[Reposted from my other blog For Writing Out Loud]
So let's put the subject line to rest immediately: the reason the Parisians have a reputation for arrogance is because ALL OF THEIR GENTLES WORK FOR AIR FRANCE. (No, 'gentles' is not missing a couple of vowels).
Except for that little issue of Customs being on strike in Paris - creating a horde of buzzing, angry passengers all missing flights to pretty much everywhere (your humble reporter included). But really, my experience with Customs officials has been routinely 'meh' - so we didn't miss them. That much.
Especially as AF was apologetic, assiduous, easygoing and got me on another flight within 3 hours of the one I missed. With an 8 Euro coupon for any food or drink in the airport. Awrighty then.
If I hadn't been so dazed, I'd've headed to duty-free and loaded up on tiny bottles of du-Pape. Oh well, bless the daze. It turned into an actual conversation in approximate French with an actual Parisian.
"Bon jour, madam..."
"Bon jour madamoiselle. Je voudrais un cappochino, sil vous plait. Mais non plus grande."
"plus grande?"
"Non plus grande. Dit '30 oz,' ne?"
"Non... dit 30 gms."
"bon alors, oui! parfait. Mercimerci."
30 gms was the amount of ground coffee used in the machine, so it was a respectably intense jolt. And I was surprised to hear French actually flowing from my face. Must've been the Greek in the background pushing it along. You can only feel incompetent in one language at a time, apparently.
Then on to my next flight, where the woman in front of me pushed all of the seats back as we were taking off, reducing the amount of room for my knees to nothingness. I asked her to set at least one of them up, in three languages. Her response, glaring, was unchanged through each attempt. I then kneed the seat in front of me back to upright. Whereupon a stewardess swooped in, and after uprighting all of the offending seats, escorted me to an empty row with another empty row right in front. "You will be more comfortable here."
Yes, I was.
And then there is the Air France alcohol allowance (a.k.a. infinite), but I'll keep that story for another day. The offer to douse my caffeine with cognac was a interesting move, though. Better keep an eye on that one, cherie. Knock her out, if possible.
~~~
Athens' Eleftherios is now a familiar airport. I have passed through it 8 times in the last 13 months... flying, but also storing bags and renting cars there. I like it. Reminds me of Austin's legacy Mueller back in the day. Arrived to rain, a bit cooler than Texas, but about the same drip-rate as what I left: drizzle with little downbursts. I pored over the maps to make sure I understood the route to Takis' apartment, assessed my relative energy (not as horrible as it should have been) and decided to subway it.
I dragged a pullover out of my bag and put it on under my black velvet shirt. Went out to the platform. Half-hour went by. No metro. Tourists from everywhere accumulating at the stop. Second half-hour. Still no metro and the wind is picking up, temps going down down down. Now my host is getting worried, but I have no phone down here at the stop. And I amfreezing.
Okay, fine. I will take out our coat. I am traveling with Quentin's giant black leather coat, which accounts for 10 of the pounds in my luggage. I unzip the bag, pull it out and voila: I am in a nice warm cabin made of leather.
And the Metro instantly shows up. Of course.
~~~
Now at Takis', and he is an angel. Angel. After showing me how everything works, 20 minutes later he is an angel bringing a bottle of decent Greek wine (that is as far as I can go on the praise-scale... y'all know my rant about Greek wine) and two glasses. I tell him I have to oblate the quaff, look down from the balcony: marble, brick, concrete. No soil. Oh well, I'll drink it tomorrow. He bids me good night and slips away like any good host.
It is still raining. I take my bottle and wander into the night to find 1) dirt, and 2) a magazin(storelette) which has the basics for my dinner: goat cheese, olives, sardines. Sodium feast. Wine for potassium, yo.
On the way back I stop at the park up the street (which is, curiously, round) and thank all the gods for my loving community, safe journey and amazing hosts - but esp Dionysius and Demeter, and spill a good glass to them. Generosity is important.
And there was plenty left.
There is the simple furniture, the boisterous street, the Greek honey in the kitchen (swoon) and a bathtub as deep as the Suez canal. There is the buttery green my host has chosen for accent walls matching the bedsheets and comforter. But the real treasure? The floors. Parquet, terrazo, wood. My feet have forgiven me everything I've done to them in the last two days because of these floors.
In other news, I will be starting another blog (well actually, two) soon. Will write to some of you privately about that, but look for a link/announcement here in a day or so.
Kalinikta
***
**
*
Except for that little issue of Customs being on strike in Paris - creating a horde of buzzing, angry passengers all missing flights to pretty much everywhere (your humble reporter included). But really, my experience with Customs officials has been routinely 'meh' - so we didn't miss them. That much.
Especially as AF was apologetic, assiduous, easygoing and got me on another flight within 3 hours of the one I missed. With an 8 Euro coupon for any food or drink in the airport. Awrighty then.
If I hadn't been so dazed, I'd've headed to duty-free and loaded up on tiny bottles of du-Pape. Oh well, bless the daze. It turned into an actual conversation in approximate French with an actual Parisian.
"Bon jour, madam..."
"Bon jour madamoiselle. Je voudrais un cappochino, sil vous plait. Mais non plus grande."
"plus grande?"
"Non plus grande. Dit '30 oz,' ne?"
"Non... dit 30 gms."
"bon alors, oui! parfait. Mercimerci."
30 gms was the amount of ground coffee used in the machine, so it was a respectably intense jolt. And I was surprised to hear French actually flowing from my face. Must've been the Greek in the background pushing it along. You can only feel incompetent in one language at a time, apparently.
Then on to my next flight, where the woman in front of me pushed all of the seats back as we were taking off, reducing the amount of room for my knees to nothingness. I asked her to set at least one of them up, in three languages. Her response, glaring, was unchanged through each attempt. I then kneed the seat in front of me back to upright. Whereupon a stewardess swooped in, and after uprighting all of the offending seats, escorted me to an empty row with another empty row right in front. "You will be more comfortable here."
Yes, I was.
And then there is the Air France alcohol allowance (a.k.a. infinite), but I'll keep that story for another day. The offer to douse my caffeine with cognac was a interesting move, though. Better keep an eye on that one, cherie. Knock her out, if possible.
~~~
Athens' Eleftherios is now a familiar airport. I have passed through it 8 times in the last 13 months... flying, but also storing bags and renting cars there. I like it. Reminds me of Austin's legacy Mueller back in the day. Arrived to rain, a bit cooler than Texas, but about the same drip-rate as what I left: drizzle with little downbursts. I pored over the maps to make sure I understood the route to Takis' apartment, assessed my relative energy (not as horrible as it should have been) and decided to subway it.
I dragged a pullover out of my bag and put it on under my black velvet shirt. Went out to the platform. Half-hour went by. No metro. Tourists from everywhere accumulating at the stop. Second half-hour. Still no metro and the wind is picking up, temps going down down down. Now my host is getting worried, but I have no phone down here at the stop. And I amfreezing.
Okay, fine. I will take out our coat. I am traveling with Quentin's giant black leather coat, which accounts for 10 of the pounds in my luggage. I unzip the bag, pull it out and voila: I am in a nice warm cabin made of leather.
And the Metro instantly shows up. Of course.
~~~
Now at Takis', and he is an angel. Angel. After showing me how everything works, 20 minutes later he is an angel bringing a bottle of decent Greek wine (that is as far as I can go on the praise-scale... y'all know my rant about Greek wine) and two glasses. I tell him I have to oblate the quaff, look down from the balcony: marble, brick, concrete. No soil. Oh well, I'll drink it tomorrow. He bids me good night and slips away like any good host.
It is still raining. I take my bottle and wander into the night to find 1) dirt, and 2) a magazin(storelette) which has the basics for my dinner: goat cheese, olives, sardines. Sodium feast. Wine for potassium, yo.
On the way back I stop at the park up the street (which is, curiously, round) and thank all the gods for my loving community, safe journey and amazing hosts - but esp Dionysius and Demeter, and spill a good glass to them. Generosity is important.
And there was plenty left.
~~~
A few more words about this apartment, which could not be more perfect.
A few more words about this apartment, which could not be more perfect.
There is the simple furniture, the boisterous street, the Greek honey in the kitchen (swoon) and a bathtub as deep as the Suez canal. There is the buttery green my host has chosen for accent walls matching the bedsheets and comforter. But the real treasure? The floors. Parquet, terrazo, wood. My feet have forgiven me everything I've done to them in the last two days because of these floors.
In other news, I will be starting another blog (well actually, two) soon. Will write to some of you privately about that, but look for a link/announcement here in a day or so.
Kalinikta
***
**
*
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