Semper America! or, I flew through Paris Charles de Gaulle and all I got was this stupid blog
There are certain elements in my circle of acquaintances who are of the opinion that I don't put things in this blog often enough. To them I say: consider quality not quantity! Here's another post about going on holiday. This time I threw caution to the winds and went to the good ol' US of A.
The timing of this trip was defined by my dear brother who chose August to get married in. I personally would have left it until one of the months in which, say, your clothes don't spontaneously combust; but he's his own man and a force to be reckoned with. I didn't complain.
So the first thing I messed up was leaving all the organisation horribly late. Our wedding block booking expired at the reception hotel and I was forced to book a room in the hotel next door. Air fares were going up on what looked like an exponential curve and Hertz just laughed at me down the phone.
I eventually managed to sell a kidney and book a round trip on Delta with an internal United flight down to Florida. Although I did wait four days from initial enquiry to final booking - a delay which cost me about $350 extra - moral: if you see a good price book it immediately! I got a Delta confirmation code. I got Delta E-ticket numbers.
I got an Air France departure.
I was a bit worried about this, given the historic hostility between France and-- well, and the rest of the world, really. I was half justified.
If you can possibly help it, try to follow this rule in life: Never, ever, and I really mean this: Never fly through Paris Charles de Gaulle airport.
It's not a good sign that when the Air France ticket agent at Stuttgart issued my boarding cards (and, thank God, a boarding card for the onward transatlantic leg from CDG) she put them in a helpful envelope entitled "Your Guide to Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport" -- which should really have been called "Your Guide to Dante's Ninth Circle of Hell". The airport is an utter disaster. Navigating between the upper set of terminals and lower set is hell. Maps around the airport are variously down with north up and south up (gotcha!) and you have to be really on your toes not to accidentally leave the airport and get on a bus to, say, La Rochelle.
After you navigate the maze of twisty passages (Heaven help anyone caught in a fire at CDG) you (may) find yourself at least in the right terminal. Now you need to go through the correct security checkpoint or - you guessed it - you'll not be able to reach your gate. Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect your visa waiver form!
Having taken the advice of a friend and not loitered on arrival, I checked through security and found my gate using a search-and-rescue quartering search of the terminal. There was a 747 at the gate, which was interesting because we were due out on an Airbus A340. Boarding time came and went, and still the 747 didn't move. A voice on the tannoy instructed us to go to gate 93 instead - a short hike down the terminal.
The - mostly American - group set off for gate 93. But due to an oversight by Air France, gate 93 was already occupied with 300 Koreans going to Seul; and had just started boarding. The ensuing melee was fantastic. There were Americans, English and French alike trying to board the wrong aircraft; Air France gate agents waving them through, then dashing down the jetway to drag them back. The tannoy burst into life again: "Would all passengers for Chicago O'Hare waiting at gate 93 please move to gate 94?".
This led to a mass exodus from gate 93 to gate 94. A second oversight by Air France then became obvious: gate 94 was for regional flights and only held about 20 people.
The crowd spilled out of the gate, back into gate 93, into the gangways, corridor and into the adjacent shops. Still no aircraft at gate 94. By this point, innocent passengers for Seul were getting confused and thought they were moving to gate 94 too, adding to the crush. Air France started frantically waving Seul passengers back into gate 93 and started getting Chicago passengers down the gate 94 jetway - which still had no aircraft. The gate agents were taking a quick look at passports and throwing visa waivers at us.
There was no aircraft at gate 94. Instead of shooting out of the jetway into space and suffering the ensuing broken legs, we were herded down the stairs at the end onto buses. After a 15 minute drive out onto some remote area of the airfield (actually I'm not sure we were still in France), the bus driver deposited us at the base of and A340 which was "going our way" and sped off, tyres a-squealin'. The condemned climbed the stairs.
When the boarding door closed, something miraculous and magical occurred. All the incompetence went away as though somehow evaporating. The air conditioning came on, the flight attendants did their choreographed safety drill and we were off. The in-flight entertainment on Air France A340's is really excellent. Okay, you can't call up the movie you want on the seat-back screen exactly when you want it (everything runs on a two-hour loop) but the movies were great, quality was very good, sound was excellent. In-flight goodies kit included an eye mask, ear plugs, mints to suck on the descent, and headphones with airline adapters you could actually keep (hah, take that, pay-for-headphones-airlines!) . The meal was great and the service was friendly and frequent. The landing at O'Hare was either done by the computer or was a 'butter-soft' pilot landing. Full points for air service, Air France! (Null points pour ground service though).
Hertz (whom I had finally managed to persuade to hire me a car -- with navigation system no less!) didn't have a car for me. The lady said I could take one without navigation (fat chance) or wait for one to come back in which had the equipment I actually booked. Since I had only gone for a bigger vehicle in order to guarantee navigation, I decided to wait. As it happened, I only had to wait 10 minutes.
I headed out north to Milwaukee on I-294, and after a few minutes my amazement at the American freeway system (overtaking is permitted in all lanes) turned to pure panic: "TOLL PLAZA AHEAD".
My money was in my wallet.
My wallet was in my rucksack.
My rucksack was in the trunk.
I then did possibly the stupidest and scariest thing I've ever done. I pulled over on the freeway.
Now, let me paint you a scene.
From an overhead helicopter shot, we see a busy freeway, the sort of scene we've all seen on American films. Three lanes of traffic with no lane discipline at all (overtaking in all lanes) are moving quite quickly. A car pulls over and stops. The driver's door opens a third of an inch, then suddenly slams shut again as a huge semi rattles past, horns blaring. There is a short pause while the driver grasps his chest and clenches his left fist a few times. Then, the passenger's door opens slowly and a man emerges. The man stares closely at the trunk, which has no method of opening it without the keys. The man edges very carefully to the driver's door and opens it a half inch. Another semi rattles past with attendant horns and various unchristian hand signals. The driver - now sweating visibly - presses himself against the contour of the vehicle and breathes in. He extends his arm inside the vehicle and the trunk pops open as his hand finds the release lever. He edges back around to the rear of the vehicle, fumbles inside a rucksack for a few moments, pockets his wallet and enters the vehicle again - via the passenger door. The vehicle revs up, builds speed down the hard shoulder and then merges into traffic by the simple expedient of waiting for a two-foot gap, then putting the nose of the vehicle into it. There is some more horn activity as our hero stabilises the vehicle into what could loosely be called "a straight line" and makes his way through the toll booth.
The wedding, after some confusion with the formalwear provider about the colour of the ties and pocket squares, at least went smoothly, and was Very Nice. I flew with United (actually their regional carrier "Ted") down to Orlando, to spend a couple of days actually on vacation and not racing about the place to rehearsals, shopping etc. The weather was 85 and humid. I reacted in the way of all Englishmen since time immemorial - by getting badly sunburned. I'd like to take a moment to thank my hosts for what were a really great couple of days! Thanks guys!
Coming back was an 18-hour feat of endurance, including a four-hour stopover at Atlanta (which seems to be completely owned by Delta). Delta ground service is what Air France should aspire to - well organised, informative, fast and friendly.
Unfortunately, the air service didn't match. The aging 767-200ER must have been one of the first production versions. Entertainment was a communal TV. Meal choice was "meal" or "no meal", flight attendants were disengaged, although service was frequent.
About three-quarters the way through the flight, the video turned itself off, as did the radio channels (all of which - bar one - were in mono), just as I was finally dropping off to sleep. Then the reading lights all cut out, instead electing to flicker randomly as though something was arcing across the electrical bus. This worried me, so I told a flight attendant who told the purser who told the captain who (I guess) pulled a bunch of breakers until it stopped. Then the video and audio started up again from the beginning of the segment and we had to watch "Top Ten: Greece" again - all 55 minutes of it. Honestly, who does the programming on these flights? Rubbish.
Landing at Stuttgart was not a greaser - there was some float down the runway as the speed came off, finally the speed breaks deployed and the sudden loss of lift caused us to hit the deck roughly.
Well, they say any landing you walk away from is a good one!
There are certain elements in my circle of acquaintances who are of the opinion that I don't put things in this blog often enough. To them I say: consider quality not quantity! Here's another post about going on holiday. This time I threw caution to the winds and went to the good ol' US of A.
~
The timing of this trip was defined by my dear brother who chose August to get married in. I personally would have left it until one of the months in which, say, your clothes don't spontaneously combust; but he's his own man and a force to be reckoned with. I didn't complain.
So the first thing I messed up was leaving all the organisation horribly late. Our wedding block booking expired at the reception hotel and I was forced to book a room in the hotel next door. Air fares were going up on what looked like an exponential curve and Hertz just laughed at me down the phone.
I eventually managed to sell a kidney and book a round trip on Delta with an internal United flight down to Florida. Although I did wait four days from initial enquiry to final booking - a delay which cost me about $350 extra - moral: if you see a good price book it immediately! I got a Delta confirmation code. I got Delta E-ticket numbers.
I got an Air France departure.
I was a bit worried about this, given the historic hostility between France and-- well, and the rest of the world, really. I was half justified.
If you can possibly help it, try to follow this rule in life: Never, ever, and I really mean this: Never fly through Paris Charles de Gaulle airport.
It's not a good sign that when the Air France ticket agent at Stuttgart issued my boarding cards (and, thank God, a boarding card for the onward transatlantic leg from CDG) she put them in a helpful envelope entitled "Your Guide to Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport" -- which should really have been called "Your Guide to Dante's Ninth Circle of Hell". The airport is an utter disaster. Navigating between the upper set of terminals and lower set is hell. Maps around the airport are variously down with north up and south up (gotcha!) and you have to be really on your toes not to accidentally leave the airport and get on a bus to, say, La Rochelle.
After you navigate the maze of twisty passages (Heaven help anyone caught in a fire at CDG) you (may) find yourself at least in the right terminal. Now you need to go through the correct security checkpoint or - you guessed it - you'll not be able to reach your gate. Go directly to jail, do not pass Go, do not collect your visa waiver form!
Having taken the advice of a friend and not loitered on arrival, I checked through security and found my gate using a search-and-rescue quartering search of the terminal. There was a 747 at the gate, which was interesting because we were due out on an Airbus A340. Boarding time came and went, and still the 747 didn't move. A voice on the tannoy instructed us to go to gate 93 instead - a short hike down the terminal.
The - mostly American - group set off for gate 93. But due to an oversight by Air France, gate 93 was already occupied with 300 Koreans going to Seul; and had just started boarding. The ensuing melee was fantastic. There were Americans, English and French alike trying to board the wrong aircraft; Air France gate agents waving them through, then dashing down the jetway to drag them back. The tannoy burst into life again: "Would all passengers for Chicago O'Hare waiting at gate 93 please move to gate 94?".
This led to a mass exodus from gate 93 to gate 94. A second oversight by Air France then became obvious: gate 94 was for regional flights and only held about 20 people.
The crowd spilled out of the gate, back into gate 93, into the gangways, corridor and into the adjacent shops. Still no aircraft at gate 94. By this point, innocent passengers for Seul were getting confused and thought they were moving to gate 94 too, adding to the crush. Air France started frantically waving Seul passengers back into gate 93 and started getting Chicago passengers down the gate 94 jetway - which still had no aircraft. The gate agents were taking a quick look at passports and throwing visa waivers at us.
There was no aircraft at gate 94. Instead of shooting out of the jetway into space and suffering the ensuing broken legs, we were herded down the stairs at the end onto buses. After a 15 minute drive out onto some remote area of the airfield (actually I'm not sure we were still in France), the bus driver deposited us at the base of and A340 which was "going our way" and sped off, tyres a-squealin'. The condemned climbed the stairs.
When the boarding door closed, something miraculous and magical occurred. All the incompetence went away as though somehow evaporating. The air conditioning came on, the flight attendants did their choreographed safety drill and we were off. The in-flight entertainment on Air France A340's is really excellent. Okay, you can't call up the movie you want on the seat-back screen exactly when you want it (everything runs on a two-hour loop) but the movies were great, quality was very good, sound was excellent. In-flight goodies kit included an eye mask, ear plugs, mints to suck on the descent, and headphones with airline adapters you could actually keep (hah, take that, pay-for-headphones-airlines!) . The meal was great and the service was friendly and frequent. The landing at O'Hare was either done by the computer or was a 'butter-soft' pilot landing. Full points for air service, Air France! (Null points pour ground service though).
~
Hertz (whom I had finally managed to persuade to hire me a car -- with navigation system no less!) didn't have a car for me. The lady said I could take one without navigation (fat chance) or wait for one to come back in which had the equipment I actually booked. Since I had only gone for a bigger vehicle in order to guarantee navigation, I decided to wait. As it happened, I only had to wait 10 minutes.
I headed out north to Milwaukee on I-294, and after a few minutes my amazement at the American freeway system (overtaking is permitted in all lanes) turned to pure panic: "TOLL PLAZA AHEAD".
My money was in my wallet.
My wallet was in my rucksack.
My rucksack was in the trunk.
I then did possibly the stupidest and scariest thing I've ever done. I pulled over on the freeway.
Now, let me paint you a scene.
From an overhead helicopter shot, we see a busy freeway, the sort of scene we've all seen on American films. Three lanes of traffic with no lane discipline at all (overtaking in all lanes) are moving quite quickly. A car pulls over and stops. The driver's door opens a third of an inch, then suddenly slams shut again as a huge semi rattles past, horns blaring. There is a short pause while the driver grasps his chest and clenches his left fist a few times. Then, the passenger's door opens slowly and a man emerges. The man stares closely at the trunk, which has no method of opening it without the keys. The man edges very carefully to the driver's door and opens it a half inch. Another semi rattles past with attendant horns and various unchristian hand signals. The driver - now sweating visibly - presses himself against the contour of the vehicle and breathes in. He extends his arm inside the vehicle and the trunk pops open as his hand finds the release lever. He edges back around to the rear of the vehicle, fumbles inside a rucksack for a few moments, pockets his wallet and enters the vehicle again - via the passenger door. The vehicle revs up, builds speed down the hard shoulder and then merges into traffic by the simple expedient of waiting for a two-foot gap, then putting the nose of the vehicle into it. There is some more horn activity as our hero stabilises the vehicle into what could loosely be called "a straight line" and makes his way through the toll booth.
~
The wedding, after some confusion with the formalwear provider about the colour of the ties and pocket squares, at least went smoothly, and was Very Nice. I flew with United (actually their regional carrier "Ted") down to Orlando, to spend a couple of days actually on vacation and not racing about the place to rehearsals, shopping etc. The weather was 85 and humid. I reacted in the way of all Englishmen since time immemorial - by getting badly sunburned. I'd like to take a moment to thank my hosts for what were a really great couple of days! Thanks guys!
~
Coming back was an 18-hour feat of endurance, including a four-hour stopover at Atlanta (which seems to be completely owned by Delta). Delta ground service is what Air France should aspire to - well organised, informative, fast and friendly.
Unfortunately, the air service didn't match. The aging 767-200ER must have been one of the first production versions. Entertainment was a communal TV. Meal choice was "meal" or "no meal", flight attendants were disengaged, although service was frequent.
About three-quarters the way through the flight, the video turned itself off, as did the radio channels (all of which - bar one - were in mono), just as I was finally dropping off to sleep. Then the reading lights all cut out, instead electing to flicker randomly as though something was arcing across the electrical bus. This worried me, so I told a flight attendant who told the purser who told the captain who (I guess) pulled a bunch of breakers until it stopped. Then the video and audio started up again from the beginning of the segment and we had to watch "Top Ten: Greece" again - all 55 minutes of it. Honestly, who does the programming on these flights? Rubbish.
Landing at Stuttgart was not a greaser - there was some float down the runway as the speed came off, finally the speed breaks deployed and the sudden loss of lift caused us to hit the deck roughly.
Well, they say any landing you walk away from is a good one!
