At the end of our tour of NYC via car on August 18th, we found our way to Newark, New Jersey and its international airport just shy of 8 PM. First we dropped Rhonda's SUV off at a long-term parking lot and grabbed a shuttle for the 1/2 mile trip to the airport. Our driver was gracious and off-loaded our luggage for us at the curb. I must say, it was quite a project for Rhonda to juggle all her luggage and her dog Paige's crate to get in the terminal--and to our carrier's customer service window. Of course, I helped all I could---but it was still a challenge.
We were flying via XL Airways. Little did I know that the flight on the flip-side of my roundtrip ticket would be one of their last flights. The airline ceased flying after September 23rd, less than 1 month after I flew with them. Seems they had seen the writing on the wall and advertised the company for sale a year prior, but only one company bid for them. Unfortunately, the court ruled the bid to be insufficient. The airline was liquidated sometime after October 4, 2019. (1)
We touched down at Charles de Gaulle International Airport at around 8 am local time. Right away I was struck by a few differences between French ways and American ways. First up: this insanely vivid restroom. White and chrome in the States predominate. But this was my first glimpse into the artfulness, the whimsy, the humor----the joie de vivre--of the French people. Red, and pink and orange public bathrooms? Mais, oui!
And then there was this hand dryer. You place both hands into it, and it triggers the thing to come on. It uses both UV light and air to rapidly dry and sanitize your hands. Couldn't fade the age spots on my hands though. Oh well...
After the obligatory stop aux toilettes, it was time to get our luggage and meet up with Rhonda's partner Michel. After we found each other we proceeded to the rental car area. There was a bit of a hassle paying for the car.
They were adamant that Rhonda carry their insurance, so that is what she ended up doing. However, the car they gave us was a Ford Fiesta...hardly enough room for 2 adults, let alone THREE---plus two dogs and a fold-up bicycle that Michel had brought along for the ride. I was a bit taken aback by being given an American car. I was hoping for something European, like an Audi or a BMW.
Eh, bien.
The cost to add insurance so I could drive too was deemed prohibitive----so I never got to use my International Driver's License that I had paid $35 bucks (a bargain, actually) to obtain.
Yeah, I was miserable a lot when we were in the car...but I kept telling myself "you're in FRANCE. It doesn't matter if you were inside a biscuit can looking out. YOU'RE HERE!" That seemed to work as an attitude adjuster most of the time. I will admit though, when one of the dogs peed on the floorboard by my feet---it wasn't as effective on my attitude for a couple of days.
But we were only in Paris for 3 days. I was there to make the most of it. Michel had booked an AirB&B apartment for us in Argenteuil, a suburb in northwestern Paris. It took us a while to find it...and then it took a while to get in it. Inside the building I immediately noticed this lovely mosaic work on the floor. Of course it had a modified fleur-de-lis pattern. I mean, this is France, after all!
The apartment we had rented was accessed through a courtyard then a foyer with the identical mosaic work. Then we discovered a major obstacle to quickly getting in our apartment----
Stairs. 4 flights of them.
I counted 54 steps of them, all told. I was worried about my 66-year-old heart encountering them several times a day. I decided not to do it several times a day; no more than two. I was also worried about Rhonda's Lupus maybe flaring. It did--but not badly, according to her. At any rate, we spent our first day in Paris's environs recuperating from our flight---and five other flights, if you get my drift.
Another Franco/American difference: exterior door knobs are in the center of the door in France. We saw this pretty much throughout the entire country.
For supper, Michel got us French pizza. This is what you eat when you're worn out from an overnight flight in miserable airline seats and walking through two interminable terminals...and undergoing 5 separate hair-raising occurrences of turbulence.
But the dogs were wonderful. Tori, my seat-mate was particularly psychic-sensitive. When we went through those air pockets that alternately rocked us then dropped us, she reached up with her paw to me. That's right; she offered me her paw to hold. I did. She comforted me so much I was able to go to sleep for the last leg of our flight.
Rhonda saw passengers behind me moved by what Tori did. She said some of them even took pictures. That's right: I held hands/paws with a Border Collie for a good portion of my trans-Atlantic flight. And I liked it. In fact, I loved it.
But back to the pizza. This is the box it came in:
Translation: (up at the top of the box) "order online". Then the URL.
Large print in the center of the box: "Travel with a Unique Taste!"
This is what the pizza looked like. How it differs from American Pizza? It uses cream cheese, not Mozzarella. The other toppings are egg, onion and potato. Imagine a potato au gratin pizza...that's pretty much what it is. It was good, if different.
This is the view of the living room. That's Rhonda's baby Paige on the sofa. And that's Michel's baby (and my travel companion!) Tori laying on the chair in the foreground.
And here is my room:
And this is the view outside the kitchen window:
It looked very Renaissance--even medieval--to me. It's nice to think Dumas, Toulouse-Lautrec, and Manet or Monet may have seen some of these same rooftops. It's not likely. But it is still nice to think.
I will devote my next post entirely to my visit to Paris (proper) and of course the Louvre. To get there, we (Michel and I; Rhonda was still flaring and had to rest a little more) took the Metro. This is what it looked like while we rode to the Louvre. See you in the next post!
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