It Stays With You

“People say time heals all wounds. They tell you you’ll get over it.

    But they never buried their child.

    That stays with you. It works on you. It sinks in deep and never lets go.

    Solace? Not a chance.”

— Harold Blum, The Eyes of a Killer, part VI. Air Mail: In Cold Blood, October 7, 2023

https://airmail.news/issues/2023-10-7/the-eyes-of-a-killer-part-vi

2025 June Trip

 Headed to England in 9 days, I find myself wondering if this is where best to record my experiences. Let me see if it’s possible to post.

Deborah Elizabeth

I do not let myself rest long there—

     Aware of constant absence, where ache arises

I am relieved:

     There will be no moldering in soil

Though true—    haunting—    she left us frozen

She yet departed earth burning

Burning

And resides in Purple clay, glazed in

Fire

The way home

Wednesday morning. I am going to drop the kids off at Vero's and continue north to CDG. These trips together will take, per Google maps, 1 hour. So I budget about 4.

Even so, I get to the airport a bit after I am supposed to. Luckily for me, my Wow flight (through Iceland, £210) is late.


I hate Paris. But I am on my way home.


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Departing from CDG

Tuesday morning, day of my departure. I arrange for one more night at the hotel for the kids because Alex is so sick--she needs rest, and plenty of it. We don't have a key to Vero's place (kids' next overnight), and Alex would otherwise have to clear out of the hotel by 10am and tote her bags around all day, because Vero has to work.

I take James out on one more attempt to obtain the adapter that the kids need. I also ask him to promise to take one of the backpacks over to Vero's at 6 and get the key, as well as to carry the other backpack over tomorrow, so Alex isn't doing anything too strenuous.

I hug the kids goodbye and get in the car to the airport. It's a 36-minute journey, according to Google maps, and I'm due at 2 for a 3pm flight. I leave the lot at 12:49. I get to the airport at 4:57. Yup, 4:57.


In Paris, roads move slowly. I mean, slooooooowwwwwwwly. I was tootling along happily until 1:12. Then: stoppage. Not just a slowdown, but a stoppage. There are moments of inching forward, then minutes of being stopped. This continues for the next 50 minutes.

I know that the NAV system has the airport pre-programmed, as it has been harassing me for a few exits, noting to me in French that traffic on the A86 is not moving. But the NAV has proved maybe 80% reliable at giving me the fastest way to get someplace. Once 2pm rolls by, however, and I still don't see any planes taking off or landing, I go with the NAV system.

I exit the highway and begin a tense trip on surface roads to the airport, knowing that my arrival will be late. After a whirligig turn at the beginning, the journey is pretty uncomplicated. After much too much time passes, voila, I see planes! Then, a sign: Orly Airport. But...the NAV was taking me to Charles De Gaulle! Wasn't it?!? I verified, and it was...LISTED as CDG. But taking me to Orly. Back, essentially, to where I had started.

Remember, I have no mobile phone, and no cellular data. I park the car at 2:52 and beg phone and wi-fi usage from strangers and shopkeepers, trying to reach my airline, Swiss Air. When I do, it is no help at all. It tells me that I need to call United, because that's who my ticket is booked through. (I have zero flights with United, this entire trip.) Repeated searches of United's website reveal no phone number that can be used in France. So I get back in the car at 3:22, headed to CDG, to talk to a live United clerk, in person, at a check-in counter. Maybe I can get on another flight.

Hence, I get to CDG at 4:57. You know what? All the United staff had gone home already. I finally found a number on the website (using airport wi-fi) that is listed as one for use in France. I call it, and reach a fax machine.

I don't give up. I spend 40 minutes on the phone with the service that booked this package deal for me. They can't reach anyone at United, either! I realize that I'm going to have to book, and pay for, another flight home.

Plus, I had another horrible food experience, a pesto sandwich at the airport that tasted like it was made of sand.

I hate Paris.

I rented a new car overnight and went back to the hotel.

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Damn Paris

We had dinner on night 1, after Versailles, at Chez Clement, a chain. I had inedible lamb, it was so fatty. James did order escargots, which Alex loved. Our hotel, advertised as being "in" Versailles, was in such a sketchy neighborhood of PARIS that we did not dare go far; hence, the chain.

With Paris as home base, we traveled to Chambord to see the Chateau. But Alex was increasingly troubled by an ear infection. Without mobile phones or cellular data, we traipsed from town to town seeking a pharmacy, where in Europe one goes first to consult.

In one town, the pharmacy was closed on Mondays, and the only doctor 'lived' at the church. He must have been conducting a service--no answer to our knock, and sounds of a heavenly choir. When we finally found an open pharmacy, two towns on, the pharmacist's advice was: go to a doctor. He pointed one out, across the street.

That doctor could not see us for like 5 hours. We continued on to urgent care at a hospital in the next town. There, when Alex's temperature was taken, it was 102!

We returned to Paris after picking up loads of meds for illing Alex. We sent out for Indian food, which was...disappointing! Damn Paris.


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The country house

After leaving Le Havre, we visited Vero's country home on the way to Versailles.


We met her husband Geoffrey, 8-year-old daughter Blanche, and 18-year-old daughter Violette, as well as some neighbors who were offering social opportunity to a senior.


The country house was amazing, spectacular; and so was the lunch! It was prepared by Geoffrey, so all my talk to the kids about what an amazing cook Vero is has yet to be substantiated.


- Posted using BlogPress from my iPad