Or the mini Odyssey, with Baba Yaga and Ulysses.
As the Viking cruise ads claim, spend more time being there and less time getting there. Our experience was pretty much the reverse. If it could go wrong, it did.
We figured that Sunday would be a good day to travel, and it was until we arrived in the business lounge. It was pretty packed, with lots of papooses. One was only 8 weeks old. Why business class in Toronto is so popular remains a mystery. It is not particularly comfortable, and many singles take up places for two. The food is better than it used to be but they keep running out of wine glasses. Not our fault, but we helped.
Paris Charles de Gaulle is one crazy big airport. It is not as large as Mississauga but is bigger than Port Credit. How the ground crew and pilots navigate is more than I can imagine. Somehow, we arrived at the right gate. Then the fun began.
The flight was delayed by thirty minutes. Yellow card. As usual, we watched the flight tracker.Therés Kerry’s house in Newfoundland!
Dinner was ok. Ulysses slept some and Baba snored but denied dozing.
Just like Senekot. Don’t take one if you don’t have to. This was the first time we both requested wheelchair assistance, and our cohort is getting larger every year. Whether they need it or not. I am blessed with a nasty callus under a toe, and walking is very painful sometimes. Think Princess and the Pea.
Navettes
Back to navettes. These are liitle busses seating 12 or so, and they navigate the suburbs of the airport. Toronto has golf carts, Paris has a huge fleet of little busses.
The airport employs oodles of assistance personnel, many of whom who spend a lot of time on their phones. For whch they get paid.
We navetted our way all around CDG (Charles de Gaulle), off and on, until we finally arrived near our gate. The flight to Marseille was long gone and we were almost catatonic. Look it up.
Never give up
There was another flight later and – miracle of mirscles- apparently our luggage was on board. (Yes,it was). How they did that will remain a mystery.
Paris to Marseille is about 90 minutes, through which I slept and Baba had a glass of bubbles.
I have to prepare dinner now, so will try to wrap up this epic later. It only gets better for Baba and Ulysses.
Or worse.
Car supplier
I thought we were dealing with Eurodrive, as usual. So when I called and texted Corrine there, they had no record of our vehicle. That’s when I finally checked our voucher and learned, stupid me, that the company and our car were three kilometres away.
Could have cried. Very embarrassing.
So there we were in the arrivals lounge, like little lost sheep with two big suitcases plus carryons.
Then, a miracle. A Viking Cruise tour guide sensed our dilemma and offered to call the agency on our behalf. She stuck around until the driver showed up and we finally were transported to our white Peugeot 2008 (model, not year). We owe Viking a big thank-you, which I will do.
We were only a couple of hours late by then, but totally whacked.
Thank heavens there was a parking spot by the church. The luggage appeared to have gained weight in transit. I could barely lug mine down the 11 steps to our door. Just let Judés slide down on its own. No damage done.
That night, Judy remarked that she didn’t look on the verge of eighty. More like one hundred. Plus she had hair like the late Anne Burrel.
That was Monday. We didn’t start to unpack until Wednesday.
You may have noticed that these journeys are getting harder. Time to think about changing gears and going back to cruising, with end-to-end transportation included.
And if ever we are in Charles de Gaulle airport again, it will be a bad dream.
But we have had twelve good years here in Tresques, two more than we expected. Also, we are twelve years older than when we started. Oi.
Signing off,
Baba Yaga and Ulysses
