L'Arrivee

    What a trip this has been. Let’s start with the flight itself. The weather in Raleigh is rotten, and apparently even worse in Philly. My flight is delayed. Okay, that’s fixable.

    Well, apparently not. I’m told my only option is to switch to a flight to Charlotte, then on to my regular route, except on different flights, meaning different times. Finally, that choice would put me in Marseille at 6:30pm. Originally, I’m set to arrive at 9:30am. I have a bus to catch at 3. Obviously, that option doesn’t work. So I get to Philly, annnnd of course, I miss my connection. Okay, still not the end of the world. I go to special services, where the lovely woman at the counter tells me she can get me on the next flight to Frankfurt, finally arriving in Marseille at -- guess what time? -- 6:30. No, I tell her, that won’t do. Can you get me on the flight to Paris, which would get me to Marseille at noon? No. Paris is overbooked. She doesn’t even check the computer. Okay, I say, how about the flight to Brussels? She heaves a sigh, no. Well, another big sigh, maybe. Yes, if you want to pay $250-300. Absolutely not! Distraught, I call the US Air help number. They put me on the flight to Brussels, getting me in to Marseille at 2:20pm. Cool. But wait, since they’re so nice, why don’t I ask if they can put me on the Paris flight? Well, they could have, if they hadn’t already changed my airline to put me on Air Brussels. So all because of the stupid special services lady, I could have been on the Paris flight to CDG, but NO. Ughhhh.

    So, story continued, I go to Brussels. The flight is pleasant. I have a nice couple next to me and an exit row window, so lots of foot room. I sleep most of the way, but wake in time to see a bit of the country from the air. It’s beautiful. Patchwork land of green and brown fields are broken up by strips of red-roofed houses. Even the pine trees grow in perfect little grids. It is very quaint. The airport is beautiful, and I cleared customs in plenty of time to make my connection to Marseille.

    That flight was also wonderful, and flying over Marseille was breathtaking. It seems more like flying into the Caribbean. We crossed over the Durance river, a brilliant ribbon of turquoise cutting through the dark landscape. The limestone peaks of the Alps-de-Haute-Provence gleam in the afternoon sunlight. Getting to the water is even more amazing. The water is astonishingly blue, and behind the stone barrier, a milky jade green. Sheer limestone cliffs drop off into the water, and islands of foreboding peaks loom offshore. Sailboats dot the water everywhere, skimming so close to one another they look as if they’d collide. Picturesque is an understatement. However, this wondrous feeling is momentarily put aside when I reach the Marseille airport. My bags aren’t there. Of course. 

    It’s hard to be sad, however, waiting in the seventy-five degree sunshine to depart for Lacoste. After over twenty four long hours of travel, I decide to just enjoy the fresh air. The bags will come, everything will be fine. I’m sure Lacoste will put all worries aside. 

    Expect updates of the village soon!