Storm of the Century

The Last Time I Saw Paris in person was...well, let's just say it was long, long ago in a galaxy where the Jedi had only recently returned...and it was the month of May. So the touch down at Charles De Gaulle airport this May was something of an anniversary. I couldn't decide if the sprinkling of raindrops that descended as the plane taxied to the gate symbolized tears of joy and expectation, or represented an infelicitous omen. But my expectations were high, in spite of the fact that we were arriving many hours later than I had planned. I knew that we would really have to hurry to get through French customs, get to our hotel in Versailles, and get back to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower at night. The latter was intended as a special gift for my wife; I knew that she wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. I think that it was the only landmark she associated with Paris, or with France. I hoped to show her many more wonderful things than that great and glorious iron pylon...but I could at least get her to it the first night.

Tubes (speaking of which, I think it was in Paris that I heard the only song I know by that group). We seemed to move from one tube to another. It felt like someone was making sausage...and we were the ingredients. Being near the front of the plane, we were able to exit that flying cylinder rather quickly. From there we went through the tube that connected the plane to the terminal. A narrow hall and the press of the passengers behind extruded us to a stairway and to more tubes. One tube seemed to take us up and across the center of the immense circle that is the airport. 

As it turned out, we didn't go through customs...having already done that in Germany...we tried, but were unsuccessful. I saw the customs sign, I asked a uniformed guy about it; he directed us into the customs room...which was completely empty. We looked around for a couple minutes. No one came in. We decided that we weren't supposed to be there, and began to leave. As we were about to do so, a tall, cheerful woman came in and told us we didn't need to go through customs...and she seemed amused that we thought we needed to. I think the guy who had directed us into the room had told her about his little joke, and she had come to rescue us from my paranoid delusion. It wouldn't be the last time that I provided amusement for the natives...it's a gift, really.

I had two things on my mind: purchasing the Paris Museum Pass (good at many places, including some outside of Paris), and finding the metro to take us to Versailles. A girl at an information booth sold us the passes and directed us to the shuttle that would take us to the metro. She spoke English much better than I spoke French, so we mostly spoke in English--by "mostly" I mean pretty much entirely--I was still getting my sea legs, so to speak. Following her directions, we took an elevator...yep, took it right out of the building and left a big empty shaft...no, but one can imagine. Actually the elevator took us...down (and I always think of this song when the elevator goes down) a couple levels, and another moving sidewalk took us up about a half level. The shuttle, like a metro train with just one car, carried us through another tube to the train station.

We followed directions on signs, wandered back and forth a bit like a forgetful grandma who can't remember where she put her glasses, and finally asked someone where to buy our train tickets (I believe this was in French--I was getting more confident). We were directed to the ticket booth where the transaction again required two languages for consummation. We purchased our tickets which would take us on the course that I had mapped out weeks in advance: the RER B to St. Michel/Notre Dame where we would change to RER C to ride to Versailles. I also bought a carnet of 10 metro tickets for future use. We found our set of tracks, and took an elevator down to the quai. After a minute or two spent pondering the information screens, I realized that we were on the wrong side of the tracks--the train on this side would be traveling in the opposite direction from our destination. I also noted that almost everyone waiting for the train was on the other side of the tracks. The experienced traveler notes the little clues...I did too.

We took the elevator back up, walked to the other side, and took another elevator down (this would be a frequent pattern (appearing to make a wrong selection) that I would use to throw off anyone who might be tailing me--and I believe that it proved entirely successful--sort of a Maxwell Smart maneuver). As 99 and I were getting into the elevator, an elderly lady who entered behind us remarked, "C'est l'orage du siecle!" I comprehended without realizing. I looked outside to confirm her words. I could see that it was windy and rainy. "Rainy" is an understatement in the same sense as saying that one day Pompeii experienced a spot of trouble with Mount Vesuvius. The water coming from the corner of the building rushed out as if from a battery of fire hoses. The skies of France sobbed copious tears of joy at my return. I was touched...and glad to be there, but glad that I was inside.

The coming days would see the skies of this joyous land wash us with abundant tears as we walked unsheltered amid exuberant water works.

Next time: Making the most of another Maxwell Smart maneuver.