The In-between

After speaking face to face with some of my loyal readers, I realized, you have no idea if my vacation to Paris was actually any good after the travel debacle. I assure you, it was amazing. I am positive that after living in Moscow for a year, my family are better tourists in general and maybe, if I can push the envelope a little, more European.

Let me give you an example. On one particular day we did not want to pay the ridiculous metro fare for six so we told the fam we would walk. Armed with bottled waters purchased from illegal street side vendors and baguettes, we walked. We began at Notre Dame, continued on along the river Seine, saw Musee D’Orsay, Grand Palais, and stopped over at Place Concorde. Then down Champs Elysse to the Arc de Triomphe and then onward to the Eiffel Tower. This was done in one day. Total mileage on the achy feet of elementary students–5.1. No stroller.

Just before we arrived at the Tower, Number 2 needed to use the facilities. They were sparse in that part of town. If I were just an American tourist I may go running to a stranger in bold English asking for a bathroom. But I’m not. He asked if he could casually use the side of a building that was hidden by a bush. Sadly, there wasn’t even a second thought. I recently found out that Number 4 used a stump behind the playground by our house, because 50 feet was too far to walk. Like I said, European?

I’m not sure if I mentioned that we went to EuroDisney as well. Yes, four days of magic and overpriced goods made in China. If you asked me ten years ago what I thought of Disney, I would have told you, “eeeeh, it’s okay….” Somewhere, in a moment of parenting bliss, we promised Number 1 we would take our whole family to Disney before the magic died; namely when they were all single digits. Now I’m on the backside of fulfilling my kids’ dreams, I can say it was worth every Euro. We rode every coaster, every ride, went to every parade, saw every show, and posed with all the characters. I realized just how third culture my kids are when I saw we would have to wait 45 minutes to see ‘Playhouse Disney Live’ in English. Number 3 and 4 shrugged their shoulders and said, “No big deal, mom, we can watch it in French. It’ll be fun!” Meeska-Mooska-Mickey-Mouse sounded slightly different, but it was great fun!

Since I homeschool, I figured a couple days in Paris definitely counts for “field trips.” And no exhibit was greater to my kids than the famous, “Small World” ride. I felt great bursts of pride when they identified nearly every country represented, including Thailand, which Number 2 stated obviously, “which you know, of course, was called Siam before.” A+ for me.

The Louvre.

Pictures cannot describe the depth and magnitude of such a museum. We decided to go on the first Sunday of the month because admission was free. We stood in line outside the building and the guards posted a sign that read: From this point, the wait is 2.5 hours. I had some serious doubts but the lines were moving faster here than they were at Disney so maybe it wasn’t so bad. I was wrong. The lines wrapped around the outside block, down the street, inside the courtyard weaving and winding all the way. Just as hubby and I were debating what to do next, a guard on a bicycle pulled over to us. He points to the children (so very many of them for one family) and says in French, “child privilege.” He instructed us to go to the front of the line. I didn’t want this window of opportunity to close so I hustled directly to the entrance, knocking people over with my pink stroller (well maybe not really.)

When we arrived at the entrance, the guard graciously pulled aside the barrier and said, “go right ahead.” I am still amazed at this entire situation. In preparation for the sequel to this article, I will leave you hanging with an exclamatory statement --- You will never believe what happened next…

My vacation in Paris...and Munich airport.

I am going to veer from my usual conversational tone to a timeline of sorts for you to experience our days of travel to Paris. Eventually I will talk about Sacre Coeur, The Eiffel Tower, and Notre Dame, but believe me, you won’t want to miss this one.
Day of Arrival

8:20 Taxi arrived at our house to pick us up.

9:30 Arrived at Domodedovo airport with 2.5 hours before flight time. Tried to check our bags and a zipper broke on one of the pieces of luggage. Fixed it and moved through the security lines quickly.

14:22 (Munich time) Arrived in Munich with a 25 minute layover. Went through passport control.

14:27 Arrived at a second security check including shoes, camera operation, laptop, and all bags. By the time we got four kids’ shoes untied, we were running for gate G10. Arrived at the gate just in time and they agreed to board us….until my husband asked the question, “Did you grab the laptop?” Since I had no idea the laptop was not in the backpack he was carrying, how would I know it was left at security?

14:45 Retrieved laptop. Missed flight

15:00 Went to Lufthansa Service center. Writing those words feels like paying property taxes.

15:35 Waited 35 minutes to be told our new flight is leaving now and we must run to gate G81.
Ran to gate 81, at the other end the airport. Nearly passed out.

15:45 Arrived at gate 81. Denied entrance at 81 and told us to get help at the service center. Walked--- less fast back to the service center where we cut in line in front of 70 people. The lady helped us book a new flight.

16:30 Went back to gate G46. Sat and waited for everyone to board and finally got back on a plane. Uneventful flight.

18:25 Stood up to disembark. Number 3 complained of belly ache. My husband picked her up and she puked all over him, myself, herself, and the gentlemen behind us. The aisle was chunky stuff. I’ve never seen a motivated line of people waiting to get off a plane stop so suddenly. Nobody wanted to be the first to step over the puke. Tried to clean her up in the airplane bathroom because it’s so spacious while she tried to continue puking in the aisle, not the sink.

18:35 Arrived at CDG. Pushed an oversized six year old around in bent umbrella stroller. Number 4 had to walk and tote luggage. Realized we missed our train. Went to retrieve tickets and rebook. We were told, “so sorry, can’t rebook after one hour.” We were 12 minutes too late.

19:37 I put my head on the counter and started crying. She talked to the manager and pulled some strings. Finally---a break.

19:47 Tried to find the train platform. Sat relaxed because we had an hour to wait. Hubby kept thinking we were in the wrong place.

20:09 Number 3 puked again. Cleaned it up, changed my clothes on the train platform. Hey, it’s no big deal to do that in Europe. In fact, on the way to the train station, I saw a lady changing her panties by the side of the highway. Believe me, she was not young.

20:30 Saw our train pulling in, two tracks away. Picked up the puker, the luggage, hustled up two flights of stairs. Number 4 started crying, Number 1 was screaming and I was trying to catch a breath. I may workout, but carrying two 50 pound bags up two flights of stairs isn’t exactly the same thing.

20:36 Train.
Threw the luggage in, armed number 3 with a ziploc. An angel named Katy helped us find our seats and stow the luggage. By the time we sat down, we arrived to our destination. It was a high speed train that went 200 kilometers per hour.

20:47 Carried the crap, got a taxi. Arrived at hotel.

I could end this story now. But it’s not enough. We also traveled home from Paris. Some may ask, “why?” I ask this myself.

Day of Departure

7:45 We were waiting at the curb to leave extra early to avoid any delays. The taxi was late. It arrived at 7:55. No big deal.

8:00 Arrived at train station. Not our favorite option, but it was in fact faster and cheaper than any other way to get to the airport for a family of six.

9:14 Train arrived---10 minutes late. We were on the correct platform, correct car, and proper seats. Got off 10 minutes later at Terminal 2 of Charles DeGaulle Airport with luggage and kids.

9:30 Headed for the CDG Shuttle to Terminal 1.

9:35 Hubby realized he left a bag on the train. Not just any bag. The bag with two cameras and lenses, worth about $600 containing 2000 photos, ALL OF OUR PASSPORTS, his wallet and identification. We stood still and he ran down to the platform. I was still optimistic at this point—after all, we still had three hours until our plane left.

9:45 Hubby came to tell me the train station had the bag in custody but that it was at the other end of the line, one hour away. He left to retrieve it.

9:50 We waited in terminal 1 for three hours with no news.

Meanwhile, hubby was waiting for the train that was 25 minutes late heading toward the bag. Sweated the whole ride until the correct station. Arrived to retrieve bag, but was required to get his wallet out of it to visit the ATM so he could pay the 9 Euro fee for holding it for one hour. Then was told, "you may purchase your return ticket at the kiosk." Instead, he boarded the train--ticketless, and avoided the conductor all the way back to CDG. Ran off the train to find his family.

12:45 Watched our flight to Dusseldorf board. Obviously didn’t make it. I went to the Lufthansa Service Center (a recurring theme) to inquire about rebook. The lady politely told me, “your ticket is not changeable. You’ll have to re-purchase.” I started crying involuntarily as I walked away.

13:15 Continued crying until my husband arrived with the bag and passports. He is now haunted by the 4 tone train jingle which played repeatedly throughout his unwanted journey. For now, if I want to remind him of his shortcomings, all I have to do is hum the little song.

13:25 Went back to the Service Center and re-told the story. The lady whispered quietly that she could make an exception for this “special circumstance.” Needless to say, my gratitude was abundant.

13:30 Waited in the ticket line and checked our bags. Finally getting out of here!

14:15 Went through security and Number 2 was searched. Arrived at boarding gate.

15:00 Suggested my husband do some perfume shopping at the Duty Free store to begin to amend the hardships. A little retail therapy made me feel slightly better.

16:30 Boarded a flight for Munich. Ziplocs for Number 3.

18:05 Arrived in Munich. Found a shop that had beer to go (how great is that!) and gave the kids ice-cream. This is one of my mottos; “when stressed out, eat ice-cream!”

21:10 Boarded flight to Moscow. Kids slept through the whole thing and I sat next to my husband, whom I love dearly. I realized this story would be really funny later.

2:30 (Moscow time) Arrived in Moscow. Picked up bags, found cab, and drove home.

4:00 Arrived back home, but left expensive souvenirs in van. The story goes on…

Upon reflection of this nightmare, I have discovered a moral. If traveling to vacation is terrible and traveling home from vacation is terrible, then maybe next time I should just STAY ON VACATION!