Terminal

International arrivals seem to make a vivid mark in my memory. Some are now popping to mind; coming down an escalator and being greeted by long unseen loved ones, stepping onto the tarmac to the smell of a hot, tropical breeze, or having an unpleasant encounter with a surly customs agent.

Our arrival at the Charles de Gaulle airport will be remembered by me for the colour of grey; grey tarmac meeting a grey sky with heavy grey clouds. Not the most romantic initial image of France,I agree. And unfortunately, the three hours we spent desperately trying to get away from the airport and to our hotel did not help brighten my first impressions!

Barry had read that we could catch a hotel shuttle from the airport. However, the hotel pick up location was not marked, and after asking 3 separate airport workers where we should wait, we received 3 very different answers. We averaged out the directions and waited, very unconfidently, in one area of the terminal for 40 minutes before we decided to look into taking a taxi. As we were heading down to try to find larger taxis that could possibly accommodate our 16 bags, two car seats and one pair of crutches, we stumbled across the airport information kiosk.

Here, the information lady told us that it was impossible to be picked up by a hotel shuttle at the terminal (?!), but that we had to walk about 7 minutes, (convert to 20 with 2 tired, but plucky, young travellers) to the TGV train station. So, off we headed with our considerable baggage to the train station. We then had to head up to a different floor to catch this increasingly elusive hotel shuttle, where we waited and waited for our hotel shuttle to arrive. As my parents have come with us to share the first 2 weeks of our adventure and to help us out (the extra help much needed we are finding out!) there were four very sleep deprived adults, becoming more and more incredulous, trying to figure out how we were to solve getting to the hotel. No taxis would agree to take us, claiming they had no idea where this hotel was that we wanted to go. (Inferenced taxi-man translation: "Going to a hotel so close to here is not worth starting my engine up for. Additionally, I can see your cracker-jack load of luggage and this makes me tell you no")

Every bus driver or station worker we continued to ask seemed to just make up any answers that came to them; "Take a black bus", "Take the white bus", Take the bus behind me". Barry tried phoning the hotel, the phone ate his Euros.

Just when we were considering losing out on our paid reservations and jumping on ANY shuttle to ANY hotel as our only escape, our shuttle FINALLY arrived.

Throughout this wait, although tired, chilled and hungry, Grace and Lily were amazing troopers.

They are fast asleep beside me while I write, after a lovely walk around the little town of Roissy, dinner and a bath.

Tomorrow we tackle the train. Avignon tomorrow.