Home Alone 3: Parlez-Vous Anglais? (BSAO Day 19, France Day 1)

The first day in France was by far the most stressful. To get there, we had to take a train from Oxford to London (Paddington station), then another train from another London train station (St. Pancras) to Luton, and a bus from Luton to the airport terminal, and then fly out. Our first train was a little late, and there was afternoon traffic in London, so despite the efforts of our cabbie, we missed our train to Luton.

But after some swearing and a frantic conversation with the information line, we caught another train about 15 minutes later. For some perspective, our flight was supposed to leave at 3:25pm, and it would take us maybe 45 minutes to get to the airport from central London...and the train we caught out left around maybe 2:10. But we had no bags to  check, all of our liquids were in one big plastic baggie, and it was a small airport,  so we hoped security would be quick.

Our train gets to Luton. We run to the bus stop, and fortunately, a bus is just about to leave for the airport. On the bus, boarding passes are tucked into the photo pages of passports, the liquid bag is removed, and shoes are retied.

We sprint from the bus to the large sign telling us which gate we're at. After some searching, we find it and take off to security. There is no line! Backpacks, passports, and a giant bag of liquids are thrown into trays, shoes yanked off, and juuuuuuuust as I'm about to walk through the metal detector, I'm stopped. I forgot to empty my water bottle. The security guard suggests I throw it away. But I like that water bottle! As Rachel walks through the metal detector, I start chugging. We snatch our bags, slide on our shoes, and begin running for our gate. Well, more like shuffling, with shoes half on, and a at least half a liter of water sloshing in my stomach.

Right out of security is a sign saying where each gate is. Under the number of our gate, it says 5-15 minutes. Does this mean 5-15 minutes to walk there?! We are sprinting, bobbing and weaving through the river of people all flowing toward the gates.

Finally! Our gate! ...We think. We hope. There is a staircase labelled with two gates, and two huge lines coming out of it. Standing in line, sweaty, stressed, and still unsure of making it, we refuse to celebrate until we are certain.

Reaching the bottom of the stairs, we see a worker checking boarding passes and passports. So close. Nearly at the gate, we get stuck behind obnoxious people trying to sneak a huge bag on as a carry-on, who just happen to have no money to pay baggage fees. So, we sneak past them, show our documentation, and walk out onto the tarmac. We are dancing! We are laughing! We are high-fiving! WE ARE CHAMPIONS!

We also happened to be among the last ten people to board the plane.





Why the Home Alone title? Because we looked like the first 15 seconds or so of this:

***

Our first night in Paris was spent finding our hotel, walking along the Seine, giving Spanish tourists directions (in Spanish!), and visiting the Eiffel Tower at night.

Statue of Thomas Jefferson. See! The French don't hate America!

The Eiffel Tower has two levels your can walk up to, in addition to the top. We walked to the second level (which was EXHAUSTING), and then took the lift to the top. Despite how much my knees hated me, walking was definitely the way to go--it was way cheaper, and the line was WAY shorter.

view of the top, from the second level

When we got back to the hotel, we were exhausted, but I had trouble sleeping--I was jazzed on adrenaline from the adventures of the day. After pulling all that off, I felt invincible.