The Best Laid Plans

I thought I had brought the right adaptor for the electric plugs here in Europe but it was not the case. No adapter, dead battery, no computer, no posting. Sorry. I figure it was the end of the bad karma from our delayed beginning.

Our flight arrived Thursday morning at 5 am in the dark.  It would have been easy and expensive to take a taxi into the city but I love a challenge and the train is only 9 euro and 45 minutes not including head scratching, indecision and trying not to look like you don’t know which way to go.  It is well worth the effort, as you climb the stairway out of the metro, it opens onto the Champs-Elysees and the monumental sight of the Arc de Triomphe is before you. The angle of the early morning light shows the relief sculptures on the Arc so well.  You can’t realize the scale of this monument until you are standing in front of it. 

A walk down the Champs-Elysees to our hotel reminded us how hungry we were and luckily there was a bistro, Le Montaigne, right across from where we are staying.  Cappuccino, a piece of buttered baguette, a croissant and a glass of orange juice are a standard French breakfast, a cigarette too, but I skipped that part. It was beautiful enough for a still life painting.

Our first sightseeing stop was Sainte-Chapelle, a royal medieval Gothic chapel consecrated in 1248. It was commissioned by King Louis IX of France to house his collection of Passion Relics.  It retains one of the most extensive collections of 13th-century stained glass anywhere in the world.

We thought we could pretend that we had missed a night’s sleep during the plane ride over and with the six-hour time change.  I stepped out though the open doors of Sainte-Chapelle to snap a few photos.  As I turned around and looked back inside I saw my dear husband with the colorful, dappled light of the stained glass windows shining on him (angles singing here) and realized that he looked like he hadn’t slept all night and I probably did too.

After a rest we headed back out to the Arc de Triomphe. We arrived just after the sun had set, purchased a ticket and followed the people ahead of us through the doorway up the stairs, stone circular stairs about four feet wide that spiral up and up and up.  I had to stop several times to catch my breath.  No one mentioned all the steps. The view from the top at night was amazing.  You can see how the streets fan out from all sides of the monument.  After taking many photos we re-entered the building. A guide asked if we’d wanted to ride the elevator down.  Tip- if you go to the Arc de Triomphe, after you purchase your ticket walk across the way and take the elevator to the top, not the stairs.

Heading out to Giverny tomorrow to see the gardens and home of Claude Monet.

Until we meet again… Au revoir!

Here we go... Bonjour! (maybe)

Dayton to Newark; wait make that Atlanta…

The gate agent invites the first class people to board the plane from Dayton to Newark. A few seconds later the pilot exits the jet way door, speaks to the gate agent.  I hear her say, “OK, I’m not sure how to handle this”.  She gets on the speaker, “Folks, looks like bad weather in Newark is going to delay this flight by two hours”.  We had an hour and a half in Newark to connect. Stunned we realize that we are not going to make our scheduled flight to Paris.  The agent says she can help people as soon as she boards the next flight that is leaving on time, the one where all the people are smiling.  By the time we are helped all the other flights to Paris are sold out.  We can fly to Atlanta tonight and take the late afternoon flight tomorrow.  Yeah, we only miss a whole day in Paris and one night of our paid hotel. Life is good. 

Dayton to Atlanta…

We board the Atlanta flight after all the First Class, Diamond, Gold, Silver, Bronze, Sapphire, Turquoise, Ruby and Stone Medallion Member board.  Window seat and middle seat of a three seat section.  Ahchoo,  cough, achoo, achoo, sniffle, big achoo, bigger achoo.  Really, we are sitting next to the ONLY person on the 100 person flight to Atlanta with typhoid fever.

Arrival at Atlanta Airport…

OK, I’m over it. I’ve accepted the inevitable. We are paying for a whole day in Paris and we are not going to be there.  I stewed about it on the plane, achoo, and I’m going to let it go, make the best of it.  Fortunately we are traveling light with no checked luggage. We try one last time to see if by chance someone has died from typhoid fever and is a no show for this evenings Paris flights.  No luck.  But we are advised to be at the airport by noon for our 3:15 flight.  Yes, we can give you boarding passes with seats. 

“I’m starving”, says Loretta. “Look”, says hubby, Bill, “There’s a Chop House Restaurant with the baseball game on.” Nice. Good food, good wine, good beer.  (It would be beir if we were in France.)  “Hey Guys, we are shuttin’ it down up here”, says the barmaid. As I roll my eyes and look at Bill I mention that our flight from Dayton was changed. “Dayton” she says. I’m from Springfield.  In fact my whole family is from Springfield. Oh my gosh. You’re from Dayton. That’s so cool.”

My latest thought is what if the hotel that had rooms available is full by the time we eat our dinner…