Officially making him the best husband on the planet, Hud surprised me on our wedding anniversary with another trip to Paris! I KNOW. We spent Christmas Day in Paris. Well, barely. We were scheduled to arrive by six in the morning but fate and dire cockup got in the way of those plans.
Upon returning to the States, somebody asked me how we enjoyed our trip. I said it was like a sandwich cookie. The cookie outside was rotten, but the creamy Parisien middle was delicious. Oh, sweet Baby Jesus in a horse trough, the airlines were out to get us.
The airlines told us that we had a direct flight from Memphis to Charles DeGaulle Airport. Liars. You know that old southern joke that when you die in the South, it doesn't matter weather you're going to heaven or hell because your connections will have to go through Atlanta? Yeah. We went to Atlanta. Changed planes. And proceded to sit on the tarmac for two hours with mechanical trouble. Several people were concerned that they would miss their connections, but the flight attendants reassured them that the pilot could make the time up in the air. About half way through the flight, a woman became ill. Several doctors on the fight checked on her. And I felt the plane turn north.
And that's when my heart sank. The pilot came on and informed us that we were headed to New Brunswick, Nova Scotia for a medical emergency. Guys. I'm not heartless, but the lady had the flu. Probably had it when she got on the plane. The pilot said we were going to touch down, get her medical help and fifteen minutes and we'd be on our way.
FOUR HOURS LATER. FOUR HOURS.
Seems there's some sort of FAA regulation that says if you leave the plane, you luggage has to go with you. It took the baggage handlers three and a half hours to find her luggage. Then the plane had to be de-iced.
The young woman behind me had been crying for several of those hours. She was to meet people at the airport and go to Marseilles with them. She didn't know if they waited for her or left so they could have Christmas with their families.
We got into Charles DeGaulle at eleven, but the shuttle who was to pick us up had long ago forgotten us. Four phone calls and one to the hotel to get them to finally come take us to the hotel is all it took to get them to respond with a vechicle. We got into the Etoile Troccadero at 2:30. A little road weary, but we were there!
It was too late after our showers to do much but walk over to the Tour Eiffel and peruse the Christmas markets.
We were really hungry by then, so we stopped at one of the vendors in the market and got some sandwiches. But these were so much better than that! The woman rolled out a ball of dough, pressed it flat and deep fried it! (Hey! It's a vacation.) While it was still hot, she filled it with jambon, fromage et tout le jardin. Oh, it was good.
Having been up for twenty-four hours, we dragged ourseves back to the Etoile and took a long deserved nap.
Tomorrow - Sainte Chapelle!