Home Again

I got back from my travels last night.

I was in motion for 24 hours.

Although what with the time change it looked like I had just traveled 11 hours.

But no.

When I got in to my studio last night the clock said it was 6 a.m. Paris time and I had been up since 5:30 a.m. the previous morning.

It was a long day.

I am very, very, very grateful that I woke up before my alarm went off, it was too hot to sleep and I kept waking up and having difficulty falling back asleep, so when I woke up at 5 a.m. I never got fully back into sleep, just lay in bed sweating lightly and wondering if I should just get up and get going.

When the light began to grow bright enough I gave up the ghost, got up and started my getting ready to leave.

I gave myself time to have a light breakfast, which thank God I did, because there was no time at the airport to get food, I was super lucky to be able to snag a bottle of water for the flight, let alone have had anytime to forage for food.

I had done most of my packing the day before, even went a bought a cheap suitcase to haul back my goodies from my trip.

Notebooks, a stuffed hippo for one of my charges, a model car for another charge, stickers and rainbow unicorn rub on tattoos and a pretty notebook for the little girl.

Other gifts for folks.

And then the things that I had gotten for myself: a purse, a market basket from Aix-en-Provence, an art book from the Zao Wou-ki show I went to at the Musee Moderne, lots of notebooks, five or six I think, magnets from the Klimt show and one from Marseilles, some notecards, three dresses (three! I was so thrilled to have found a shop, with the help of my friend, that carried my size and had lovely clothes), a sweater coat, and a blouse.

I can’t believe I found such lovely clothes, it’s very rare for me to find clothing when I have gone to Paris before.

Partially because I just didn’t know really where to look, having a friend who lives in Paris show you the spots is a huge perk.

I also got a vintage candle holder/lantern from a shop on Ile St. Louis and some prints from the Klimt show.

I couldn’t have squeezed all of that into my little carry-on.

My carry on, which as it would turn out, was not so little anyway.

It got flagged at the airport.

I was not happy.

This was the first time that it’s been flagged.

I didn’t even get it through security.

A couple of times I have had to check it at the gate but never before did I have it flagged before even going through security.

I was not happy.

I was on the same airline I took to get to France, so I knew it would fit, in fact, it had slightly fewer items in it since I had bag checked the other suitcase and figured I would fill that one heavier and keep my carry on fairly light.

But nope.

It got flagged.

Ugh.

I had already had a bit of a rough start to my Charles de Gaulle experience.

I got to the airport with plenty of time, I splurged and took a cab.

Again, thank God, if I had done the train I would have likely missed my flight considering the amount of time it took to get to the gate.

When I arrived I did a check in on a kiosk, printed off my boarding pass and got a sticker for the checked bag.

Then I stood in line with my checked bag to get it to a counter to get loaded onto the plane.

I was in line about thirty minutes.

About twenty minutes into being online a little voice in my head said, “hey, did you get your card from the kiosk?”

I couldn’t remember.

I took a deep breath, got out my wallet, opened it up and looked.

No debit card.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

Oh fuck.

I had left it in the machine!

I flushed very hot then almost started to cry.

I took another deep breath.

What should I do?

Odds are it’s gone.

Somebody was right behind me to use the machine.

Either they took it and went wild at the Duty Free shop.

Or maybe they turned it in to lost and found.

I started to think about how to ask the next Air France agent I saw about where the lost and found was in French.

I resolved to stay in line and check my bag and then go look.

It was a long ten minutes.

I got my bag on the belt and dashed back to the machine.

Of course.

The card was gone.

I looked around, there was a desk next to the kiosk, but nothing on it.

I turned to go back to the line that had to Air France agents working it.

I should mention that there were three different areas to queue up to, each area having two agents, then agents roaming between and agents at the desk.

I don’t know how I decided to ask the woman I asked, but I made a snap decision and walked towards her.

I approached and asked if I could speak English with her, I really wasn’t sure I could get across in French what had happened, although I had been practicing it for the last ten minutes.

She said of course.

I told her what I did, I pointed to the machine, I was about to ask if there was a lost and found and she said, “you’re Carmen?”

I nodded, yes, yes, yes, as she pulled my debit card out of the front breast pocket of her jacket.

I nearly wept for joy and thanked her profusely.

What are the odds that the person I asked would have my card in her pocket?

I don’t know, but it felt like winning the lottery.

I was so happy about it that when I was told my carry on would cost me 80 Euro to process I didn’t give a fuck.

Who cares?

I had found my card.

And though the whole process set me back over an hour and a half of going to and fro, it was all worth while.

I made my plane with minutes to spare, enough to be able to dash to the nearest counter and buy a bottle of water and then get myself settled in for a very long flight.

There were a few other adventures.

Like the plane having to sit on the tamarack for another hour because a person had to be de-planed, which led to me literally sprinting through the Atlanta airport to make my connecting flight, but I did then too.

So even though it was a long trip getting back.

Get back I did.

And I am very grateful to be home, unpacked, all my laundry washed and put away and almost ready to get back to my regular routine.

Almost.

I have one more delicious day off.

Ah.

Summer vacation.

You did me good.

Travel Time

ARGH.

Double argh.

My flight has been delayed.

Thank goodness it wasn’t cancelled, which when I was first checking in it did sound like it was, weather somewhere messing things up.

Not here.

Here, it’s clear as a bell, I can tell you, I don’t have to be up in the weather tower to tell you, I can just look out the window to the jet way.

The barren jetway where there is no plane, no plane at all.

I was to catch a red-eye leaving SFO, San Francisco International Airport, at 11:56 a.m.  Which I was early for my check in anyhow, it happens that my commute time from train to BART was far faster than I suspected it would be and the terminal airport was empty.

No security line.

No standing in line.

An apologetic clerk at the front was the only indication to me that something was off.  However, I was happy to be here, happy to be on my way, happy to be moving.

That is until I overheard someone in the terminal complain about the flight delay.

What flight delay?

Oh.

That one.

The one that I am on.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.

Really?

Grr.

Thank goodness there’s a Pete’s Coffee and Tea in the terminal.

I got myself an apple and a cup of tea and flipped through my magazine for a while.  I have plenty of time to blog, and fortunately there is free wifi here and plenty of outlets.

I have also three movies on down load in my computer, so I have plenty to do and I will be quite fine.

I splurged and bought an airplane travel pillow along with a bottle of water and the magazine from the kiosk in the terminal.

This is not the worst travel delay I have ever experienced, really, it’s just more of a hassle than anything else, one and a half hours less of sleep for me.

Hopefully my connecting flight will be on time.

The clerk did say that I should be able to make my flight, that in effect, I would just be spending the time that I would have in Atlanta in a waiting area, here in a waiting area.

All time is not my time.

I can choose, however, to make the best of it.

How often do I sit still anyhow?

Not very.

I will be tired I am sure, but in the end, it’s probably all for the best.

I have a hard time sleeping on airplanes.

I get super excited and it’s hard for me to get calm down enough to fly.

I did follow my friend’s advice about getting up earlier than I would have normally.  I woke up nearly an hour and a half before my alarm was to go off.  Thereby getting to my laundry, shower, breakfast, and writing routine with loads of time to spare before I needed to make my way to 7th and Irving for my tete a tete at Tart to Tart.

I spent the majority of my day in the 7th and Irving neighborhood, having coffee and a long discourse at the Tart to Tart then hopping across the street for lunch and more talking with another at Crepevine.

Then a  little “spa” time for me and a manicure, pedicure, and eyebrow waxing at the nail salon.

Today has been an excuse to read magazines like a pro.

And sit on my butt.

And soon to watch a lot of movies.

I have my set of head phones with me, my nice fat Skull Candy ones with the big ear phones that block out all noise and sit comfortably on my head.

The ones I wore on my flight previously to Florida the last time I saw my mom, just before flying out to Paris.

It felt like going in reverse at one point today.

The last time I flew out from SFO it was to Paris.

Time feels all synchronous and deja vu’y.

I just paid off my Paris return flight ticket yesterday and this feels like some weird loop-hole of time that I fell into.

I almost felt as nervous preparing for this flight as I did for the one to Paris.

A friend called me before I headed off into the night to the airport and we chatted about family and sibling relationships and I realized, just like I did when I travelled to Paris, that all I had to do was the next action in front of me.

Once I was off the phone I simply finished packing my suitcase and calmly ate my dinner.  I did feel anxious to get moving, anxiety that I can obviously see now I had no need for, but it was not overwhelming and I knew that I was on the way with nothing forgotten.

In fact, I feel like a real adult traveller, with my nice suitcase that I haven’t used since returning from Paris and my new airplane pillow, with the magazine and the charger on my phone, having a laptop, my Iphone, a bottle of water, and the wherewithal to take care of myself.

I have grown up by traveling.

I have also learned that I don’t have to travel in a skimpy manner.

I packed my suitcase rather than just an overnight bag.

I brought a couple of extra pieces of clothing I probably won’t use, but might and as such are nice to have with me, a couple of pairs of shoes, and just having the spare room to not squash everything into my messenger bag is really nice.

I realize that traveling is a part of who I am.

I am a traveller.

I do it pretty well.

Even when my flight is delayed.

I have things to occupy my time and I have the disposition that makes me a calm traveller. I am not really all that irked that my flight is delayed.

It’s an extra hour and a half in a terminal in an airport that I am happy to say is my home base, the place I have flown most to and from in my life.

It feels fortuitous even, lucky, somehow to be doing this travel.

I may change my mind about that if I miss my connecting flight, but for the moment.

All is well in the world.

Just a tiny bit delayed.