Tampa, FL to Rome, Italy

And we’re off! (Er… *I’m* off, anyway.)

Jojo dropped me off at the TPA airport, where my flight left at promptly one hour late. This was allegedly due to inclement weather, although it was 80 and sunny in Tampa and we never encountered a drop of rain. In any case, I wasn’t worried about the delay since I had a 3-hour layover in NYC-JFK anyway.

Or so I thought.

I was juuuuust about to hand over my ticket and board the plane when I heard an announcement seeking volunteers to take the next flight. I stopped texting Lacey and hung up with J (because, yanno, my crackberry is glued to my ears/fingers) and went to check out the situation.

The plane is oversold by 8+ tickets. The LED marquee keeps flashing “Best Deals, Guaranteed!” (An actual seat, however… not so much, apparently.)

The guy at the counter (Freddie, if you’re taking notes) says he’ll offer $400 flight credit and a pair of meal vouchers if I’m willing to take the 9pm flight instead of the 5pm flight. Plus, he says, AlItalia serves way better food. Mmmmm, better food, you say? No problem.

(Except, of course, there’s always a problem…)

I end up waiting in line at the counter until about 6:30 before I got my new ticket to Rome via AlItalia instead of Delta. And then I had to exit the airport, walk down the street with my luggage, enter a different terminal, wait in line to go through security again, only to discover that the new ticket they printed me != boarding pass, and I have to go check in for my new flight through AlItalia. Oh, and the bag I had checked in Tampa is still on the plane that already left for Rome…

The folks over at AlItalia were super nice, particularly when they informed me that the 9pm flight had been delayed until 11:50pm (later changed to 10:50pm). This was not as sparkly as 9pm. Being good sorts, they got me on a completely different flight, which was scheduled to board in… 10 minutes. (Remember the part where I’m still not through airport security?)

Happy to be arriving just a couple hours later than my original flight (assuming I make it through security on time) I tear through the checkpoint as fast as possible and sprint toward my gate when I remember–oh yes. My meal vouchers. Each worth a hefty $7.

There’s no time to go to a restaurant, so I stop by the first shop I pass and try to buy a horseshoe travel pillow. No dice. Food only. Fine. I end up buying a bottle of water and 5 packs of gum. They weren’t thrilled about it (why do they *care* in what manner I choose to waste my food vouchers??) but after some insistence that gum was surely a foodstuff, I’m once again off for the gate.

Natch, the plane is running late. An hour late. And then another hour on the tarmac because we were cleared #24 in line for takeoff. Good times. Please stay seated with your seatbelt fastened. Indefinitely.

At long last, however, we were on our way! Yay! I was seated next to a super-friendly Italian guy who gave me lots of random pointers and never laughed at my bad Italian, except when I said “ho spegnuto” instead of “ho spento”. (Stupid irregular past participles! He knew what I meant!!!)

After much shenanigans, we arrive in Rome, safe and sound.

I head to the AlItalia counter to inquire after my luggage. They direct me to the Delta counter. The Delta folks direct me back to the AlItalia counter. Right when my head was about to explode calculating how much it was going to cost me to replace everything in that bag, one of the other volunteer-bump passengers takes pity on me and shows me to the storage room between the two offices where all the orphaned bags are kept.

Thanks, I tell him. It helps to speak the language, he replies.

(I cannot tell you how much that little bit of snark irked me. I *know* it helps to speak the language. I’m here to learn Italian, after all. I even asked after my bag in Italian. However, no level of fluency would’ve made me ask, “Is there a secret hidden door with no signage whatsover that might be hiding a cache of lost or forgotten bags?” Especially since they’d've mentioned it if they realized such a thing existed. But anyway. Settle down, E.)

Since we were (bizarrely) not required to fill out any customs forms on the plane, I anticipated some form-signing action in the airport or at least a barrage of questions (why are you here? how long are you staying?) from the customs folks.

Nothing. Not even a “buon giorno”. Just an outstretched hand for the passport, a quick stamp, and off you go. Good for speed, and all, but… weird?

Have you ever been bumped from a flight, voluntarily or involuntarily? If you’ve flown internationally before, are you used to filling out customs forms or breezing right on through?

Tags: airplanes, airports, travel tips

Madrid, Spain to Paris, France

After spending another lovely, sunny day working (waaah! waaah!) I packed up and shipped out to the airport to catch my flight into France.

One thing I want to say about the Charles de Gaulle airport that first-time visitors may not be aware–if taking the public transportation, be prepared to get screwed. Although there’s a metro station inside the airport, it costs about $10 or so to go through the gate. (Even though individual Metro trips are about $1.25) For example, last year when I picked Brian up at the CDG airport, it cost me $10 to enter the airport because I came by train (yes, I paid $1.25 for the Metro ride, then $10 to enter the airport) then $10 apiece to leave the airport. Bogus, bogus, bogus.

Disneyland Paris is the same way. You take the regular $1.25 metro, and Disneyland is the last stop. However, to exit the Metro gate, you must pay an exorbitant fee. I think it was close to $20. Each person, each way. So factor that cost in to your travels. (One may be able to circumvent the system through one devious plot or another, but you can’t count on that. There are Metro attendants there to watch for such shenanigans.)

So, after dropping my stuff off in my hotel (which is a hotel/hostel on the Republique square) I took the Metro to Trocadero. The Trocadero stop not only has an awesome view of the Eiffel Tower, but also features vendors who sell a variety of hot, yummy crepes. I got mine with nutella–deelish! I also arrived just in time for the Eiffel Tower lights to go all sparkly and do their glittering thing. This was cool for me, since I’m usually fairly far away from the tower after nightfall and all my past photos of it lit up at night have been from a distance.

I asked some Americans if they’d photo me in front of the tower, which is how I got the horrifically blurry shot attached to this post. Imagine that’s me, with a hot chocolate crepe in my hand, and the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the background. =)

Erica

P.S. You might notice the bright straps on my shoulders in many of my photos. These straps belong to my backpack, known affectionately as the R.B.O.P. (Yes, my backpack has a name. Can you guess what it is?)

Tags: airports, travel tips

Heidelburg, Germany & O-Club

This morning, Erin and I arose at the-crack-3-hours-before-dawn and headed into Frankfurt. Her mom arrived in the airport at 6:30 from New York. Since she came from a non-EU country, she landed in a different terminal (1) than I had (2). Terminal 1 was under horrible construction, to the point where if you wanted to get from one part of the terminal to another, you had to go outside, circle the building until you found an entrance door to the area you were looking for, and then go back inside. Since the weather is *freezing* cold, these shenanigans are Not Fun.

Nonetheless, we got there mere seconds before her mom exited customs, so it was perfect timing. We piled her luggage into the car and drove to Heidelburg.

Heidelburg is beautiful, even though it was blanketed with thick fog until around lunchtime and never quite warmed up.

We headed straight to Heidelburg castle, and hiked to the top of the hill maybe 20 minutes before the gates were to open at 8 am. We took a few photos and gazed down across the countryscape until we could enter the castle grounds. Once inside, we went to ticketing and purchased the 10:15 walking tour (the first one in English) and went to do all the non-tour-guided free things.

As it turns out, however, nothing is open until 10. Not the apothecary, the cafes, the gift shops… nothing but the ticket booths. How weird is that?

With nothing else to do but wander around, we set to that task immediately and had a great time exploring the exterior castle grounds and gardens. We were also able to enter the winery (there’s always a winery! love it!) and see the massive wine barrel.

By massive, I mean *massive*. (Photo attached.) This wine barrel has held the Guiness World Record for *centuries*, as the largest vat to ever contain wine. There are staircases to get to the top of it, and over the barrel is a wooden dance floor. That’s right, you heard me–a wine barrel big enough to hoist a dance floor. As we later learned on the tour, the king would have the barrel filled with wine–any wine. Red, white, whatever. As long as it was wine, it was good enough to drink.

The tour was fun, although like many tours, seemed to linger in the least interesting rooms and zoom through the most interesting ones. (Either that, or I have truly bizarre taste in history and decorations.) Nobody really knows exactly how old the castle is. All we know for certain is that the first written record of its existence dates back to the year 800. (Not 1800–just 800. Wow!) As with most castles, it has been remodeled and added onto numerous times over the years. It also suffered destruction by fire twice in the same century. Part of the damaged area was reconstructed in the early to mid 1900s, but other parts will probably remain ruins for the foreseeable future. The combination of old and new made an intriguing experience.

After touring the town of Heidelburg, we headed back to Miesenbach to get ready for tonight’s Hispanic Heritage Banquet at the Officers’ Club on the Rammstein Air Base. Food included salad, tortillas with veggies (or meat), beans & rice, and cheesecake. Not sure that cheesecake is particularly Hispanic, but it was darn tasty.

The entertainment included speakers and dancers, the latter of which I absolutely loved. There was music and dancing representative of many of the Spanish-speaking countries, and even a group of African dancers, from which a lot of Carribbean music and dancing is based. I also got to see Brazilian Capoeira for the first time (live, anyway) which was cool. Capoeira is a style of dancing invented by the slaves in an effort to express themselves while in search of freedom. It combines acrobatics with dance and a coordinated sort of kick boxing.

Of course, the big joke is that I flew to Germany from Spain in order to see flamenco!

Have you seen (or participated in) any cultural dance performances? Let me know all about it!

Tags: airports, castles & palaces, festivals & fiestas, food, random facts & history, wine

From Spain to Germany

This morning I woke up, scarfed down a croissant (OK, two croissants), snapped a photo of the lovely construction view from my balcony, and headed for the Madrid airport. The airport is massive. I was in Terminal 4, which has sections A through K (maybe more, I was in J so that’s as far as I went) and each letter has a slew of… I don’t know the word. Every time I come to Europe, I forget English. A slew of… places where you board a plane. (Gates?)

Anyway, I bought my ticket online from home. I unfold my printout from the web site confirmation and the printout of the emailed e-ticket, and suddenly I happen to notice that both items, in big, bold, capital letters, say: “Credit Card used in this purchase MUST BE PRESENTED in order to receive boarding pass and board flight.”

Oops. I totally didn’t bring that card. It charges me massive international fees for every overseas transaction (I found this out the hard way last year, once I came home and saw my account statements) so I left it at home. Naturally, I need to board this airline 4 different times… <>

So, I go to the ticketing counter, full of trepidation, but the guy serving me is so blessedly clueless, he doesn’t even ask about it. He did ask whether I preferred window or aisle, I said window, he said window, and printed me a ticket for aisle. I can only hope to have similar help the next 3 times!

The plane ride was uneventful, for the most part. Air Iberia gives out free newspapers, which was cool, but you have to pay for your own food and drink if you want water and peanuts. (They do have other offerings… It’s a whole food cart that comes down the aisle at least twice.) Being both poor and cheap, I just sat there, reading my paper, and chewed a piece of gum.

In this paper (which, bizarrely, used *other* newspaper articles as its primary sources) there was an article about how 1 out of every 10 British 20-somethings and 1 out of every 20 older British adults are eager to have credit card chips implanted under their skin so they don’t have to mess with a purse/wallet and the potential for identity theft and pickpocketing. According to El Universal (the paper), already testing has been underway for some time, using dogs and cats and horses. (Who, I’m sure, are big shoppers and appreciate the experiment.)

Once I arrived in Frankfurt, I zipped through to baggage claim (intra-EU flights don’t have to go through customs, although–also bizarrely–this was set up as honor system, with one line for people going through customs and the other for people not wanting to go through customs) and met up with Erin. Yay!

We drove the ~1 hour south to Kaiserslautern (known by the locals as K-town) near the Rammstein Air Force Base. I dropped off my luggage in Erin’s spare room, and we wandered around K-town for a couple hours, sightseeing and just generally hanging out. We rounded out the night in a restaurant called Himalaya (nothing says Germany quite like Indian food!) where I got saag paneer (my favorite) and Erin got what the menu described as “typical Nepali chicken”. We have no idea what that means, but she said it was delicious. So there you go.

Tags: airplanes, airports, food, random facts & history, shopping

International Travel (& Madrid!)

Since I know it’s the main question on everyone’s mind, here’s the answer you’ve all been waiting for: Yes, I was able to take Purell on the airplane.

The guy in front of me in the security line got searched and they confiscated his aloe vera and inspected a bunch of other things, but I had no problems.

So now I’m on the plane from Tampa to JFK (NYC). My ticket said plain old Delta, but this was a “Song” plane, with the nice seats and adjustable individual movie screens and in-flight trivia. (I had 100% accuracy for three whole questions and then I missed the next four or five. Shoulda quit when I was ahead.)

The flight attendants head down the aisle with the drink cart, selling pink lemonade and pink martinis in honor of Breast Cancer Awareness month. Just as they are about to approach my row, this girl staggers up the aisle. (Yes, staggers.) My first thought was maybe she’d had a pink martini too many, because she had that I-can-barely-stand-up drunken gait. Just as she reached my aisle, she collapsed and pitched forward. The flight attendants jerked the drink cart backward so that she didn’t crack her head against the metal corners, and the girl tumbled to the ground unconscious. When they couldn’t get her to respond, they picked up the intercom phone (also right in front of me) and asked for any medical personnel to come forward. That brought a cattle-herd of rubberneckers more than anything, but there were a few legitimate nurses and EMTs that tried to help her. Another flight attendant ran for the oxygen, and that finally revived the girl. So then the flight attendants bumped the people in the row across from me up to first class so that they could lay the girl down flat. She stayed there the rest of the flight. (And me? No drinks, and no first class. <<sob>>)

Once I reached the JFK Airport, I wandered around looking for my gate. The flight attendant gave me a vague “that way” gesture when I asked, and the gate did turn out to be that way… Just down about a mile and a half. Along the way, I started noticing dollar massage chairs peppering the terminals. I made it about halfway down the hall before I caved and plopped onto a chair. (I didn’t give $1. I gave $5. Why have 3 minutes of massage when you can have 15??) The massage chairs are situated in 2 sets of 2, and my expression must have been particularly relaxed (or blissful) because people would look at the empty chair, look at me in my chair, and then fish in their wallet/purse for change. I should’ve got commission for that.

After a lovely 3.5 hour layover <<eye rolling>> I finally get on the plane for Madrid. Let me just say that I was not impressed. The seats were close and uncomfortable, we were too far to one side to see the single TV screen for our cabin (which at least worked, even if I couldn’t see it… Of the other 4 screens throughout the plane, 1 was too orangey, 1 was too greenish, 1 flickered in and out of black & white, and the other just did some red wavy lava-lamp-ish thing.) Oh, and there was no adjustable headrest. Or eye masks. Oh, and the light switches were wired wrong on our seats, so when I hit the light bulb button on my armrest, he was hit with the spotlight, and vice versa. Fun fun. (Can you *feel* the bitterness???)

Pretty much the only interesting thing that happened on that leg of the flight was when I almost didn’t get a customs form. I reached for it and the flight attendant jerked it away and said, “Españoles no.” (Not for Spaniards.) Oh, and the guy next to me was an Iranian New Yorker who ordered kosher food. For breakfast they brought both of us ham & cheese croissants. (Obviously neither kosher nor vegetarian.) They did realize their mistake before we started screaming in horror (although it was close: I’d unwrapped mine and he’d almost taken a bite) and gave us shiny new breakfasts. (Cold bagels and OJ.)

And then, THEN, I finally land in Madrid! Yay! My favorite city in maybe the whole world! (I say maybe since I haven’t actually been in every city in the world. I’m not even sure such a feat would be possible.) I check in to my room (which won’t be ready until 1pm although I was free to leave my bags, which I did) and head outside. My hotel is in the Puerta del Sol, right across from a vegetarian restaurant (good!) and major construction (bad!).

Right now it’s siesta time, and I’m sitting on my bed with my laptop listening to the calm, soothing sounds of jackhammers in concrete and bulldozers beeping to back up. I hope this doesn’t go on during the night… Yuck.

So, what was that smack I was talking about how cold it might be here? When I walked outside, it was 23C, or about 79F. I was wearing layers. First thing I did (okay, third, since the first two were Hit the ATM and Buy a Metro Ticket) was take off my fleece sweatshirt. The weather is unbelievable right now. Warm, sunny, beautiful. Since I had some time to kill (I checked in at 10am) I headed down Calle Arenal to Retiro Park, a sprawling mass of trees and flowers and playgrounds and statues and lakes and benches and fountains. Even one of the Devil, as the angel falling from the skies to the waiting demons below. Madrid claims it’s the only park in the world with a fountain depicting good old Lucifer. (No one has ever disputed this claim, so it may well be true.)

OK, till next time!

~ERiCA

Tags: airplanes, airports

Norfolk, VA

Well, today we woke up at the crack of automated wake-up call and groggily set about showering up and loading the car. We’d unanimously agreed that *of course* we could somehow be much faster this morning, so the wake up call gave us a half an hour more sleep… for a grand total of six and a half hours.

Amazingly, we were up, ready, packed, breakfasted, and on the road by ten minutes til eight, which was actually ten whole minutes before schedule. Turned out we needed those ten minutes and then some – when I’d indulged in that extra half hour of sleep, I’d totally forgotten to take rush hour traffic into account.

We sailed out of Williamsburg and onto the highway, where we were greeted with an ever-growing sea of brake lights. Eventually, the two lanes widened into four (on each side) and we had the good fortune to be the only car in the HOV lane for a good 15 minutes… until the HOV lane ended and the highway went from four lanes… to three… to two… to construction… to Check Gas – 3 Mile Tunnel Ahead.

Yeah, that’s right.

As always in such circumstances, traffic ground to a halt (except for the jerks who fly around the exit only lanes to cut back in, one–maybe two–cars ahead of where they were in the first place) but we were able to see massive ships (with their own skylines, they were so big! We thought it was land at first.) and experience driving through a 3 mile tunnel.

On the other side, traffic picked back up to normal speed and we made it to Norfolk only slightly behind schedule. My second-biggest concern at this time was filling up the rental car with gas so that I didn’t have to cash in an IRA or anything to pay the crazy Ha-ha!-You-sucker!-You-didn’t-fill-your-tank-and-now-you-owe-us-your-life! fees. My first-biggest concern was that the hotel didn’t have an available printer, so we were unable to check-in online ahead of time for our flight.

If you’ve never flown Southwest, this may mean nothing to you. So what? you say. Just check in at the airport, like normal people, you say. Ha! I snort in your general direction. =) Actually, Southwest is a little different. (Haven’t you ever seen the truly frightening television show “Airline”???)

First of all, there are no assigned seats. There being three of us (one a minor, one with motion sickness and a slight fear of flying, and one being me and in charge of everything,) I really wanted us all together.

To get on the plane, people are categorized in three groups – A, B, and C. First, people with children or wheelchairs board – and sit anywhere they want. Next, the entire A group boards – and plops down anywhere *they* want. Then B, and last C.

Near as anyone can tell, Southwest assigns groups based on the order of check-in. First they fill up the A group, then the B group, and so on. Therefore, checking in online 24 hours in advance is a clear advantage… and one we didn’t have, since by my watch the plane would board in less than an hour and a half.

So, I gassed up the car, rolled into the airport, and pulled into the Enterprise lot. A twenty-something girl – quite possibly the most sourfaced, snarky person on the planet – greeted us with a scowl.

She held out her hand as I stepped out of the car. I must’ve hesitated a moment too long, because she finally spoke. “Can I *have* the keys?”

“Sorry,” I mumbled. “I didn’t know what you were reaching for.”

She rolled her eyes and tapped her handheld PDA-thing. “Where’s the paperwork?”

“Oh, crap,” I answered. “It’s in my suitcase. Give me a sec and I’ll get that out for you… unless you can hunt me up in that computer?”

She scowled. “You should *always* have it on you. ALWAYS.”

“You’re right, it’s not on me, although it is *with* me… Let me pop the trunk and I’ll get out my suitcase…” I pop the trunk and the boys start unloading the back.

She taps into her PDA. “Ridley?”

“Yes.”

“Erica?”

“Yes.”

“You’re returning the car?”

??? “Yes.”

She sniffs and starts walking away.

“So…” I start trailing after her. “Since you found me in the computer, do you still need to see that paperwork?”

She stalks further around the car without responding.

I stop moving and try again. “Do you need the paperwork still?”

She tosses her head. “I’m LOOKING for DAMAGE.”

Er, okay. “But do you need the paperwork? If you do, I’ll be glad to get it. If you don’t, we’ll get our bags out of your way and-”

“Just go past the building on the right and walk to the terminal.”

Okay, then.

What a ray of sunshine. On that cheery note, the boys and I glanced at each other and silently agreed that further conversation would be useless. We grabbed our bags and headed out of there before Miss Personality changed her mind.

Once we made it inside the airport, we quickly discovered that we were at the furthest possible point from the Southwest counter. (It was at the diagonal opposite of the airport, but of course you can’t cross an airport diagonally, so we had some fun sprinting with suitcases.)

I had had the foresight to sign my brothers up with Southwest frequent flyer numbers (knowing that nearly always gives preferential treatment at any airline) and somehow we managed to land a B, and escape the dreaded C group.

Our flight from Norfolk, Virginia to Indianapolis, Indiana was fairly uneventful (except for a random pitstop in Baltimore) and my parents met us three yards from the security exit. We headed straight home, except for stopping at Steak and Shake, where nobody got steak but everybody got shakes, except my dad, who got coffee. (Mine was a Caramel Mocha Macchiato… dee-lish)

And that, my friends, rounded out our adventure!

Tags: airports, road trip

Washington, D.C.

Our 9 day adventure begins! My younger brothers and I are off…

05:00 Wakey, wakey!

Joy of joys, we got to wake up at 5am this morning. Well, most of us did. Everyone except Andy. He was already up – he had to work the night shift and technically was supposed to be there until 6… but he cut out at breaktime so he could come home and join the fun.

06:00 On the road

We piled into the van – my brothers (Andy & Rob), my parents, and I, and we hit the road for Chicago.

07:00 Chicago Skyway

Because the Dan Ryan Expressway was under construction, we had to use some creative avoidance tactics.

08:00 Midway Airport

We arrived about 4 hours early (yikes!) and discovered that the food court was past the security check-in, so my parents (who, like us, had not yet breakfasted) had to turn around and go home without eating with us.

09:00 Haray Carey’s

Andy, Rob and I grabbed some grub at Haray Carey’s. I opted to drink water instead of coffee, planning to hit Starbucks after we ate.

10:00 Waiting at the Terminal

At Starbucks, Andy and Rob ordered the Chocolate Creme Frappucinos and I ordered a Caramel Latte. They were out of both Chocolate and Caramel, which meant *we* were out of luck. We plopped into some seats at the terminal next to an outlet, so I could plug in my laptop and get some work done. Some guy walked by and gave me a hard time about it, but it was all in hillbonics, so we’re not really sure what he said. <>

11:00 – 14:00 Plane

The plane ride was much less eventful than I had feared, except for the landing, which freaked out not only the passengers but also the flight crew and the pilot himself, who joked, “Well!… *That* was easy.” when we clattered onto the runway.

14:00-19:00 Intro to D.C.

We find our hotel (the Beacon, on 17th street, walking distance from the White House) and wander around the city, checking out the White House, the Washington Monument, and the World War II Memorial. We also ate some pizza at Uno’s (a D.C. staple… hahaha) We ordered the Muchos Nachos appetizer (which, when they say muchos, they’re not kidding) not realizing it came with meat. Even though it was completely our fault (for being illiterate and not reading the menu more closely) they ran right back and whipped up a veggie version. We were stuffed before the pizza even came.

ANDY QUOTE: “Well, so far this vacation is turning out terrible. Too many nachos!!!”

20:00-23:30 D.C. Night Tour

We left Union Station for a 3+ hour night tour and it turned out to be a great time. Our tour guide was animated and knowledgeable and we only got lost once. (”We” meaning Andy, Rob and I, not the tour guide. He was a D.C. native who’d given these tours twice a week for 21 years.)

Tags: airplanes, airports, food, lost

Madrid, Spain to Paris, France

I woke up, did my last load of laundry for a while, packed my bags, and boarded the bus for the airport. At the airport, my bags were too heavy, so I had to pay a fee, but what do you do when you’ve got all your stuff with you and you’re on your way to Paris.

Our flight took off about 40 minutes late, so we arrived a good half hour after planned. We picked up our luggage and bussed to our hotel: Novotel in La Defense, the very last stop on metro line yellow one, and (we were to learn later) technically not within Paris proper.

The first adventure of the day was discovering that I had someone I didn’t know for a roomate, and that the hotel rooms had a single king size bed, so we would be sharing.

I found Alison, and we were starving since the airline didn’t serve vegetarian meals, so we headed out to find some grub.

We took the Metro, and ended up next to a mother and her daughter. The little girl asked us, “Are you Americans?” and before we could answer, the mother said, “Isn’t it obvious?” (!!!)

Ali and I got off the Metro at the CDG exit (not the airport, but the exit) and when we walked up the stairs to street level, we were instantly rewarded with a view of the Arc de Triomphe. We walked around looking for a cafe, and we ran into Bryan, Paula, and Lindsay. (Weird how I keep running into people I know in such large cities. I *never* randomly run into people I know back in Tampa!)

We found a cafe and ordered some food and some water. We downed the first carafe in no time, and I taught Alison how to say “more water, please” so she could ask for it when the waiter returned. (She cracked me up by repeating it over and over.)

Once we sated our hunger a bit (I got salad and 4 fresh cheeses, none of which I recognized, all of which were good) we explored the Arc de Triomphe and had fun trying to find the perfect spot for a photograph.

All this photography worked up an appetite (yes, *again*) and we realized what we REALLY needed were some crepes. We found outdoor seating at a cafe on Champs Elysees and ordered up the most delicious crepes I’ve ever had. They were topped with ice cream and chocolate syrup! (Probably Nutella–Paris is huge on Nutella.)

Something funny: there are lots of ads in the metro stops for McDonald’s, but here it’s called McDo.

Tags: airplanes, airports, food

Paris, France to Málaga, Spain

Here I am on the last flight of this seemingly never-ending day. I am dead tired and my head is vaguely pounding. On the flight from JFK to CDG (Paris, Charles de Gaulle) I had an aisle seat in the center, so unfortunately I did not get to look out the window at Paris getting closer. However, I have a window seat on this flight, so I´ll get to watch Paris disappear and Málaga appear!

The CDG airport does not have food once you are through security for international flights. Eat first, or have plenty of coin Euros for the vending machines. I went through customs (who, disappointingly, did not stamp my passport neither arriving nor leaving), disdainfully passed by a McDonalds, went through security, and headed to my gate.

On the previous plane, at first I sat on the wrong side of the aisle. (I make mistakes at least once a year.) I blame it on the soporific effects of Dramamine and lack of sleep. I sat next to two youngish black women from France. I turned to the one next to me and asked (in French), “So, where in France are you from?”

She blinked and responded (in French), “I´m sorry, I don´t speak English. Could you ask me again in French?”

Well! This was a serious blow to my French self-confidence, let me tell you. What I *wanted* to do was fall into the bottomless pit I was hoping would appear any moment to swallow me whole. But since that failed to hapen (and since she´d asked so nicely) I tried again, this time enunciating as clearly as I could. “Where. In France. Do you. Live?”

This time, she smiled and answered, “Oh! In Paris.”

I returned the smile, told her it was my first visit, and retreated to my proper seat, resolving not to poison the air any more with my apparently incomprehensible French accent.

Tired as I was, I couldn’t seem to fall asleep. That´s when I started ordering the wine. (Come on! Free alcohol is one of the joys of an eight hour international flight, and besides, it comes with every snack/meal just like Diet Coke.)

After I was halfway throught the second bottle (There´s only one serving in each bottle. Really.) I was totally knocked out for a good hour or two. I kept waking up because they kept showing up to feed us. First, a snack (pretzels and wine) then dinner (there was no vegetarian option because the school forgot to forward the information, but they did come back around to give me another bread roll).

This morning (aka midnight EST) they fed us breakfast – some kind of pastry, peach yogurt (Dannon la créme), coffee and OJ. (No wine for me, although the guy in the row in front of me got a Budweiser, breakfast of champions.)

Tags: airplanes, airports, lost in translation, wine

International Flight

Here I am on Song, Delta’s new airline branch. So far, I’m favorably impressed. The seats are colorful and comfortable, with TV screens on every seatback, and I absolutely love the flight attendant uniforms. My first thought when I saw them was, “I want to be a Song flight attendant so I can wear that outfit!”

I got to the airport and through security and made a beeline for the Starbucks, where the slowest family in the world was in front of me ordering milk and breakfasts for themselves and all four of their kids. (A lot of eye-rolling went through the ever-growing line. It’s a coffee stand, not a Waffle House, for pete’s sake.) The woman next to me in line glared at them for 10 straight minutes (without them even noticing) then muttered darkly to her daughter: “Looks like there’s gonna be a smackdown at Starbucks.”

My first adventure of the day was at check-in. The orientation documents I received said that the suitcase had a maximum weight of 75 pounds. This may be, but apparently anything over 50 gets an automatic $25 fee, and mine weighed in around 55. The joys of travel…

The best thing about the Song flight from Tampa to JFK (NYC) was that I was unbeatable for several rounds of the Trivia game. (Yeah baby! The winner is: Erica in 15A!) That is, until Mike in 6B beat me by just a few points. Geek. But I am still listed as #3 overall in my particular airplane’s all-time top 10! (Song is so new that this probably doesn’t mean much, but let me have a moment of pride.)

My second adventure was when I arrived at the JFK airport. I had a massive 4 1/2 hour layover, so I wandered around the tiny terminal about 75 times before I caved and checked out the massage parlor. (Yes, there’s a massage parlor in the airport. I don’t know either.) My massage therapist was a tiny woman from Malasia. I have never had an asian massage before this day, and since I just signed up for what sounded like an ordinary back massage, I was in for a surprise.

My first surprise was that the concept of privacy was utterly foreign to her. As I was undressing, she came in and out of the room multiple times, the last of which I was stark naked. Then, I lay face down on the massage table and the next thing I know, she jumps on my back! At first I had my misgivings about her crawling around on my back, kneading my muscles with her elbows and knees. But from the first swirl of her knee, my spinal column loudly clicked into place, right up the line. (Kinda makes you wonder – who was the first person to dream up this kind of massage?)

Then she ran out of the room. I had no idea why this was – maybe I have a frightening back? The next thing I know, she bursts back into the room and tosses a scalding hot wet towel on my bare back, then leaps back on top of me for more knee-kneading.

To say I was a bit surprised would be a big understatement.

She followed up the massage with random hand gestures, which I completley misunderstood until she spontaneously french-braided my hair. (Apparently, I was a wreck.)

I left a good tip–she totally deserved it. After all, I was just walking past and she used her powers of persuasion (albeit in broken English) to hustle me in to the most bizarre yet entertaining massage of my life. (Oh, and relaxing too. Really.)

Tags: airplanes, airports, lost in translation