After three weeks of separation, me going about daily life in Providence and Susie living it up in Paris, we are together once again. (photo: view from our apartment window across rue General Renault.)
I went into the office Friday morning to drop a couple of things off, and to say goodbye to the folks gearing up for spring changes at the university. I then turned right around and headed back home where I met up with our neighbor Deirdre so we could chat for a few minutes about condo association matters. Since she is the VP of the association she'll be handling any issues that might arise during the month I'm gone. Fortunately, in our small corner of the Ocean State we’ve had few challenges so hopefully she'll have a quiet month of April.
Anyway, Deirdre kindly offered to drive me to the Peter Pan bus terminal so I could catch the express to Logan Airport in Boston. (Yes, Peter Pan is a very cute name; they own the regional Greyhound routes.) So we packed up her Mini (yep, she's got one too) with my bags, and headed off in a steady rain toward north Providence and the bus terminal.
After saying au revoir and merci beaucoup to Deirdre she pulled away and disappeared into the drizzling overcast. I headed indoors to the lobby, purchased my ticket and found a place to sit and await the bus.
It's funny but I often forget just how much public transportation does exist here in America, or rather private transportation that one could easily mistake for public. Anyway I couldn't help but notice how many different places these buses do go: Hyannis, Fall River, New York city, Boston, and so many other places in New England (and beyond of course), thus sparing having to drive in what is some of the nation's worst traffic on some of the worst roads.
Like the old Greyhound commercials said, "Take the bus and leaving the driving to us." The Europeans figured that part out long ago.
After a short wait the bus arrived, the bags were loaded and I climbed aboard. An hour later we were pulling up in front of Terminal E, the international terminal, at Logan. I got my bags and headed inside, only to discover that the entire British Airways ticketing area was a wasteland, devoid of people or activity. I had, it seemed, arrived too early to check in.
(The airport, in its infinite wisdom, generously provided us with inane music blaring out of the ceiling. Amazing, and incredibly annoying.)
After a two-hour wait the British Airways staff came at last, the booths were open and, since I had checked in online, all I needed to do was pass through the Fast Bag dropoff lane and I was soon on my way through security. I found a place to park myself and just relax until our flight.
It was then I discovered that I had decided to leave the US at precisely the same time that spring break was in full swing. So naturally there were large groups of kids ranging in all ages and all temperaments, hanging out and just getting ready for the freedom that can only come from not having to go to school and getting as far away from school as possible at the same time.
Another large obvious group included families that, based on my observations, were already in serious trouble: dad taking the last minute business call and waving away his son's questions, mom on computer, trying to get her husband's attention because her laptop is low on power; he waves her away. The deal is worth more than $100 million and something has gone wrong.
Amazing how many private matters are now conducted in public.
At last we boarded our 747 for Heathrow. Takeoff was a bit delayed but after a rather uneventful flight we arrived on time nonetheless. I must say I do like the on-demand video that BA has installed on their long-haul flights. You can watch any movie, any program you want anytime you want by a simple touch of the monitor screen. The food, however, was just so-so.
I had an hour or so layover in London and this gave me time to explore the new Terminal 5. Coming off the plane I had to lament the confusion I felt as I wended my way through a labyrinth of hallways, down escalators, up escalators, not knowing exactly where I was going. Seemed like a lot of wasted space to me. Oh, and back through security once again.
But I didn’t have long to wait before I was on my connecting flight to Paris -- and in less than an hour landed in the sunshine of Charles de Gaulle airport. By the time I cleared passport control my bags were already coming down the conveyors. A few minutes later I had my bags in hand and scooted out the nearest sortie where I found . . . SUSIE! And she never looked prettier! Short skirt, black leather jacket, she was the spitting image of what I have always imaged chic Parisian women look like. She was, as they say, a "sight for sore eyes."
We threaded our way through one interminable terminal after another, making our way to the RER station at the airport. We no sooner arrived on the platform than we boarded a train straightaway and were soon heading into the city.
We switched to the Metro line 5 at Gare du Nord, and got off at Richard Lenoir. We walked the 10 minutes or so, bags trailing behind, to rue General Renault. After assaulting the stairs up to our apartment, we walked inside. I crashed and Susie kindly unpacked my things.
I was back in Paris and, more importantly I was with Susie. In Paris.
Wish you were here,
Steve
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