I call him Andrew.

DeGaulle really sucked and it was raining a lot on the drive back to the "main" part of the terminal.

I hate waiting!

And I started to get nervous.

The World
 

 
 

Friday the 13th


I lobbied hard to be able to take my regular suitcase, instead of a backpack, as was suggested. I mean, I'm 31 years old! I didn't think that I should be carrying a backpack through Europe. But the following points were made:
  • We're going to be taking Ferries on this trip. Do you want to drag a suitcase on/off the boat, and from the pier to wherever the hotel is?
  • There are lots of cobblestones in Europe. You'll make a lot of noise and look stupid.
  • It doesn't matter if there are good reasons or not. It'll be better for you to use a backpack, if you know what’s good for you.
 
The man himself
And with that, I was packing a backpack, most generously lent to me by Zorba the Greek himself! Known throughout Motorola for his jovial nature and living life to the fullest attitude, Zorba was the patron saint of our voyage to the land of his father(s).

As the day of Departure approached, the weatherman began predicting weather approaching Chicago for the weekend. Well, we always have weather. Blue skies and 70s is weather. But he was predicting the much more interesting kind.

The morning of our departure (which I believe was on the 13th of May, possibly on a Friday), Mr. Kris Popp (who is often called off the bench to assist in getting me and/or my loved ones to Europe) picked up the three backpacks and a German-Irishman, and transported them to Motorola. It was slightly cloudy. This is how it would go down:

  1. Kris would get me and the backpacks, and take me to Motorola
    • Lin-Wei would take the train to work
  2. I would eat a big honking burger for lunch, for who knows when I'd have good American food again. I also chose to have french fries. Where was that maniacal laughter coming from?
  3. A car service would be hired to take me to the airport in style. The three backpacks would roll with me.
    • Lin-Wei would take an hour long trip on the Chicago El to the airport.
  4. We would fly to Greece, on time, with no delays, or missed flights, or anything that might cause a few paragraphs in a travel log.

And it all went great, except for #4. (Who was surprised? You, in the back? Apparently you've never read one of these things before. Now, sit back down and pay attention).

We only had a 45min layover at Charles de Gaulle in Paris, but the nice folks at Air France had assured us that would be enough time to make our connecting flight to Athens. As an insurance policy, Lin-Wei was able to move us up about 10 rows, so that we'd be that much closer to the door. All that would come to naught, however, for the Departures board was saying that our flight was already delayed an hour, due to weather. But really, there wasn't much "interesting" weather around anymore. It had rained a little bit around lunch time, but that seemed to all be cleared up. As I waited for Lin-Wei (who, by the way, was already in line waiting for me), the delay in our flight started to increase. When we got to the front of the line to check in, we told the flight attendant about our 45min dilemma, she smirked and said, "Yeah, you're not going to make that. I'll see what I can do."

After our transfer in Paris, we were to get into Athens around 1:20pm, plenty of time to rent a car and get to our hotel before dark. When she came back, she said that there was only one other flight, and that left Paris at 6pm at night. Holy ten-hour layover batman! I suggested that maybe they could put us on another airline once we got to Paris so we wouldn't waste a whole day at the airport, and I'm not positive, but it seemed like that was the first time she had ever considered that idea. But after about a 15min wait (while we talked to the guy next to us that was trying to get to Germany, and would also be delayed), she came back and said she got us on Olympic Airlines, and we'd get in at 3pm. We could dig that. Plus we'd have plenty of time to make our connecting flight.

But what happens when you get to the gate, and your flight departure time keeps creeping out? Well, you try not to read your wife's Cosmo magazine. And fail to not read it. And why are those 31 Bedroom secrets always the same? It's always Communication and Chocolate sauce. There, I've saved you $5 and the embarrassment of having to read it yourselves when your wife isn't looking.

Pretty soon your flight is now 2 hours delayed, and you are starting to worry about your next connecting flight, but then they let you board! Hurray! And you get on the plane, and it taxis out to the tarmac, and you wait some more. Dammit! And you look out the window, watching plane after plane after plane head out to the runway and take off, and you just sit there like a punk and take it. And sigh sometimes. And torment the wife a bit, but that begins to bore you after a while, so you browse through the SkyMall magazine and even though you know you don't need a sonic fence for the dog, you still kinda feel like you should have one, and maybe that'll be a good reason to actually get a dog too.

And then the plane takes off, and spirits soar along with 800,000 pounds of metal, fuel, and cases of ginger ale. You know that I had the window seat due to the wife's frequent need to, ah, get stuff, uh, from the back or something. So after a decent meal I went to sleep. And slept ok, actually. Thanks for asking.

We landed in Paris around 11am. And here's where the funny part comes in (Yes, you've only had to read 4 pages to get to the funny part. A new record). Often times the planes at de Gaulle don't actually pull up to a gate. They park on the tarmac, and you get off the plane, cram onto a bus, and the bus takes you to the gate. Had you only 45min to get to your next flight you'd be going crazy, because you wait until the bus fills up, and then it takes you for an extended, super-delux scenic tour of the airport. We were on that fricking bus for over 20 minutes, driving around and around. It totally sucked, but we had plenty of time to kill.

Or did we! Where the heck was our gate? 19. 19? What the heck Terminal is that? We asked at information, and they told us to take the bus to Terminal 1. This was the same bus that we had trouble with in an earlier travel log...er...I mean vacation, so I wasn't fired up about it. This time we had it down pat, and with a 100% reduction in rancid guys sitting next to me as a bonus.

Terminal 1 in Paris looks like a trivial pursuit Pie Wagon. Each gate is a wedge, and our wedge was jam packed with people also heading to Greece. The line was long, and moved slowly, but we made some bold, calculating decisions and actually got in the short line. But the guy starting pausing too much when trying to figure out our transfer situation (it was starting to look like Air France hadn't actually told Olympic Air that we'd be joining them today). But somehow they got that straightened out. Asking about our luggage solicited another hesitant response. But he assured us that the luggage wasn't a problem, even though his supervisor had been in the back room for 10min checking on some aspect of our transfer. To say that he looked a bit uncertain would be, uh, an accurate assessment actually. He did look mostly certain, but a percentage point or two shy of my comfort level, actually.

It was another bus ride out to our plane. Bastards. I hate that airport. Hate it Hate it Hate it! Hmphrmph!

Then we flew to Greece, had a great time, and we came home.

The End.

No no, I couldn't go on. Please, it's too embarrassing, going into all this detail. You wouldn't want to hear about Big Red, or Cyclopean walls, or the lightening storm, or seeing the Oracle at Delphi, or the fight with the kids on Crete, would you? No... I didn't think so. Probably not the nude sunbather, either? Oh, you'll stick around a little longer then, huh. You're sure? Great!