We wake up to a filthy day. It is cold wet and miserable, like Argentina is telling us “thanks for coming, but it is time you left”.
When we had showered and done the last of the packing there was still two hours before the taxi was due. We needed to be on the ball, as I had some doubts that the taxista would find our apartment. Most of the phone conversation had gone well except when I gave them my address, it went something like this: “¿su direcion?” “Salguero siete nuebe nuebe” “¿y su piso?” “dos” “¿y departamiento?” “B” “¿diez?” “no B” “¿ diez?” “no B bravo, bien ” unfortunately she took the last “bien” not as a phonetic, but as confirmation she was right. I could only hope the taxista would realise that there were only four apartments on each floor and try them all.
So with plenty of time left we walked around to my now favourite cafe for some coffee and Lemon Pie. They know me now, but will not show it. You see every time Viv has come in here she has different hair and I have been in with Sally, today Viv has no hair just a hat. So I am treated with respect, but if they show that they know me, it may confirm I had been here with another woman.
I left a note by the buzzers “Remis, Finch 2ºB. No diez” It did the trick and our man arrive with “que dia” and that was it goodbye Salguero. The traffic to the airport was awful, fortunately our driver knew some rat runs and saved us some time, we arrived with time to spare.
The check in with Air France was as usual faultless. Though with the usual Argentine nonsense we had to pay our airport tax of ar$135.36 this is of course impossible, the minimum coinage being five centivos. The plane was as uncomfortable as an Indian train, but at least we had our cinema screens. I wonder if I should restart my career as a film critic, I think I saw five films this time. I never slept a wink.
Paris de Gaul airport is huge and a nightmare. We always have some trouble. Our arrival and departures are supposed to be in the same buildings, and I know when time has been short we have been escorted through with no trouble, but when you follow the signs, they direct you to the bus. Terminal 2E has two entrances, the bus stopped at the first one this being the wrong one, of course, but failed to stop at the next. I tried to explain, but of course, I speak no French. I wrote the number down and as we were the only ones on the bus, we had a nice detour around the airport.
Our next flight was delayed by over an hour. I fell asleep on the plane only to be rudely awakened when it accelerated down the runway.
We never did manage to go out Sunday night. Our daughter visited and did not leave until eight, then by the time we had ordered and eaten our Indian take away it was too late. So I had an early night, the best nights sleep I have had in a very long time.
Right now there is a chill running down my spine. I always tell myself that statistically flying is the safest form of travel. Right now statistics mean nothing to the families of the 228 people missing on the Air France flight from Brasil.