberto, Robert, Elizabeth, all the crazy Brits, every waiter and bar keep, and all of the ancient mysteries of civilization.  Food done well, beverages done great, and life done fully and at a pace that keeps the blood flowing at a pace that one can live with.  Porcelain fixtures that do things you only dream of, and rooms that existed before Columbus found India and called it America or some such nonsense.  Fresh foods and art and semi-art and people from different lands....Us!  Being a stranger in a strange land is wonderful and sometimes unsettling. But there are good people everywhere, and there are some real ass-holes.  I have always found amazing things just around the corner from ass-holes so I enjoy the journey.

That was my Indian Summer. Thank you, Audience. An old tune about ole folks and meeting in their Indian summers and finding happiness again. We are waiting for the final leg of a trip to take us home to two cats. Surprisingly, two cats. That is about all that truly shakes our world to the core, not having the affection of the cats.

Missed flights, cancelled flights, peeling Marsha off of a TAS officer doing a security screening that was taking her lighters away from her. These were not very expensive souvenirs from a foreign land, but it seemed like the final indignity in a long series of those starting 12 hours earlier. And it was not to be the last. 

We are hoping that the luggage comes through as has been promised by Delta. But it is hard to believe anything after so many things don't go right.

But all in all, things have gone pretty smooth in the last couple of weeks. The tale of the gypsies in Rome is only a cautionary tale, but a sincere feeling about some larger cities. Truly, we were tourists. Strangers in a strange land. People wanted our money. And some were willing to do outstanding services for us to get it. Others weren't as nice, but by far, all the people in the small towns were remarkable. Kind, and deliberate. Trying to understand and be understood, as we were.

We are back in our home land, surrounded by strangers. They all speak the same language as we do. This is comforting. The security of being inside the the "Airport Security Zone" means we can relax a bit in the crowds. The currency doesn't look like Monopoly meets Reynolds Wrap. We survived. As this is not really meant to be read by anyone, and I don't much care who does, I can say that we did survive.

We traveled so far in eight years together. And we each wanted to strangle, drown or rip the tongue out of each others heads at some point in all of our days that brought us together to finally marry each other. 

And the honeymoon, Well lets just say we aren't as young as we once were, but one never forgets how to ride a bicycle and at any age we will try it with no hands. Read between those lines, any way that you wish, but it was a honeymoon. The original idea of honeymoons is the first few days or weeks of living sleeping waking smelling, avoiding and loving each other without all of the cautions that courting brings.

This was not new to us, but 15 days of each other, and no other person to depend on for support, comfort, compassion, understanding. Not having a job to take a 10 hour break from each other and being in a position that can bring all of our emotions to the surface, that was our first.  And we survived. Bear with me a moment as we figure out the idea of the word survive. To sur (above, on top et al) vive (live). And we did live above and on top of it all. She is slowly watching life around us in the waiting area of Cincinnati International Airport, and all the anger and disappointment brought on by dealing with a couple of airlines. I am no big believer in Public displays of affection. The fact that anyone is reading this, is more than I usually am willing to show of myself. But so many times I have been so proud to think of her as my wife as we toured France and Italy. There was a time or two that I wanted to treat her like Princess Grace and push her out of the door of the Fiat as we rounded a turn in a steep mountain in Tuscany. Such is life and learning to get through to the next turn.

It was wonderful, but it is also good to be noted that is always great to be going home. Did I mention we have two cats that may have missed us?

 

Remove all doubt to email me.

craig@alldoubtrodgerson.com