Fuite la France: Partie quatre
The ride to the airport took around 30 minutes...and 45 euro. I was down to five Euro once again. Unlike the previous cab drivers- the taxi i jumped into was driven by a man who was of the same opinion I was... basically Paris blows. After an abbreviated version of what had happened to me in the last few days- he made me a deal. If traffic was good I would pay whatever the price was to get there- it would be under 45 euro. If the traffic was bad and the price went over 45, he would cap it at 45 because I was to be the last fare of the day- and he had to go towards the airport anyway. Finally something was going my way.
As it turned out my cab driver was an import to France - His home was originally near Madagascar but as a young man he had come to France for a short work period and never left. However, he stated emphatically as soon as his youngest son graduates college, he and his wife would be migrating far away from Paris.
Don't worry- he told me- things will work out for you. Look at the glass half full,- he said- you are not dead and you are in my cab. I am no cheat.
He had a point.
My cab driver had been in the taxi business in Paris for 18 years. He knew the streets, had his regulars to support his work and made sure that each fare he took on was given an honest price for the ride. Honest work brings good fortune, He told me. Some of the new young cab drivers are only out to make a fast buck. They want to work five hours but make a full wage. This is not good for business, it gives good taxi drivers a bad reputation.
An honest cab driver in Paris- I though guilty- is like.... and quickly stopped myself from completing that thought. I had found one and that was really all that mattered.
Dropping me off at Terminal 1 (apparently the Paris airport had separate buildings for each terminal. there are 3 which I found out. When questioned which one I wanted to go to I decided to go to the one that was closest....which turned out to be terminal 1) which fyi looks like a large concrete doughnut... I thanked the cab driver and paid him the full 45 euro even though in only cost 39- and rushed through the sliding glass doors. I took a deep sigh of relief. From here on out at least I would have a safe place to sleep. People have to stay overnight at airports all the time, they had security, post offices, restaurants, lots of public phones, free bathrooms which were regularly cleaned, showers and fingers crossed- hopefully a Western Union.
I quickly walked to the nearest payphone and called mom collect. I was at the airport. I was safe. I would check on a Western Union in the terminal , have mom send money to right there at the airport and with that money I was going to get the quickest flight I can to Hamburg, Germany. I had made my decision and to me it was more of a compromise. I wouldn't go home, I would stay in Europe, and maybe even help out Erika get what she needed to get done. Once in Germany I could really take stock of how the rest of the summer was to proceed but first thing first-I needed to get money.
There was indeed a western union in my terminal, right down the stairs in the post office. YES! Walking down the stairs- I quickly found the post office and check around for an address for mom to wire the money to. I wasn't turning up anything, but I did see that the closing time was 6 o'clock. It was around 3 ish, wonderful that would give me plenty of time to work with. Walking up to the front desk I asked the bored looking woman behind the counter what numbers I needed to direct a transfer- no numbers she replied ..just yours. Uh ok...maybe it was just a general transfer to Western Union. As I walked out, something made me turn back to her to double check the closing time of the post office- 6 o clock right? No...she held up 4 fingers....oh GOD 4 O'CLOCK??? That gave me a just one hour to get everything straightened out. Ok fine I would just have to work fast.
I found a payphone right next to the entrance of the post officer. Calling mom - I was ready for some good news......I should have known better. Given the timing of everything, the money would not make the four o clock deadline if sent from Wisconsin. But if Alex sent it from Ohio online there was a slim chance we would make it.
After some serious networking on the other end of the phone- all of which i had to over hear but could do nothing but chew on my nails- it appeared the money transfer would go through but it would take one hour.... I looked down at my watch, it was 3:10. NO NONO NONONONO! It had to be ready in under an hour. Whatever - I was going to make this work for me- I told mom I would call her back when i had the money. Jotting down the transfer number I went back to the woman at the desk and handed her my transfer number. Entering some numbers into the computer - she rattled off something in French.
Gritting my teeth I ground out that I did not understand her, after all I had spoken to her in English before and she knew I didn't not understand french which I had told her not ten minutes ago- she replied in bored English 42 minutes till transfer is ready. I will make it right? I asked her - I close at 4 she stated. ...
According to my watch that left me a time frame of about 5 or 6 minutes extra. I was going make it. I went over to the hard yellow chairs outside of the post office door and began what felt to be a very long 42 minutes...about a half an hour later- I walked back up with my transfer number...16 minutes.....ok back in line...12 minutes...back in line....5 minutes...back in wait..what was she doing? SHE WAS CLOSING EARLY. She said 4 and it was still ten to- my transfer was just about to go through. I began to plead with her - please just 5 more minutes.
No I close at 4 she said.
But its only 3:50! she pointed to the post office clock which read 4 o'clock. There was no way she was going to help me. Once again the tears began to well up in my eyes, I was about to humiliate myself.
Terminal 2 she snapped out. What??
The post office in Terminal 2 does not close till 6. The tears in my eyes quickly dried and was replaced by rage. Homicidal images danced through my head as I imagined taking the stapler next to the counter and nailing my transfer number to her aorta. I could have avoided all of this waiting - I didn't have to have put my mom and my brother-in-law through the stress of rushing the money. I could have gone straight to terminal 2. Yes in that moment I realized I hate the Post Office Nazi with the passion of a fiery sun.
Breathe...go get your money I told myself- leaving the Post Office Nazi in my dust - I headed towards terminal 2...which was a 15 minute shuttle ride away. Ok onto the little shuttle I went. 15 minutes later I stepped off, checked my map for a destination and booked it across the terminal to the post office which was on the other side of the building. For those who are unfamilar with the Paris airport (which I feel I know now carry an inimate knowledge of) Terminal 2 is about the size of your average airport so it was not a simple trot down a hallway. 15 minutes of brisk walking later- it was now around 4:45 and I was standing in front of the Western Union ..Ok the money had to be ready.
Walking up to the ladies behind the desk - I handed the transfer number to a girl who looked like she would have serious issues if she walked through a metal detector. ...Grunting she tapped some numbers into the computer. And then squinted at the screen....now what? Speaking rapid french to the woman behind her I could only gather that she had screwed something up on the computer- the two of them entered a dialogue (none of which i could understand) in which there was much eye rolling, bickering and tapping on the computer. Finally I was asked to surrender my passport and state the answer to the security question. Done and Done.....over came my passport and more money than I had, had in what felt like years. It was going to be ok. I was going to get the hell out of France. YES! YES! YES!
Jumping back on the shuttle I headed back over to the concrete doughnut where Luftansa was based. I quickly secured a ticket for a soul ripping 560 euro for a 7 o' clock flight to Hamburg (yes if i had been through less in the last few days the price of an hour flight costing that much would have made me nauseous.. but apparently nothing could faze me anymore). Running over to the nearest trash can- I cleared my bag of all liquids, gels, and sharp pointed objects. I was not going to be able to check the backpack as baggage and it had to be in a certain weight. In to the trash went everything I could possibly get rid of including my sleeping mat- which i tried not to become upset about. Throwing the mat away meant there really would be no way I could go back to France and Spain this summer. However, I knew that deep down this is what i wanted to do, and had to do for myself. Steeling myself against the twinges of depression- I deftly tossed the mat into the trash bag.
A quick call to mom and through security to my gate, labeled 60-69 ( a specific one had yet to be assigned) I went. Throwing myself in the nearest chair I glanced at the flight bored...Hamburg...DELAYED.
Rolling my eyes- i came to the conclusion that somewhere along the line I had seriously pissed off some higher power- although wasn't adding a delayed flight on top of everything else overkill?? 30 minutes after the time I was supposed to be in the air- I was finally was ushered on board my plane- at this point this was the most relaxed I had been in days. I was leaving France- I leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes- Soon I would be with Erika- I would be able to get a clear head about my situation...all I had to do was connect with her somehow in Lubeck. After what I had been through, in my mind that would be the easy part......
As it turned out my cab driver was an import to France - His home was originally near Madagascar but as a young man he had come to France for a short work period and never left. However, he stated emphatically as soon as his youngest son graduates college, he and his wife would be migrating far away from Paris.
Don't worry- he told me- things will work out for you. Look at the glass half full,- he said- you are not dead and you are in my cab. I am no cheat.
He had a point.
My cab driver had been in the taxi business in Paris for 18 years. He knew the streets, had his regulars to support his work and made sure that each fare he took on was given an honest price for the ride. Honest work brings good fortune, He told me. Some of the new young cab drivers are only out to make a fast buck. They want to work five hours but make a full wage. This is not good for business, it gives good taxi drivers a bad reputation.
An honest cab driver in Paris- I though guilty- is like.... and quickly stopped myself from completing that thought. I had found one and that was really all that mattered.
Dropping me off at Terminal 1 (apparently the Paris airport had separate buildings for each terminal. there are 3 which I found out. When questioned which one I wanted to go to I decided to go to the one that was closest....which turned out to be terminal 1) which fyi looks like a large concrete doughnut... I thanked the cab driver and paid him the full 45 euro even though in only cost 39- and rushed through the sliding glass doors. I took a deep sigh of relief. From here on out at least I would have a safe place to sleep. People have to stay overnight at airports all the time, they had security, post offices, restaurants, lots of public phones, free bathrooms which were regularly cleaned, showers and fingers crossed- hopefully a Western Union.
I quickly walked to the nearest payphone and called mom collect. I was at the airport. I was safe. I would check on a Western Union in the terminal , have mom send money to right there at the airport and with that money I was going to get the quickest flight I can to Hamburg, Germany. I had made my decision and to me it was more of a compromise. I wouldn't go home, I would stay in Europe, and maybe even help out Erika get what she needed to get done. Once in Germany I could really take stock of how the rest of the summer was to proceed but first thing first-I needed to get money.
There was indeed a western union in my terminal, right down the stairs in the post office. YES! Walking down the stairs- I quickly found the post office and check around for an address for mom to wire the money to. I wasn't turning up anything, but I did see that the closing time was 6 o'clock. It was around 3 ish, wonderful that would give me plenty of time to work with. Walking up to the front desk I asked the bored looking woman behind the counter what numbers I needed to direct a transfer- no numbers she replied ..just yours. Uh ok...maybe it was just a general transfer to Western Union. As I walked out, something made me turn back to her to double check the closing time of the post office- 6 o clock right? No...she held up 4 fingers....oh GOD 4 O'CLOCK??? That gave me a just one hour to get everything straightened out. Ok fine I would just have to work fast.
I found a payphone right next to the entrance of the post officer. Calling mom - I was ready for some good news......I should have known better. Given the timing of everything, the money would not make the four o clock deadline if sent from Wisconsin. But if Alex sent it from Ohio online there was a slim chance we would make it.
After some serious networking on the other end of the phone- all of which i had to over hear but could do nothing but chew on my nails- it appeared the money transfer would go through but it would take one hour.... I looked down at my watch, it was 3:10. NO NONO NONONONO! It had to be ready in under an hour. Whatever - I was going to make this work for me- I told mom I would call her back when i had the money. Jotting down the transfer number I went back to the woman at the desk and handed her my transfer number. Entering some numbers into the computer - she rattled off something in French.
Gritting my teeth I ground out that I did not understand her, after all I had spoken to her in English before and she knew I didn't not understand french which I had told her not ten minutes ago- she replied in bored English 42 minutes till transfer is ready. I will make it right? I asked her - I close at 4 she stated. ...
According to my watch that left me a time frame of about 5 or 6 minutes extra. I was going make it. I went over to the hard yellow chairs outside of the post office door and began what felt to be a very long 42 minutes...about a half an hour later- I walked back up with my transfer number...16 minutes.....ok back in line...12 minutes...back in line....5 minutes...back in wait..what was she doing? SHE WAS CLOSING EARLY. She said 4 and it was still ten to- my transfer was just about to go through. I began to plead with her - please just 5 more minutes.
No I close at 4 she said.
But its only 3:50! she pointed to the post office clock which read 4 o'clock. There was no way she was going to help me. Once again the tears began to well up in my eyes, I was about to humiliate myself.
Terminal 2 she snapped out. What??
The post office in Terminal 2 does not close till 6. The tears in my eyes quickly dried and was replaced by rage. Homicidal images danced through my head as I imagined taking the stapler next to the counter and nailing my transfer number to her aorta. I could have avoided all of this waiting - I didn't have to have put my mom and my brother-in-law through the stress of rushing the money. I could have gone straight to terminal 2. Yes in that moment I realized I hate the Post Office Nazi with the passion of a fiery sun.
Breathe...go get your money I told myself- leaving the Post Office Nazi in my dust - I headed towards terminal 2...which was a 15 minute shuttle ride away. Ok onto the little shuttle I went. 15 minutes later I stepped off, checked my map for a destination and booked it across the terminal to the post office which was on the other side of the building. For those who are unfamilar with the Paris airport (which I feel I know now carry an inimate knowledge of) Terminal 2 is about the size of your average airport so it was not a simple trot down a hallway. 15 minutes of brisk walking later- it was now around 4:45 and I was standing in front of the Western Union ..Ok the money had to be ready.
Walking up to the ladies behind the desk - I handed the transfer number to a girl who looked like she would have serious issues if she walked through a metal detector. ...Grunting she tapped some numbers into the computer. And then squinted at the screen....now what? Speaking rapid french to the woman behind her I could only gather that she had screwed something up on the computer- the two of them entered a dialogue (none of which i could understand) in which there was much eye rolling, bickering and tapping on the computer. Finally I was asked to surrender my passport and state the answer to the security question. Done and Done.....over came my passport and more money than I had, had in what felt like years. It was going to be ok. I was going to get the hell out of France. YES! YES! YES!
Jumping back on the shuttle I headed back over to the concrete doughnut where Luftansa was based. I quickly secured a ticket for a soul ripping 560 euro for a 7 o' clock flight to Hamburg (yes if i had been through less in the last few days the price of an hour flight costing that much would have made me nauseous.. but apparently nothing could faze me anymore). Running over to the nearest trash can- I cleared my bag of all liquids, gels, and sharp pointed objects. I was not going to be able to check the backpack as baggage and it had to be in a certain weight. In to the trash went everything I could possibly get rid of including my sleeping mat- which i tried not to become upset about. Throwing the mat away meant there really would be no way I could go back to France and Spain this summer. However, I knew that deep down this is what i wanted to do, and had to do for myself. Steeling myself against the twinges of depression- I deftly tossed the mat into the trash bag.
A quick call to mom and through security to my gate, labeled 60-69 ( a specific one had yet to be assigned) I went. Throwing myself in the nearest chair I glanced at the flight bored...Hamburg...DELAYED.
Rolling my eyes- i came to the conclusion that somewhere along the line I had seriously pissed off some higher power- although wasn't adding a delayed flight on top of everything else overkill?? 30 minutes after the time I was supposed to be in the air- I was finally was ushered on board my plane- at this point this was the most relaxed I had been in days. I was leaving France- I leaned back into my seat and closed my eyes- Soon I would be with Erika- I would be able to get a clear head about my situation...all I had to do was connect with her somehow in Lubeck. After what I had been through, in my mind that would be the easy part......
posted by susan at 9:09 PM
1 Comments:
It seems as though you have a mutant superpower that makes you capable of effortlessly finding the nastiest bureaucrats no matter where you go.
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