Paris to Basel: A Mad Dash and the Flug (Flight) that Almost Wasn’t

So there we were, Bianca and I. Neither of us had slept that night for whatever reason, much to our chagrin. We awoke at 5:00 am as planned, but little did we know we should have woken up at 4:00 am! We packed our final few belongings and piled on layers for our the walk to the train station, forgot to take our key out of the light box (instead of a light switch, you put your key card in a box on the wall that turns on the light), squeezed into the tiny elevator for the last time, checked out, paid, told the front desk we’d forgotten our card in the light box (they were good-natured about it!), and set out for the train station!

We left around 5:40, giving us a solid three hours to make our 8:40 am flight, even allowing time to take a couple of wrong turns along the way. It took us an hour to get to the hotel from the airport; it should take only an hour to return. Or one would be inclined to believe…

We found our way to the train station with minimal difficulty, but when we arrived and tried to buy our ticket, we discovered the machine was out of order. The sign posted on the screen said to go across the bridge and buy a ticket from the metro station. OK, merely a hiccup in the plan. We still had plenty of time. So across the bridge we walked, found the ticket counter, and were repeatedly belittled by the attendant. Even with Bianca speaking French, she kept giving us information that didn’t help us. Eventually, she directed us to a kiosk and told us to get the ticket ourselves, although we were still a bit confused about which kind of ticket to buy and whether the ticket we got would be valid across the street at the train station, or if we needed to start from the metro and somehow get to the train station from there.

Anyway, we got the ticket we thought we needed (although I’ve never had anyone check my ticket for local trains or trams in Poland, France, Slovakia, Czech Republic, Turkey, or Switzerland, so how they enforce tickets is beyond me!), and we walked back over the bridge to the train station again. No big deal. We walked down the only stairs we saw (or I saw, at least), and I put my ticket in and went through. Then Bianca pointed out we needed to make sure we were on the right side first… there’s no way to get from one side of the tracks to the other once you’re in. Oh well. We figured out (by asking someone) we needed to be on the opposite platform, of course, so I went out, we walked up and around the outside, I crawled under (again, how do they enforce anything? Perhaps Americans are simply not willing to trust our own folks…), and we waited 10 minutes for the next train because we’d missed the first one by about 30 seconds. =)

So, on the train we go! We knew we needed to switch at St. Michel/Notre-Dame station, but when we got there, it was unbelievably unclear which train to take! We asked a couple of people, and they told us a couple of different things, neither of which was right. There was a big board showing all the train stations, and in anticipation of the next train, the stations where it would be stopping had a light come on next to the name of the station. None of the trains appeared to be going to the airport! As it was, we decided to push our luck and take the advice of someone who seemed to know what they were talking about and go to another station (one that’s busier, where we thought we’d have more luck getting clearer direction). At that station, we encountered people with red jackets and nametags, seeming to be train station employees. Surely they would know!

The guy we talked to said we’d need to take a train to a station several stops away and take a shuttle to the airport from there. Seemed easy enough. By now we’d used up nearly two hours of our time, and we were getting nervous! So we got on the designated train, fretted about the fact we had NO idea how long the train or the shuttle would take, and got off at the end of the line with everyone else—apparently the other travelers were in the same boat as us and just as uncertain of where to go or what to do! Thank heavens for my iPhone. I was able to get to my check-in e-mail with the flight info in it—boarding time, flight number, terminal, etc. We squeezed into the shuttle with what seemed like 200 of our closest friends and all their luggage. The shuttle took about 20 minutes or so, and the driver was so very slow! An Air France stewardess allowed us to strike up a conversation with her. She was also late for her flight, and we asked her if she could tell us the fastest way to get to terminal 2G. When we told her what flight we were on and what time it would leave, she got this stricken look on her face and said, “Oh. I think you miss your flight.”

Great.

She also said we needed to take a bus, then a train, then a shuttle to the terminal. WHAT?! We were at the airport already, waiting to get off the shuttle, and we needed to take how many more modes of transportation? I thought Europe was supposed to be efficient! Apparently not at the Paris Charles De Gaulle airport!

When the bus driver FINALLY opened the doors to let us off the shuttle (at 8:20), Bianca and I sprinted into the building and tried as we might to find the next step in our sojourn. This is where things begin to run together for me! Bianca’s small rolling suitcase was quite the hindrance to her, and at one point we were both holding it and running together, but that didn’t last long. We decided if I could run ahead and hold things up for her, that would be best. So I ran ahead. I think we asked someone where to go, and the pointed us toward the shuttle to Terminal 2G, and somewhere in there we asked the lady at the information desk if she could call our gate and tell them we were there and enroute to the plane. Of course she said that was “not possible,” which is what I expected, but it still got on our nerves! We ran to the shuttle, Bianca told him we were about to miss our flight, but he didn’t seem to notice we’d said anything, much less hurry to the terminal.

Confession: Were the situation reversed, I would absolutely be thinking, “Too bad, you should have been early like everyone else, then you wouldn’t be in this situation. Your emergency is not my problem.” I will be more sympathetic in the future, starting now.

So, we finally got to Terminal 2G. We made it! Now we needed to check in and go through security. The attendant helping people check in was the kindest person we’d encountered all day! We tried to use the barcode in the e-mail on my iPhone to check in, but it kept on not working, so she let us through! At the security check, they let us go through the priority checkpoint, again, letting us go through even though the barcode wasn’t scanning properly. (The lady was obviously not happy about it, but thankfully she gave into peer pressure from the others who took pity on us poor, frenzied girls!) I got through the metal detector fine, but needed to be reminded to take off my scarf and coat (you don’t have to take off your shoes for all flights in Europe). Bianca set off the alarm with her shoes, so she had to come back through and put those on the conveyor belt. My bag had to be screened and searched because I forgot to take out my liquids (which you don’t always have to do, but apparently that’s a sticking point for European airports!), so that slowed us down a bit.

When Bianca and I FINALLY recombobulated ourselves, we once again sprinted in the direction people were pointing. We found out from a nice person who works for Air France that we needed to go to gate 21. So off we went! Bianca hollered for me to go ahead and hold the plane. I hollered back that I’d do my best! Running, running, running. Turn the corner into another hallway. Running, running, running. Running on the moving walkway. “Pardon!” I exclaimed in my best French accent. Running, running, running. Running on another moving walkway. Running, running, running. Too many people; running beside the moving walkway. Turn the corner. Down another hallway? Running, running, running. Another hallway! Running, running, sweating, running. I saw people coming up a hallway that I was running down, and I thought surely they were coming directly from this fabled gate that was supposed to be coming any moment now. But as I spied yet another hallway, I couldn’t stop the exasperated and LOUD sign of frustration that emanated from my weary self.

Running, running, running! Must keep going! Must stop the plane!

At long last, I made it to Gate 21! Forget the escalator, I flew down the stairs! Upon arriving, winded, at Gate 21, the gate attendants there calmly said not to worry. Not to worry? Ok. Breathless, I looked up behind me and saw Bianca hurrying down the stairs. We’d made it! The attendant tried to scan our tickets using my iPhone, but again, it wasn’t working! I don’t think we ever actually checked in, but they let us through anyway! Whew!

When Bianca and I finally sat on the plane, we looked at the time—8:34. Six minutes to spare! Woohoo! We laughed in relief and disbelief. We made it!

What an adventurous end to a fun-filled Parisian adventure! Lesson learned: Pay double the price of the train and take the direct shuttle from your hotel to the airport. =) 

Déjà vu: Paris, Day Two!

First things first: Pictures! 

Walking through Paris, I got the strangest case of déja vu, as if I'd seen it all before. And then I remembered... I have seen it! Before it was only in movies and visual descriptions from books and friends' accounts of visits to this city. But now, I'm actually here! Bianca and I began our second day in Paris with a lovely in-room breakfast of yogurt, cheese, bread and pineapple juice, and took a couple of apples and sandwiches with us to go. Ready or not, there we were! Thankfully, the rain didn’t start right away. We made it through until around noonish before the rain came.

We’d planned to go on a walking tour of Parisian landmarks, but even with my iPhone’s GPS and a map, we still had a tough time finding the Opera House where the group was supposed to meet! Along the way, we were confronted by a couple of rude and uppity French folks (I see where they get their reputation, but these people were really the exception more than the rule), walked around a giant Ferris wheel, and looked on dumbfounded at the confusing maze of Parisian roads—it was nuts! Oh, and a man with stopped us and tried to give us what looked like a gold wedding ring someone had lost. It was, of course, a scam to try to make us give him money. We figured it out quickly, though, and went along on our merry way! By the time we got to the Opera House, we were about thirty minutes late, and the group had already gone far enough off that we couldn’t find them. Oh well—there was loads to see on our own!

Looking at the map, we made our plan: follow Boulevard Haussmann back to the Arc de Triomphe, walk down the Champs Elysees (which is like PA Avenue in DC—the main street with a significant monument in the middle of it!), take pictures in front of the Louvre, and make our way to Notre Dame! Will we make it? Come along with us and find out!

So, once we figured out which road was Haussman, we began our trek. After a few minutes of walking we came to a traffic circle that didn’t seem to match up exactly. Oh well. We found Haussman again and went about our business. Again, we stumbled upon a traffic circle. Again, things didn’t seem to match up, but we found our way. Again with the traffic circle… And at long last, we found it! The Arc de Triomphe! It DOES exist! Bianca didn’t want to go up, but I sure did! It was 8.50 Euro well worth it! (Approximately $11.) Though it was overcast and beginning to drizzle, the view from the top was spectacular! The Arc is tremendous—maybe about 20 stories high or so. It’s much bigger than I thought it would be, and you can’t cross the busy traffic circle to get to it. You must take the underground tunnel, which I think it pretty neat! I climbed all the way to the top, which is 284 steps up one side of the Arc, and 284 steps down the other side (they are pretty good about pedestrian traffic flow at these Parisian monuments, actually). The view from the top was misty and lovely! I could see all around Paris from a bit of a different vantage point than the Eiffel Tower—which I could also see from where I stood. What’s funny about that is the day was so cloudy, only the bottom 2/3 of the Eiffel Tower showed; the rest was up in the clouds! Kind of mystical, if you ask me. And since you’re reading this, I’m assuming you’ve asked. =)

Onward! Back down I went to meet up with Bianca. She’d already eaten her sandwich, so I took my cue from her and began chowing down on mine as well. Under the traffic circle we went, popped up on the other side, and began our misty stroll down the world famous Champs Elysees! We saw many expensive stores, but the only store we stopped in was not all that expensive… and they were selling treats. =) Bianca and I needed something to warm us up (and to use the restroom!), so we each got a hot drink (Bianca a macchiato, I a chocolat chaud) and a snack. Bianca’s brownie looked delicious, and my chocolate-covered, chocolate-filled éclair was divine! I felt quite Parisian. The only thing that could have made it better would have been if the day were warm and dry enough to sit outside on the sidewalk!

After our break, we set out yet again. We met up with the big Ferris wheel and a pretty fountain, in which someone was walking around looking for something, and we realized we had it in our sights—the Louvre! No, we didn’t feel the need to go inside. We were perfectly happy to take pictures from the outside and say we’ve been there!

Next up, Notre Dame Cathedral! Along the way we stopped to mail some postcards and look in a couple of windows at the shops along the road. We walked over a bridge called Pont des Arts (“Bridge of the Arts”), which is famous for its padlocked sides. People come from all over the world with their significant others and hook a padlock to the wires on either side of the bridge. Some had their names written on their locks in sharpie, and others actually had their names engraved on them. From there, we look up and down the River Seine—quite lovely, even in the cold gray January day!

Keep it up! We looked around and followed signs for Notre Dame, but we couldn’t seem to find it! We found a tower with gargoyles on it, but that wasn’t it. We walked past the Bastille, and then… there it was! Looming above the street in its medieval magnificence. Unfortunately, new bells are being installed, so things were a bit of a construction-type mess, but most of it could be viewed. The Cathedral began being built in 1163 (can you imagine?), and took 200 years to complete. This year marks the 850^th year!

We walked right in, just as it started raining again—perfect timing! We walked around the grand cathedral, looking at the stained glass windows and statues. A few minutes into our visit, a mass started, so we got to see the church officials (I’d say their titles, but I might be wrong!) walk in procession to a place for prayer, and then into the place where everyone participating in the mass was seated. We didn’t stay for the whole thing, but it was interesting to see a mass in Notre Dame!

And up we went! Yes, up to the top again! Can you tell I like high places? Bianca went up with me this time. I bought a copy (in English) of Victor Hugo’s The Hunchback of Notre Dame (originally titled Notre-Dame de Paris, or Our Lady of Paris) because I can’t think of a better way to remember the experience! And it’ll keep me occupied on my flights home next weekend. =) We took the winding staircases up to the first lookout point, and we both thought that was it. We got up-close and personal with some gargoyles and took some nice pictures, but then, on our way down, we realized there was another staircase up! I’d forgotten that someone told me there was a second staircase, so it was like a big surprise! (There are 402 steps total, by the way.) The view from there was even better than the one below! They’ve put panels up there with lines from the book; lines about the streets and skyline of Paris in 1482. Hard to imagine now, but if you squint, you can almost see it! Quasimodo was in hiding, however. I’ll have to look for him again next time!

And down we went. There is only one set of steps to the tip-top of the bell tower, so it was interesting maneuvering around people going the opposite direction! Going down was a lot easier than going up, let me tell you! The staircases were all spiral, and I’m not sure how old the actual stairs are, but they definitely had the marks of years of wear—850? Perhaps!

And now to find a snack and be on our way! We stopped at a fabulous-looking sweet shop so Bianca could get an éclair. I waited patiently for my turn and planned on getting a couple of the macaroons. And I waited. I took my money out so they’d get the hint I was ready to buy something. And I waited. Five minutes later, I told Bianca we could go—if they don’t want my money, I don’t want to give it to them! Again with the realization of a French sterotype.

We decided to take the metro to the Hotel de Invalides, where Napoleon is buried. We had lost track of time up at Notre Dame, so we didn’t make it in time. That’s something for the next trip! We at least made it to the building, which is worth seeing itself! And then it was time for dinner. We decided on crepes!

After Bianca made fun of the way I say “crepe” (I say it like a Southern girl, “crape,” but Bianca thought it sounded like “crap.” HA!), we walked in the direction of our hotel and asked a man working at a shop where we could get good crepes. He was very kind and even introduced himself and complimented me on my pronunciation of “Bonjour!” He pointed is in the right direction and we found a creperie! Oddly, it was run by a Turkish guy, but the crepes tasted very French and were quite delicious! Bianca got one that looked yummy. It had cheese and tomatoes, maybe? I don’t remember what all was in it, but it smelled good! I got one with ham and French cheese. Maybe they were delicious, and maybe we were just super hungry from all the walking. Either way, we were pleased! We even both got dessert crepes, too. Bianca got a nutella crepe, and I got the one with chestnut butter, which I’d never had before. It was delicious!

Full and warm, we decided it was high time to hit the hay! The hotel room was small—though not as small as the elevator!—maybe about 12 feet x 12 feet. The beds were narrower than twin beds, but plenty comfortable enough for us! I loved the décor: framed winter scenes from France and Switzerland, wooden and carved furniture (headboards, armoire, chair, and a small desk), even the funny red-and-green Christmas tree drapes and bed comforter seemed to fit in with the theme! Bianca and I were both pleasantly surprised to see that our beds had been made and toiletries had been replaced—that doesn’t happen often (as in, not ever) in the budget accommodations I’ve stayed in previously! Having our own bathroom was nice, too! The shower full-sized (not just a stall or something super tiny), and the showerhead was detachable as opposed to the standard stationary ones I think most Americans are used to, which is typical in Europe and other parts of the world. The bathroom itself was tiled and all white, no frills. Something I like about European efficiency: stackability! Under our sink was a stool, and under that was a small trashcan. This may seem like an insignificant detail, but in what looked to be a 4-5 foot wide x 8-ish foot long bathroom, anything that takes up more room than a sink, toilet, and shower needs to be out of the flow of traffic. If at all possible, things should be stacked! These are little nuances we don’t see as often in America!

So then it was bedtime! Bianca and I needed to get up at 5:00 so we could make our plane the next morning, but that is an entirely different adventure. One to be recounted in the next post!

Thanks for coming along with us!