Despite the hour long delay, we arrived at Paris’s Charles DeGaulle airport on time, shortly after 8am. Customs was ridiculously easy. I handed a guy my passport, he stamped it, and waved me through. That’s it. No questions on why I was there, no questions on how long, no questions on what I was bringing with me. Just a stamp, and move on through. Well, okay then.
That airport is MASSIVE. I mean, from what I saw, it makes O’Hare look small. I kept following the signs to baggage claim, and I thought for sure they must have put the damn thing in Belgium, I was walking so far. It was after 8:45 when I got to the baggage claim, and I saw other people from my flight filtering in. We were all surprised the bags weren’t there before us, since we’d walked halfway across France just to get there. 9:00 comes and goes. No bags. Finally, we get an announcement. You know that cargo bay door latch? Yeah, well apparently, they fixed it too well, and were having trouble getting it open. Better that than sea life finding new homes in my stuff.
The bags came, and then they stopped. Problem: about ten of us hadn’t gotten our bags. Great. Maybe my bags were floating somewhere in the North Atlantic. I asked the Delta rep who was talking to people about it, and he basically said, they have no idea where our bags were. Cherry on top? I was literally the only person of the ten who didn’t speak French, so the rep kept forgetting to translate, so I had no idea what was going on. Spanish, I could have followed well enough. French, not even a little. All I could follow were the gasps and sighs of the others after the agent said something.
After about 30 minutes, I finally found out that they mixed our bags up with another flight’s, and took them to the wrong baggage claim. We all had our bags within about 10 minutes after that. Crisis averted.
I called an Uber, and settled in for my ride to the hotel. The thick cloud cover didn’t help the way everything looked around me. I was surprised to see that the entire ride outside the city center looked a lot more like Moscow than I had expected in a first world country. The interstate sound barriers were poorly constructed of thick plastic, which doesn’t seem to wear as well as the metal or concrete ones I’m used to in the States. They were also largely covered, top to bottom, in layers of graffiti. The surrounding buildings looked run down and tired, much like what I saw in Moscow. Yes, there’s some of that in the US, but not usually for as long a stretch as I’m used to.
After about 30 minutes, we arrived at my hotel, the Best Western Aurore, on the border of the 7th and 11th Arrondisments. It was too early to check in, as it was only 10:30, and my room wasn’t ready yet, but the woman at the front desk, Orrily, took my bags, so I could go find some food.
I wandered down to the nearby train station, where I found the “Yummy and Guilt Free” waffle stand. It’s 100% gluten free, and can do lactose free, as well. I ordered a chocolate waffle, which was served to me on a stick, with dollops of chocolate ganache in the holes. Oh. My. Gosh. It was amazing.
As I was walking back to my hotel, it struck me how many people were smoking. I think the last time I saw so many people smoke was in Moscow. Apparently, 26% of the French population smokes. Weird.
By the time I got back, my room was ready, and I started to unpack. It was a tiny, but clean, and lovely room. I took a nap for a couple hours, and then got up to get ready for dinner. I had booked an experience through Airbnb, which I highly recommend. It was entitled, Cook French Food in a Parisian Home, hosted by Landen, and her boyfriend, Roman.
I met Landen and the three others who had also signed up for the experience on a street corner at about 5:30. Landed in originally from Texas, and moved to Paris in March of 2018. She took us on a brief tour of the area as we shopped for dinner.
She took us to a gourmet grocery store, Le Grande Epicurie, which was this wonderland of amazing ingredients. Because France is so close to North Africa, the produce there is phenomenal, year round. The citrus fruit and mangoes smelled divine. I had never seen so many perfectly ripe mangoes ever before in my life. Landen showed us a bottle of water that cost 50 Euro. In.freaking.sane.
Parisians generally buy their cheese from a cheesemonger,
their meat from a butcher,
their bread from a bakery,
their poduce from a produce stand, and their flowers from a flower stand.
We went eveywhere but the flower and produce stands, and it was pretty amazing.
Landen was dog sitting a Golden Retriever, by the name of Dalton, and we made fast friends.
The three other guests were from Miami, Idaho, and Munich. The two from Idaho and Munich lived together in Berlin. They were all lovely people. We got back to Landen’s third floor walk-up apartment in an old building. The winding staircase was beautiful, but a bit brutal.
As Landen made us dinner, we talked about our jobs, the EU, WWII, etc. We all had similar ideology, which made for great, deep conversation. Everyone drank wine, except for me, because I’m not a red wine drinker, and Landen accidentally got a bottle of red that she thought was white. Consequently, everyone made me take a Tequilla shot, salt, lime, and all.
We ate a lovely dinner, and I was the first to leave. I had an hour long walk back to my hotel, and at 10pm, I was exhausted.
It was a cold, drizzly night, but walking through Paris at night, along the Siene, was gorgeous. I called and talked to my parents as I walked. I passed Notre Dame, all lit up, and it was a bit surreal. The Gothic architecture juxtaposed by the dark and the river, made for an indescribable sight.
I crossed the river, and finally made it back to my hotel. I got ready for bed, and it didn’t take long for me to fall asleep.
What about you? Have you ever nearly lost your baggage on an international flight? Tell me about it in the comments!
Dauntless In Denver 