Supermère
So, like I said, the few hour hold on the airports turned into a several day standstill, with no planes flying in or out of any airport in the country. Naturally, I decided to look for ground travel.
After my failed attempt to reserve a train online, I decided to take a trip--30 minutes across the city--to the train station that harbored choo-choos to Spain. Lugging my 2-week vacation bags behind me, panicked and pissed, I zigged and zagged my way through the station to the departures section where I could talk to a real, live person. And what did that little French man say to me?
"Sorry, we're on strike."
.......WHAT????????
In real life I have to say I was surprisingly polite. I never yelled, cursed, or made personal, verbal, attacks. In my head, however, I was screaming a multitude of four-letter words at the entire French population. "Do you know that there's a continent-wide crisis going on right now?" "Are you aware that no one is capable of flying at this moment--a time when about a third of the French population is on vacation??" "Are you OUT of your %$&@ selfish, arrogent little MINDS??"
At least I found out why my online attempt at a reservation failed.
That night I returned home, just like all of my grounded friends, to scour the internet for any more travel possibilities. I looked up (and even reserved and paid for) a bus ticket before moving on to the option of personal drivers. After examining a map and doing some simple googling, I discovered that the drive from Paris to Barcelona was but an 8 hour drive. "I've driven farther than that in a day! That's not that bad at all!" My host mother, who knew how bummed I was, came in to check on me. When I told her of my taxi idea she laughed. I told her that it really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but she just smiled and walked out of the room.
10 minutes later she comes in the room and proclames: I'll drive you!
And that's how my host mom became super-host mom.
After my failed attempt to reserve a train online, I decided to take a trip--30 minutes across the city--to the train station that harbored choo-choos to Spain. Lugging my 2-week vacation bags behind me, panicked and pissed, I zigged and zagged my way through the station to the departures section where I could talk to a real, live person. And what did that little French man say to me?
"Sorry, we're on strike."
.......WHAT????????
In real life I have to say I was surprisingly polite. I never yelled, cursed, or made personal, verbal, attacks. In my head, however, I was screaming a multitude of four-letter words at the entire French population. "Do you know that there's a continent-wide crisis going on right now?" "Are you aware that no one is capable of flying at this moment--a time when about a third of the French population is on vacation??" "Are you OUT of your %$&@ selfish, arrogent little MINDS??"
At least I found out why my online attempt at a reservation failed.
That night I returned home, just like all of my grounded friends, to scour the internet for any more travel possibilities. I looked up (and even reserved and paid for) a bus ticket before moving on to the option of personal drivers. After examining a map and doing some simple googling, I discovered that the drive from Paris to Barcelona was but an 8 hour drive. "I've driven farther than that in a day! That's not that bad at all!" My host mother, who knew how bummed I was, came in to check on me. When I told her of my taxi idea she laughed. I told her that it really wasn't as bad as I thought it would be, but she just smiled and walked out of the room.
10 minutes later she comes in the room and proclames: I'll drive you!
And that's how my host mom became super-host mom.
Supermère, indeed! This is a great story. To be continued, I hope.
ReplyDeleteWe will always be greatful to your French Super-Mom....above and beyond the call of duty.
ReplyDelete