Long Day’s Journey into Night — and Day again

My very long, terrible, no good day began at 7 am on Friday, May 17.  My neighbor Patti agreed to take me to the airport so sister Tracy could go for her full tennis class that morning.  As we are putting suitcases into Patti’s car, Tracy drives by and honks.  Once at the airport, I check in, go through the security drill—shoes, jacket, computer, belt, watch, carry-on.  I am at Terminal 1 at San Diego, and I had been looking forward to a McDonald’s sausage muffin, but alas, no McDonald’s at Terminal 1.  I settle for café au lait and a bottle of water.  I check the departure board and horror!  My flight to Chicago is delayed an hour.  I only had a 45-minute change in Chicago.  You know what that means, right?  I would not make my connection.  I asked a United agent at another gate about what I could do.  He said, of course, he could not do anything, and I had to go back down to the main ticketing desk.  Sheesh!

Back at United ticketing, it is confirmed that my current itinerary would not get me to Paris in a timely manner.  So.  I was rerouted from San Diego to Houston to Frankfurt, Germany to Paris.  I had chosen my itinerary so that I would arrive in Paris around the same time as Mom and Tom, giving up my choice of San Diego to Newark to Paris which would have had me arrive a couple of hours before them.  Turns out that that is probably what I should have done! Now, I would arrive at 2:45 Saturday afternoon.   In any case, a frantic panic ensued.  I called Mom’s cell phone and left a message.  I sent a text. Well not only did my itinerary change, my choice seating change, but I had to go to San Diego Airport’s terminal 2.  Morning hike!  But wait!  Out Terminal 1’s door is an airport go-cart with a gentleman waiting for something to do.  I asked if I could have a ride, and he said he’d go anywhere I wanted, so I am delivered right to the elevator for my gate! 

I had not realized how much work was being done at our airport.  The whole security check in is greatly expanded so that San Diego can accommodate a much larger flying clientele.  Once though security, again, I look for my McDonald’s sausage muffin.  No such luck.  No McDonald’s anymore while they are under construction for new shops and other amenities.  I am sorry, but California Pizza Kitchen does not cut it for breakfast!  Yes, there is still a Starbucks, but my desire for coffee was zapped.  I left my bottle of water with the United agent and gave my coffee to the go-cart gentleman.  At this point, I was just thirsty.  While I am waiting at the gate, there are two women with a puppy!  The puppy gets a lot of attention.  What a cutie! 

In the meantime, I phone sister Dana in St. Louis to tell her the deal and ask her to try to get a message to Mom and Tom through American Airlines since we figured they were already on their flight from Albuquerque to Dallas.  Dana calls back after she finds out that American will broadcast a page once they are in Dallas.  Dana, however, is going to be otherwise engaged with her new horse (leased), so she calls Tracy, who is now through with tennis, and between them, they get the job done.

The flight to Houston is a bit of a nightmare.  Within several rows ahead and behind me are an 8-month-old baby, a maybe year-and-a-half hold whose mom spends the flight walking her up and down the aisle, a toddler, and a 4-5-year old.  Close to the time before pushing back, there was an empty seat between me and my row-partner.  I thought maybe we were going to get lucky on this “very full flight”.  No such luck; I spoke too soon.  A pouty little boy, maybe 5-6 (I am probably a very bad age-guesser!), is seated between us.  He is clearly upset at not being able to sit with his mom, who is telling him to stow his gear, put on his seat belt, stow his gear.  I said, “one thing at a time, Mom!”  I ask his name, and I think he said, “Jordan.”  Jordan proceeds to fall asleep, and ends up leaning on my arm.  I read Dan Brown’s new novel, Inferno, in between playing solitaire and eating my Trader Joe’s turkey club roll.  Jordan wakes up to find his mother has sent him some fruity snacks.  Then he pulls out a very cool Leggo jet-thing.  Later, his mom brings him an iPad, and his attention is now on iPad games.  As we land and taxi in Houston, we pass the next plane I will be on, and I point it out to Jordan.  We marvel at how big the plane is when right across from it is a much smaller jet.  When we are getting ready to deplane, Jordan tells me I can go ahead of him since he needs to wait for his mom. 

There is another airport go-cart waiting at our gate, and although I usually make the walk, I figured I was going to have a very long, terrible no-good day, I hopped on with some other passengers.  Thank goodness I did since time to board for Frankfurt was minutes away!  Did I say that I lost my choice seating?  I ended up in a middle seat, albeit in Economy Plus.  The passenger next to me is a dentist from Houston who is traveling with his family to tour Germany where he had been stationed 40 years prior and where his daughter Tracy had been born.  This was a celebration for her birthday.  His wife suggested that we spread out since there was no one in the window seat yet. Alas, another very full flight, and eventually, someone comes to fill the empty spot.  He was a young man from India, and, I assume, a Hindu because he told the flight attendant that he had to have the chicken dinner, not the beef.  I felt a bit bad since I choose the beef—the chicken was barbeque, and sorry, I do not like barbeque—and I had wine while he was sticking to water.  Even before dinner service, the dentist takes a sleeping pill and falls asleep.  I am quite trapped.  Lights go out, and I do get a bit of sleep.  I hope I did not snore!

Frankfurt.  No go-cart, so walking begins.  This is good after having sat for such a long time.  My baggage is checked through to Paris, thank goodness, and I go through passport control before finding my Lufthansa gate.  I buy some more water and a Frankfurt Main magnet to show I had been there—I do have a Frankfurt, Germany stamp on my passport, though!  I kept looking on my phone to see if I had any more important messages.  It was after 10 am in Frankfurt, and I was sure Mom and Tom should be on their way, if not at, the apartment by then.  No messages.

The flight from Frankfurt is short and bumpy.  The turbulence is so bad that they stop serving any drinks just a couple of rows ahead of me.  I did get, however, a very nice snack of potato salad with a bit of ham and melba toast-like crackers which was very good.  It would have been nice to have had some water to wash it down!

In Paris at last!  I arrive at Terminal 1 which is off by itself at Charles de Gaulle Airport.  You take this long moving sidewalk underneath the tarmac to get to baggage claim.  My bags are prompt, and off I go in search of the taxis.  I am accosted by a young man who asks if I needed a taxi.  I immediately said yes, and he proceeds to take me to the elevator.  I start to think that made a poor decision—shades of Taken! — especially when we get in an un-taxi marked BMW!  He tells me he will take me to my quartier for

$75 Euros since it is a hard one to get to.  Pffft!  But I say okay because I want my terrible, no-good bad day to end!  Turns out I had a deal compared to Mom’s and Tom’s taxi into Paris!  This is also a holiday weekend in France, and the traffic, part way, is bumper-to-bumper.  I start to think that I will NEVER get to the apartment when traffic breaks, and we enter the city.  I see the back of Notre Dame, and I tell the taxi driver that now I know where I am!  He says, yes, Paris!  We pull up to our street and there are beaucoup stairs.  I thought, oh no.  He says, I will drive around because I don’t think you will make it up those stairs with your baggage.  We are able to drive right up to the apartment, which is on a pedestrian-only street.  Mom and Tom stick their heads out the window!  Bonjour Paris!