We arrived at Atlanta's Hartsfield-Jackson airport bright and early on Thursday and almost immediately ran into trouble trying to check in for the late afternoon flight. Although our tickets were issued through Air France, the ticketing was handled by Delta. Lloyd and I ended up with seat assignments two rows apart. "They'll fix it at the gate," the attendant said. Uh huh. After floating (read: long walks) from departure gate to departure gate to departure gate, we finally were directed to the correct one and settled in. As soon as the gate attendant arrived, I jumped up, only to be pushed aside by a group of about 30 Frenchmen returning home from a Rotary convention in New Orleans. With their reservation problems solved, the attendant was able to change our seats. We were about 20 rows from Ann Marie and Richard, but at least we were on the same plane.
Some of the gates at the airport were graced with artwork, which we had plenty of time to enjoy.
The flight was two hours, forty-five minutes late taking off, thanks to a storm front that came through about ten minutes before we were to depart. This isn't our plane, but it is our storm.
We pulled away from the gate only to sit on the tarmac for a good long while. At one point we started moving but made several turns that made it appear that we were going back to the gate. We made a large loop instead and eventually returned to our original waiting place. The captain later told us we had moved to make way for a plane with a sick passenger on board. A few flights took off as we waited. They were heading west. Our flight and the others heading north and east had to wait while the eastbound storm cleared the area.
The overnight flight was not very restful. There was a slight contretemps between a passenger and a crying baby that got on his last nerve, but once airborne, the captain put the pedal to the metal and made up 45 minutes, so we landed at Charles DeGaulle-Roissey airport just two hours late, at ten Friday morning, local time.
There was some miscommunication with the transfer people, complicated by our delayed arrival, so we waited nearly two more hours for the vans to take us to the hotel. Looking back, I don't know why we didn't just hop in a cab, although the cost might have been prohibitive, as the airport is a fair distance north of the city.
Once aboard the van (eight passengers plus the driver), we experienced an adrenalin-spiced adventure that would have put any ride at Euro Disney to shame. Lloyd and I were beside the driver, in the suicide seats. Lloyd had a good time naming the majestic buildings we passed (mostly incorrectly, but nobody cared). By now it was about one o'clock, and the streets were jammed. Parisiens enjoy a half-day of work on Friday, so the workers were out and about, preparing for a long weekend.
We observed many motorcycles and motorbikes and a great many Smart cars. Parking is at a premium in the city, and one driver said the price of gasoline was about US$11 per gallon. He lives in a suburb. If he drives his car to work it takes an hour and a half and he has a problem finding a place to park. He rides his motorcycle over the same route in just 20 minutes -- less time, less gas. Many who work in Paris do the same. There seemed to be motocycles and motobikes parked in every available space. (The less time part comes from the practice of riding between the lanes of traffic and on the shoulders to bypass automobile congestion.)
Finally, we arrived at the Hotel Concord Montparnasse in the historic Montparnasse District on the Left Bank.
I wish I could take credit for the next photo but must confess I took it from the hotel's website. That spear in the distance is the Eiffel Tower.
At the hotel, our rooms were not ready, so we went to the hotel bar & restaurant, Le Wengé, and had a very nice meal. (I don't know what le wengé means in English; apparently Google Translate doesn't, either.) We and the Roussells were on the same floor, although several rooms apart. (Our hotel voucher, by the way, indicated that we requested adjoining rooms with two people we don't know. That didn't happen.) The Hotel Concord Montparnasse appears to have been recently modernized and caters to groups. The rooms are not large, but they are clean and well organized, with a few amenities, like a hairdryer and a mini bar; some had a valet steam presser.
At the check-in, the nice young man at the desk ran through a few bits of information, like the hours for our breakfast buffet (included). He asked if I knew how to operate the elevator. Doh. Of course, I told him. With the four of us and our luggage in the elevator --- a tight fit, to be sure --- it became apparent that this was no ordinary elevator. We pushed the button for the 7th floor. The button lighted, went dark. Again. And again. And yet again. A bellman noticed our predicament and showed us that a room key card had to be inserted into a slot to activate the elevator. Okay, lesson learned! It seemed like a good way to keep unwanted visitors off the room floors. Of course, you don't need a card to use the stairs, but . . .
Once in our room, we unpacked and settled in. It was nice to know that we wouldn't have to move for five days. At five p.m. we met with some of the rest of the group in the lobby for a meeting that not everyone knew about. This group is seriously disorganized. Few plans made ahead of time, and trying to keep 19 people together is like herding cats, as one person observed. After a half hour or 45 minutes, I left the group and went upstairs. Ann Marie and Richard went outside to explore the neighborhood and had a bite of supper. Lloyd and I weren't hungry.
I fell asleep around 8 p.m. and woke up around 1:30 a.m. to find Lloyd getting dressed. He went down to the lobby with his guide books to organize our time in Paris, since it was obvious there was no organization within the group. I stayed up for a while and read, and then went back to sleep. Lloyd settled his mind after realizing that he'd prepared a suggested itinerary at home. He really had done his homework. We were armed an ready to go. We had a Plan.
We spent a quiet Saturday morning morning at the hotel. It was good to have even that much decompression time to help with the jet lag.
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