Fly Me To The Moon (or Marseille) Please!!

I was on my way to the first romantic vacation of my life (and to Paris).   How is that possible at this age?  Suffice it to say that the men in my past were intellectual men with low libidos.

The man I was flying across the ocean for has both ample intellect and libido.  And, has no need for supplementation.  I can barely keep up with him.   I think I may have to start spinning classes at my gym.

Continuing… I arrived at the CDG airport in Paris on a Thursday at 8:50 am.  This was not good as my connecting flight was boarding at 9:05 am and I had to get off the plane and go to another terminal ten minutes away through two security checks.  I was running and walking as fast as I could.

I was watching a fellow passenger sprint by me carrying a shoulder bag and thinking, “Damn, I could be running faster than him if I didn’t  overpack.”  After asking four people for directions to Terminal F Gate 31, I finally arrived at a totally empty Gate 31.  I was directed to my first long customer service? line.

When I booked my flight, I realized the connecting flight was a little tight, but there seemed to be a flight every other hour to Marseille, my final flight destination.  My friend, Gene, was to meet me in Marseille and drive me to his villa in Seguret (where I would spend the next 18 days as my base for travel in the Provence area of France).

I had picked out my outfit two weeks earlier.  Just like Carey Bradshaw in “Sex In The City.”  I had this fabulous black and white wide brimmed hat and my white pencil skirt, with a black sleeveless top, and black sandals with little rhinestones on the top.  I was going to look tres chic, be totally irresistible.  He would be thinking, “Im the luckiest man in France,” once he took one look at me.

Well…that fantasy instantly disappeared.

What I hadn’t realized was all of France was on a religious holiday,  Ascension Thursday .   We also celebrate Ascension Thursday in the United States, but being the melting pot that we are, it doesn’t affect the mobility of the country.  There is no exodus out of the city.  I was told that the French will look for any excuse not to work. (Actually I was thinking that sounds really good.  I’m all for vacations!)

After waiting a half-hour in line, while hopes of being booked on the next flight were fading, I was greeted by the customer service rep who informed me that the next available flight was 9:45 pm.  All other flights were booked.  I said,  ‘’This cannot be. I have someone picking me up in Marseille.  There must be a flight before that.”

It only took six hours to fly from Boston.  Now it is going to take me another 12 hours to get to Marseille?  I was totally exasperated!!!  I said that it was not my fault. That the Air France flight from Boston left one hour late at 8:45 pm.  What was Air France going to do to compensate?  She said I would have to take that up with Air France when I returned home.  I think that’s what she said?  And then she gave me a $10. coupon for a complimentary non-alcoholic beverage and sandwich.  Although needing a very strong drink at the moment, I appreciated the gesture.

Luckily Gene had given me his friend’s cell number so I could update him via text.   Gene was walking out his door to get me when he heard his phone ringing.  It was the bad news that I had missed my connecting flight.

The second piece of bad news was that I could not fly stand-by on the next flight.  They were already overbooked by five people.

Good news was there is a train at the airport that I could take to Avignon and Gene could pick me up there.  Bad news was I just missed the 11 o’clock train.  I needed my baggage.

I decided to take the 2 o’clock train once I found out my standby situation was not going to materialize.  I went down to baggage claim where I was told that I would never be able to make the 2 o’clock as it may take one hour to get my baggage.  I got my luggage in 45 minutes.  I missed the train.

So…I had to wait until 5 o’clock for the next train which was another three hours from Avignon.

Twelve hours after landing I got to see my love.  It had to be the most frustrating day of my life.  I could have flown to Boston and back to France in twelve hours.

But that’s okay, I knew it was going to be like a scene from the greatest love story of all times.  You know, the slow mo effect where we would be running toward each other, arms outstretched entranced in each other’s loving gaze.

I spotted him first.  He was looking in the other direction while I was hollering “Gene!, Gene!, GEEEENE!!!  That’s one healthy dose of reality in one day!    My fantasies all melting away.

The hug was worth the wait.  I have to say that, right?  Seriously, it was.  And to this day I keep telling myself that everything worth having takes twelve hours (I mean time).