I woke up at 4am with no alarm. I blame it on my excitement, but really, who wouldn't be excited? I finished packing my stuff and the majority of Kaitlyn's clothes, trying to make my luggage look as small as possible so I could carry it all on. I then took a very thorough shower because I knew it would be about 24 hours of running through airports and struggling through the language barrier. Finally, because this trip would be putting me into vacation-day debt at work, I hauled all of my luggage into the office for a productive yet incredibly distracted half-day.
A little after noon, I hopped on BART towards SFO and the sweating began. The BART car was warm to begin with, but I was also wearing a sweater to make my bag smaller and was carrying my raincoat and down jacket. When I got there, armed with my pre-printed boarding pass, I went straight to the security line, where I was promptly turned back because I didn't have a cabin tag. Oops. It had obviously been too long since I last traveled internationally. I walked the ten miles back to the Air France counter and got into line. By this point, between the stress, the trekking back and forth across the airport, and that damn sweater, I was full on sweating and probably looking awfully suspicious.
I quickly found out my backpack does not qualify as a personal item and my suitcase was quite a few kilograms above the weight limit for carry on. Well, at least I could get rid of that sweater! I stuffed as much as I could into the bag I was forced to check and then sent it through, much happier (he didn't charge me anything for checking it AND he was sending it all the way through to Montpellier) and much lighter. Security time. I went back to the lady who sent me away for my lack of cabin tags, got through security quickly and painlessly (for me, anyway. The foreigners in line in front of me didn't speak English and didn't know to take off their shoes, take their laptops out of their bags, take off their jackets, etc.), and then grabbed myself a pizza for lunch as I had an hour or so until boarding. The people in front of me in line were struggling with English and were doing a lot of pointing and took forever to pay. When I realized I was judging them, much like I judged the people in the security line, I realized that I need to stop because that was going to be me in about ten hours.
While waiting at the gate in the cloud of cologne from the Abercrombie-clad teenagers sitting next to me, it started to sink in that I was actually doing this. There wasn't a single English speaker in the waiting area. Everyone was chatting away in French, with a ton of shopping bags by their sides. A lot of the young people were wearing Hollister, Abercrombie and Fitch, American Eagle, and stuff like that, brands that strive to be All-American but which Americans my age haven't worn in half a decade. I tried to pick out words here and there from their conversations but was completely unsuccessful. I heard "Paris," "Merci," and "Oui," but that was about it. For all I know, they could have been saying some pretty terrible things about the American doofus sitting across from them. Whatever. While devouring my pizza, my dad called and we chatted for a bit. If you don't know my dad, he is a pretty right-wing guy, so naturally the perils of the European model of government and society ("They are all a bunch of socialists!") came up. I made a comment about the Air France union and their strike the next day, not realizing that my future flight attendants were waiting right next to me. They will probably spit in my food and drinks. Oh well. Boarding time!
I got on the plane, chanting my seat number in my head, and made my way to it, "Excusez-moi"-ing my way back. I sat down and got settled when an older French lady came up to me with the flight attendant and said something in French. The flight attendant asked to see my boarding pass. I looked at it and remembered that I changed my seat that morning so I wouldn't be sitting next to the bathroom! Woops. I tried to make some joke but neither of them smiled. My American charm is apparently completely ineffective against the French. Great. That's what I was counting on for my survival for the next week! I then looked like an idiot as I marched back up the plane and found my correct seat, next to a French couple who knew about three words of English between them.
I got settled and fell asleep about five minutes after take-off. As my eyes were closing before that nap, I remember thinking, "This is awesome. I'm going to sleep through the majority of this flight." Forty-one minutes later, I was wide-awake.
If I wasn't going to sleep, at least I could get caught up on some of the movies I've been meaning to see at some point. I watched the Hangover 3 and Gangster Squad, then I re-watched a few choice scenes from Django just before landing. The food was really good on the flight! And it took the beverage cart a lap or two before I figured out that alcohol was free. Ordering the food and drinks was embarrassing though. I knew "Je voudrais..." and I knew some like chicken and water, but every time she asked me what I'd like to have (in beautiful French, I might add), I froze and mumbled something in English. And then since I was in English-mode, I even said "Thank you" afterwards. I felt like an ass and every time she walked away after our exchange, I would kick myself for being an idiot. I'm also pretty sure that this was her part-time job since I am convinced I've seen her in Sports Illustrated's swimsuit edition before. After Gangster Squad, I read a little Camus (I thought it was appropriate given my destination) and then slept for a solid hour. A few hours later, the sun was back up and they started serving breakfast. The yogurt, fruit, and everything else was solid, but then there was this weird pancake thing that was wrapped around this white stuff. Traveling instantly puts me in an adventurous mood, so I figured I'd give it a shot. The pancake part was good, but the texture of the white stuff threw me off big time. It wasn't until I was walking through the airport in Paris that it hit me that I tried cottage cheese! That was a first for me. It always freaked me out and apparently it still does. After choking down half of it, I looked around and was relieved to see that nobody around me seemed to enjoy it either. By the time they cleared the breakfast, we were on the home stretch, so I flicked through the channels and movies of the TV on the seat and managed to sleep for another half hour or so.
Oh! On the flight, they have live video of the scenery outside. It was super cool, especially on takeoff and landing.
Will visited about a month ago, but finally, we are presenting to you his point of view of the trip. Beware, he writes like a novelist....LOOONNNGGG. But at the same time it is good! Enjoy!
William:
We landed at Charles de Gaulle. It was an awesome feeling that I was actually there and that I'd be seeing Kaitlyn in just a couple of hours. I had to walk a good distance to the next terminal but eventually figured it out. Almost all of the signs were in both English and in French and had pictures, and even if it was just French text, I probably could have figured it out. At one point though, I had a question so I approached this guy wearing cargo shorts, a Route 66 Hawaiian shirt, and a Harley Davidson hat. He was probably even wearing socks and flip flops. Sounds like the stereotypical American tourist, right? Wrong. He was very French and was apparently just a big fan of our culture. I figured it out though, and then one woman came up to me and, without hesitation, asked me something in English. I wasn't expecting to hear anything I understood so I must have looked surprised, since she said, "Oh I'm sorry, I thought you were American." I assured her I was and then helped her out. I have no idea how she could tell though. I don't know if it was my clothes or the way I carry myself. Whatever. I am what I am!
I made it through customs with an agent who looked super bored. He glanced at my passport for half a second and handed it back to me. I was thinking, "Really? Is that it?" and I just stood there because I thought maybe I had to do something else. He then waved me through. I was bummed that he didn't stamp my passport! But then I also thought that I could probably stay forever now because they'll have no idea when I got there. I made it through the next security line even though I had no idea whether to take off my shoes or not. I don't think I did but I think all of my fellow Americans and I did anyway. I got to the gate, found fifteen minutes of free wifi, and let Kaitlyn and my family know that I survived.
Observations from the domestic terminal: French kids are pretty cute. They are pretty stylishly dressed and I think just the fact that they are speaking a foreign language makes them even cuter. Fifty year old men wearing super tight pants and shirts with their beer guts hanging out aren't nearly as endearing. But European women of all ages look pretty good, as far as I can tell so far.
The next flight was over before I knew it. It helped that I slept for 95% of the hour and ten minute flight, so I got three hours of sleep for the night. I was a little worried since I only got four hours the night before and it was only 2 in the afternoon with a long night ahead of me, but I figured I'd have all of the adrenaline and excitement and activity to keep me going. Under gray skies, I finally landed in Montpellier.
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