What Happened in France~ Part 5

   "You're not going to believe this... Look!", I ushered our group forward to the subject of our recent interest. "It's a smoking room for people who are stuck inside the airport and can't go outside. Have you ever seen one of these before?" "Awesome!", Mark replied and hastily went inside to light a cigarette. He was puffing away before his backpack even hit the ground. As us female companions looked on in amusement, the irony of his position became evident. Granted, the health posters inside the glass room showed a passive-aggressive discouragement of the addictive past-time taking place inside it's transparent walls, but the social and psychological impact was clear; one had to separate themselves from everyone else in order to smoke, and then be displayed to passersby in an exhibit-like fashion, all while protecting the rest of society from the harmful fumes of second-hand smoke (not to mention the nauseating scent that accompanies it). "We could really use those in America!", Sharron observed. "I think so too," I said while noticing a metallic box with images of food on it. I walked up to it and began reading the options on the distributeur automatique. "Hey! They have coffee in this vending machine!" I excitedly informed Sharron. "Well then, there you go! Help yourself, you know I don't drink any" was her reply. As I went to insert my currency and select the coffee option, I noticed a sign by the cash insert slot. "OH NO!", I couldn't help but voice my dismay. I turned to Sharron who was studying a map of Paris that she'd picked up from a nearby travelers resource kiosk. "It's out of order until further notice." "That's some rotten luck!" she laughed, "Sorry... I'm sure they'll be others around here in a place as big as this." "I hope so", I dejectedly replied before studying the directional signage around the baggage/lobby area that we were now in, while we waited for Mark to finish in the newly christened "smoker room".

   Just as he was emerging, I noticed a uniformed man in a reflective orange vest heading in our general direction, pulling some sort of trolley system. "Pardonnez-moi monsieur, mais ou est la station de train?" I inquired. The man gestured in a general direction while replying that it was back through the door that we had just come out of a few moments ago to get our luggage. "Merci! Vous-êtes trop gentil!" I thanked him. We subsequently went back through the doorway and looked around for any signs of direction. When none became apparent, we went back into the baggage area and through the door on the far end, just in case there had been a misunderstanding. "There's nothing here!" Sharron exclaimed. "Why don't you go ask one of the women at that tourist help center?", she suggested to me. "No way! I don't want to do that!" My social anxiety was beginning to show itself again. "Mark, you go and ask them!" I pushed him. "Wut em I gonna say?", he asked in a desperate manner, "Y'all know I don' tawk like them." "Just use your charm or something like that..." I suggested. Mere moments later he was sauntering up to the women there and nervously asking for directions in the clearest English he could muster. He soon turned around and told us he didn't know what they had said, and recommended that we just wander around until we found somewhere that looked like the right place. No doubt about it, we're lost in a huge airport and nobody that we know could help us if we called them. We were truly out of options, so we decided it was best to follow Mark's advice and simply go searching in all directions until we found at least one of the things that we were looking for. It was then put forward that we might be more effective in our goal if we searched the expansive areas around us individually, then meet back in the middle where there were sofas and artificial trees prominently placed for the comfort of weary travelers.

   We were just heading to one of the many stairways that were on that particular level of the airport when suddenly, Sharron noticed a sales stand by the railing. "Let's grab a snack. I'm starving!" she said. That sounded good with me, as there had been nothing but snacks, and airplane food- that to be honest, was little more than a glorified snack itself- and water for the past two days. While selecting our bottled beverages (mine included an iced coffee, as that was the only coffee option available), sandwiches, and various other foodstuffs, Sharron noticed the SIM card that she had been looking for on display for purchase. "Great! Now I've got everything I need, even if it's more expensive than I thought it'd be...", she voiced her glee. After paying for our colloquially-termed haul, we moved over to a nearby empty bench to eat, and to let Sharron insert her new SIM card and get her cell phone working on the new French network. Mark and I talked to pass the time and to get to know each other a little better. After all, if we were going to be "stuck" in the same place for over a month in the same group, we should at least learn enough about the other person to be comfortable with the situation.

What Happened in France~ Part 4

   Sharron was already waiting in the hallway as I entered the reception terminal. I looked over to my right in time to see Mark emerge from the customs terminal and swing his backpack over his shoulder before joining us as we walked out of the corridor and into the larger section of the airport. Immediately, Sharron began making it clear that getting her luggage was a priority, "We have to find the luggage terminal before we do anything else!" We looked around and soon realized the near impossibility of doing so, as there were no signs/labeled areas that led to anywhere we may need to go, no uniformed persons to ask directions from, and no instructions on our luggage claim slips for finding the "baggage claim" area. "Wut are we goin' da do?", Mark inquired bewilderingly. "Just so I know what to expect, do you actually speak French, or is that the whole reason you came on this trip in the first place?", I asked. Sharron and I had spent some time in French classes together at university, but her reading comprehension always surpassed her spoken ability/vocal knowledge of the language. Not that it would matter in this case... unless she had to speak to someone in French. "I don' know mucha' tall", Mark responded, his accent seemingly verifying his claim. Great! So I guess all the verbals are going to be up to me, I thought. I didn't doubt my ability, just my nerve to go so far out of my comfort zone while our entire trip practically hinged on my ability to successfully communicate and comprehend.

  After several anxious moments of consulting various directories on giant TV screens around the airport, we finally found what we hoped would be the luggage from our flight number. It should be mentioned that in the process of our search, we also discovered that our recent flight booked from a major US-based airline was also listed under a completely different name (or company) and number than the original one that we had been given, apparently due to a partnership between the US airline and a major France-based airline, although it was in fact the very same airplane! Once we had figured that out, we were able to locate the right alphabetical area for our baggage claim. Now we were standing around a rotating conveyor belt of luggage fitting every possible type of description, hoping that the proverbial fruits of our labors would soon be made evident. Sharron presently spotted her distinctly patterned pieces of luggage with personalized tags, and the excitement of our first big accomplishment set in as we began looking for my much less remarkable old grey suitcase, passed down to me from my late grandfather. In the sea of baggage, seemingly consisting of one shade of grey or another, it took several minutes for me to be able to claim my heavy traveling accessory. I turned to Mark and asked where his claim was located, to which he replied, "This is awal I got!", gesturing to his backpack as he did so, "I prefer d' travel lyed..." It would appear so, I thought to myself, but kept quiet as we moved forward to the next phase of our adventure: getting the train tickets to Tours.

  It was at this time that Mark decided to announce to the group that he was a smoker and had an urgent need for a cigarette. Apparently being on a non-smoking flight (and in an airport with a likewise restriction) for the last day or so had really taken its toll on his nicotine addiction. It was also at this time that I realized my urgent need for a cup of coffee! To make matters even more interesting, Sharron voiced her need to purchase a specific SIM card for an international cell phone plan that was supposedly located somewhere nearby. As we were leaving the now practically deserted baggage claim terminal, we noticed a strange room or chamber located at the exit area across from us. It was made of clear glass, possibly soundproof, and had an unmistakable vent pipe sticking out of the flat, white roof. How unusual, I wonder what it's for... my curiosity peaked as I moved towards this transparent encasement.