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Entry 9 of 10 | show all | print this entry |
Our itinerary back took us through Rome and Paris, and, mercifully, straight from Paris over Greenland and straight through Canada back to Seattle. It was a long flight, but bad movies and mind-numbing video games on my personal console helped to pass the time.
Once again, Paris' airport proved to live up to French stereotype. Bureaucratic, presumptuous and fashionable. The bureaucratic part: instead of simply allowing us to transfer to an outbound flight, we all had to pass through security--again--and have our tickets re-issued there (apparently they don't trust the Italians to thoroughly vet the passengers). The presumptuous: both Susan and I have little quirks with our passports. Hers has her maiden name, mine appears to be expired (long story for another day). The little frenchman who was in charge of shuttling us around the labyrinthine airport wouldn't let us get a word in to explain that we had the paperwork, and in fact, weren't secret agents travelling with false documents. Instead he wanted us to get "police verification." His words were--and imagine this in a thick french accent--"Miss Boyd, is it? You do not have a seat on this plane, and, you sir, have a problem with your passport." Oh brother.
Finally the fashionable part: The departure lounge was beautiful, but the really impressive part were the true leather seats--I'm not talking leatherette, but real, expensive leather. Tasteful. airports are never a good measure of a place, however, so I'm going to withhold judgement on Paris, and France generally, until I've seen more than just the international departures terminal at Charles De Gaulle airport.
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