Paris/Charles De Gaulle
Are you a real traveler unless you spent the night at a station or a port?
There is no correct answer to the previous question. This is because travel can be interpreted so many ways. For some travel is all about the mind numbing feel good of an all inclusive resort. For others travel is all about connecting with strangers. For others travel has become nothing more than a bench mark on a successful social media campaign.
If I am to answer my own question, then I would reply in the affirmative.
Our day in rainy London, had come to a close and we were no bound to the airport. A nice cab ride and me and Tyler were to check in to a short flight to the french city of Paris.
Now don’t get to excited friend, because our experience in the french city would be strictly confined to Charles De Gaulle Airport.
I am a real traveler because I spent the night in the airport. Sleeping where you can, hiding from security, or being at the mercy of strangers is no fun.
It was near midnight when we arrived at Charles De Gaulle. The budget Spanish airline that we left was uncomfortable and leg room was to be desired. Especially if the traveler in front of you decided to recline their chair.
Tyler and I were happy to be able to stretch our legs, again.
Charles De Gaulle airport is huge. Has three towering terminals which are connected by train. Unfortunately the trains were down, so buses were the only option, which didn’t start till early the next morning.
Thus we had to make a decision. Do we try venture out to the city of Paris, or do we just try find a quiet corner and close our eyes for a bit.
The taxis were not available. The other great thing is it was the capital of France, and my french skills are nonexistent. Attitudes changed when we spoke.
This was not aided by the fact that I was about to witness one of my travel companion’s mental outbursts.
“FUCK THE FRENCH!”
Tyler yelled after we were told to leave the shadowy corridor of the airport hotel.
The icing on top was when he spit on the automatic glass doors.
One of the most nerve racking thing about travel is being so far from home. So far from the things you are accustom to. There is a sense of security and control when at home. Those feelings are stripped away, and you are vulnerable. A stranger in a strange land.
Which is why, it is so exhilarating to do, but chilling at the same time.
Could I face foreign prison time, because my friend is having a near mental breakdown? Would he face prison time, if we couldn’t get him calm? These are questions that ran through my mind as we walked through the terminals trying to find a quiet place to rest.
Other people were starting to get the same idea as us.
“Do you want first watch?” I asked as we found an open spot next to some vending machines.
“I am so worked up, I can’t sleep right now.” Tyler replied.
“Are you going to be alright?” I asked, near gritting my teeth in response to his recent transgressions of keeping the hated american tourist stereotype alive.
“I’ll be fine.”
“Ok, we switch at 2 am.” I wrapped a black bandana over my eyes and stuffed earplugs deep into my auditory canal.
I actually got sleep. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to fend off the travel exhaustion.
My sleep was interrupted by Tyler. It wasn’t the full two hour watch time, but close. He was riffling through his bag, getting angry and yelling “Fuck this shit!”
Here we go again!
We were at the wrong terminal. We were at terminal one and had to be a terminal three. We quickly packed our rucksacks and backpacks and headed towards where we thought we should be. Neither of us had a clue, and it wasn’t sure who was more capable of leading.
The trains were under renovation, and the bus station seemed like a way to get where we wanted, or go to the most romantic city.
We got on a bus, Tyler in his best pissed off American, asked the bus driver where this bus was going. My friend’s speech was littered with profanities and idle threats.
I cringed hard witnessing it.
We exited the bus and walked back and forth for an hour.
Till finally the bus came back. With the same driver and everything.
It was awkward but we finally made it to the correct terminal.
Just a couple more hours to kill before we could check in to the airline.
Then it would be a layover in Frankfurt, then to Amsterdam.
It would suck for just a little longer.
We just had to make it.
We were hungry and extremely irritable. Tyler wanted McDonalds, which would become a reoccurring theme throughout the trip. Everything was closed though. The perks of sleeping in an airport.
This angered Tyler even more.
We were finally able to check in to the airline, because slowly but surely the skeletal graveyard shift’s ranks were being bolstered by the oncoming first shift.
The sun wasn’t up yet, and it was still raining outside. Airports are expensive places. This is because they have their customer’s trapped like rats.
We were the first scheduled flight. The airport bakeries were just starting to come alive. I wanted to save my money, Tyler got an orange juice and a bagel. It would be his last meal until the nice strudel from Lufthansa airlines when we finally found our seats.
That’s all for now thanks!
bye
