California Dreamin’

In honor of my trip to LA (wohoo!) and all things travel related, I leave you with a letter I just unearthed from my Dell (hello college) that I wrote to my friends regarding a nightmare trip home I had from my study abroad in Toulouse in 2006 (4 years ago if you can imagine!).   It’s long but hilarious.  Bon Voyage!

Friends,

please note that as I type this letter to you, I am sitting in a hijacked Lufthansa check-in booth with my purse strap strung over my forearm and my luggage propped against the trolley that I have borrowed for the past 11 hours.  There are workers clamoring about behind me, sweeping the floors and what not, all the while aware, yet unperturbed by my presence in the somewhat barricaded home I’ve made for myself.  by god, I hope I haven’t spoken to soon and that they do not pluck me from my make shift hotel room tonight.  Oh yea, and I’m blasting Death Cab.  If all goes well, I will remain awake and somewhat alert for the next 13 hours until I board my golden chariot of an airplane at 12:55pm and head to the motherland-new york city.  I’m changing from DCFC to Talking Heads now as I was reminded of the following quotation, you may ask yourself, well, how did I get here?  I’ll explain; I missed my fucking flight-I really fucking hate those fucking idiots at easyjet, which is by the way the MOST UNRELIABLE company let alone airline that has ever existed, EVER.

First those massholes (yes, I know this term is used for asshole drivers from Massachusetts but it seems entirely appropriate here) charged me an extra 150 euros for my second luggage (some advice, always read the fine print or you’ll be charged 7 euros extra per kilo), and THEN they told me the plane was going to be delayed by an hour.  I exclaimed, first in poor french and then with swear words in english (for emphasis of course), “THIS is not possible. I am going to miss my flight. There must be another flight that I can take. I need to somehow be compensated if I miss my flight and am forced to make new reservations.  It’s your responsiblity, etc.”  Of course, this did absolutely nothing except attract unwanted/disgraceful attention to me and my classy American mannerisms.  And I GUESS the airline wench was kind enough to assure me that if I hurried, I would be able to take a 50 Euro cab ride from Orly to CDG instead of the pleasant 16 euro bus ride that I once had the time for.  So as soon as I claimed my luggage, which were by the way, obviously the LAST two bags to float off of the effing belt about 5 minutes after the crowd of my fellow flightees had dissipated (something to do with the excess luggage weight, I suppose) I was finally able to hail a cab.  I feel the need to take a breather here and also to remind you (that this will be a non-smoking flight…) that none of this is an exaggeration-it happened to me-it’s still happening to me, and this nightmare will not be over until I get HOME!  You would think that I would feel safe in such a huge airport, in such a huge city, but I don’t.  The army folks and the security guards wander around every 30-45 minutes or so, and everyone has abandoned their ports.  Oh, and on top of it all, I was just evicted by the cleaning lady who hates me because my french is so bad.  i’m thinking to myself, “kill me, but don’t actually otherairportnighthawks.”  don’t you worry, i’m sneaking back to that spot in about an hour when that effing lush is a asleep in her warm bed probably minutes from here, instead of thousands of miles.  some people…   Ok, now I am changing to tracy chapman; I think she’s better for my mood/overall peace of mind.

So the cab ride, i’ll make this part as short as possible: I state to my stout chinese friend (in both french and english because that’s just what I do), “I only have 45 euros…that’s it, I honestly have no other money to my name, 45 euros, ok?”  “Oh, of course, it’s no problem,” the goddamn liar responds.  50 euros and 10 centimes later, “I will not take your luggage out of the car if you don’t pay me my 50 euros.”  “But sir, I only have 45.  I told you this before.  I guess I have $9 american dollars, but that’s all my money!”   “Are you chinese?”    “Uhh…..yea….here’s 45 euros and $9!”   Minutes later I am tugging my heavy, heavy luggage to the united airways terminal feeling relieved because I am there at 12:05, 50 minutes before takeoff-home, sweet home.  NO! NO, OF COURSE NOT! THAT’S NOT HOW THE STOry ENDS.  I effing wish.  I was 50 minutes early, but apparently that’s not enough time, check in closes an hour before, I was 10 minutes late, you will be put on stand-by for tomorrow’s flight, sorry and thank you. (insert tears, lots of tears here, and radiohead)  Fast forward 6 hours later, after I have been doomed to this misery, after I have sat at brioche doree for 4 hours sipping cafe and reading Salinger (probably the root of the this verbose blitz), after I have wandered into and out of Relay at least 5 times to “skim” the trashy girl magazines that I swear i’m going to eventually buy, after I have unloaded and repacked my luggage, a crazy homeless man begins to follow me, like he’s joining my pilgrimage..or I suppose, more like me joining his.  he CLEARLY hasn’t showered for days and has been living in the airport tom hanks style-yowzas, he thinks we’re one in the same.   my new lover from afar never speaks to me, but his mere acknowledgement of my hobo existence has cemented a disturbing bond that neither of us can deny-we are both fucking weirdos who live in the airport.  i’ll drink to that.  and now, the last part of my blitz that is somewhat normal.  Miraculously, there is one person I know still in Paris, and through a series of texts and the standard promise of dinner and a hug, I manage to summon my dear friend, leon, to accompany me for a romantic dinner at good ole mcdonalds.  he finds me.  he laughs at me.  we dine.  he takes pictures of me while he is still laughing at me.  we hang out for a solid 3 hours.  he leaves.  I am alone, in the airport, with the cleaners and the sketchballs.  Now, you enter.

Well folks, my concentration can no longer support this letter, so I will allow myself to “sleep” on this letter till morning before I review it for errors, as I am composing this monstrous essay to you all in a state of delirium.  Thank you for staying tune this whole time. AND finally, if you are ever in CDG terminal 1, hall 18, think of me, my homelessness, and my endless affection towards you for helping me pass away a little over an hour of my time in this hell hole.  I also have enclosed some pictures of me that leon took for your viewing enjoyment. I hope you never have to pull an all-nighter in an airport–especially one without security, starbucks, or wireless, much like this one.  cheers!

yours truly/a little less bitter but equally as scared,

Dunia   signing off at 1:52am