Well, I’m sated, I just finished dinner, a scotch before dinner, a few beers with dinner, chicken marsala, egg birani, parantha makhani, with Billy Joel on the travel stereo – life is good, or at least it is for those of us that are so fortunate. I’m having the time of my life, yet, for most of the world life is cruel. I don’t want to get into an Irish alcohol rant, so let’s move on. I few years ago I read a column by Tom Freidman whom said that he had the greatest job on earth – he wrote for the New York Times, he could write about anything, he could go anywhere – and they would pay for it. If he wanted to take three or four months off to write a book he could. That’s the way I feel, granted I do not work for the New York Times, I do not write anything that has an audience, and if I do travel I’m expected to stay in cheap hotels and walk whenever possible, but who gives a damn I can write about anything I want. I’m 55, read Lonely Plant travel books, and seeing the world one developing country at a time; I’m lucky pure and simple. I didn’t do anything to justify this gift.
Ok, on to my day. This is my first entry since departure. The first leg of the trip was great, in fact, I’m thinking of writing a short piece tentative titled ‘To Be Served by a Woman with a French Accent.’ Maybe I don’t have to write anything but the title. Paris was interesting, but only because I was there more than thirty years ago. It brought back memories, a few of them of me being a jackass. My first encounter with Paris was at nineteen. I had taken Icelandic Air from New York to Luxembourg - $168 one way trip. From Luxembourg it was a long train ride to Madrid with a train and station change in Paris. A few hours, a cab driver that could have ripped me of for about 50 dollars and didn’t.
My second visit was a trip to Paris and Zurich at the ripe age of twenty- I was on the trail of a Swiss girl, Claudia, unsuccessfully as was my habit at the time. I met a woman on the train to Paris, we were both alone, we decided to join forces – what a disaster. She was young, excited and looking for a friendly familiar American company; I was tired jaded and boorish. She ran like a bat out of hell when I suggested that it would be ok with me if we shared a bed given the room situation in Paris before Easter. I never had the time for ‘platonic’ to pass my lips before she was gone.
So as you can imagine I have strong emotional attachments to Paris. I flew an Air France charter on my way back, but can’t remember a thing.
After a pleasant first leg on my journey, we landed in at some remote corner of Charles de Gaulle. It was six in the morning, de Gaulle was under what seemed like massive construction – it was empty, dark and torn up. The ride seemed like it would never end. We were dropped off at the lobby of terminal A – it reminded me of a holding cell – you know the look yellow ceramic titles, fluorescent lights, and worn floor tile. The clerk only had to let loose with the accent to be charming and friendly.
Finally the gates opened for the morning, a few braved the stairs with their carry-on. I opted for the escalator. I made it to the top immediately encountering a security screening area. Picture this people taking their shoes off, no way out, computers being pulled out of their bags; and the escalator keeps rolling on. Only one person ended up on the ground before someone reached the emergency stop button. As luck would have it I was strip searched, no, really the only thing striped searched was my backpack. I had meticulously prepared – I knew what was in every pocket, and every pocket had an exquisite logic; all destroyed by an agent of the French government.
Speaking of French government, how many of you have heard of the French complaining of how we uncultured Americans are corrupting the purity of the French language, that may be so, at least in the sense of Coke-a-Coca or McDonalds, but the Americans did not ask the French to paint ‘stop’ signs on the tarmac, or request that airport security have; POLICE” on the back of their uniforms – am I sounding a bit Bill O’Reillyish?
Charles de Gaulle is pretty much of a mess. I was not able to find a plug to keep my laptop charged but I was able to get an internet connect – it cost $10 euros for two hours. I needed to get my email – I was expecting an email with my Hotel arrangements in Delhi. I was due to arrive in Delhi around 11 pm and I’m concerned about a Hotel. I was able to handle some work email. I tried to make reservations for a Hotel using Skypes (internet telephone), no luck everything booked. The 26th is Republic Day in India – commemorates the founding of the India Republic in 1950.
Between the bus ride, the delay in opening parts of the airport, the search, and arrangement of the internet connection the 3 plus hour delay over the time disappeared before I knew it. We board the plane as snow began to fall.
Friday, January 26, 2007
Hotel Singh Sons, Karol Bagh, Delhi
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4 comments:
Excellent Comments and all Coverage by Camera !
Raj
www.indiantourandtravel.com
wowwwwwww
great!!!!!!!!!!!
great post, I am interesting in it!
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