Miriam and I rolled out of bed with a groan this morning at a little before six. We'd mostly packed the night before, but I think I only got about three or four hours of sleep, and we had to get our things downstairs at seven!
It was a mad scramble. Coming from England to Paris, our bags weren't weighed - we didn't have to worry about that. To check an airplane bag though, it has to be 40 pounds or under. I tried to remember what I'd put in my bag to make it equal 40 pounds at the London Center, but my stuff has been shuffled around so much since then that it's hard to keep track.
We checked and doubled and triple checked the room - if we leave anything behind here, it'll be gone for good. Fortunately the lift was working, and we dragged our suitcases down, only to discover that we were early - the shuttle wasn't coming until 7:30!
After that, we took a pair of long breaths, and took turns doing one last check of the room. Then we sat on a couch in the tiny lobby and watched a man speak French on the TV.
At seven thirty, a large van drove up - actually the biggest vehicle I've seen while here, not counting trucks. It wasn't much bigger than a minivan, but in comparison it looked huge. The driver was a brusque Frenchwoman. We gave her our money, and she hoisted our bags into the van. We got in, and off we went!
At this point, Delta Airline's trusty app decided to die on me. Fortunately, Dad had emailed me the details of the airport terminal we needed, so we were able to tell her where to take us.
We stopped off at three other hotels to pick up a college-aged man, two girls, and a husband and wife. I don't know how all of us and our combined stuff could fit, but the driver stared it all into submission. Really, she was intimidating.
Once we were all in, our driver went on the French equivalent of the freeway. I was ever so grateful that she was the one driving and not me!
Oh, look at the picture. You'll note that in France, drivers drive on the right side of the road and the steering wheels are on the left side of the car, just like in America. It's opposite in Britain - that's why I found this worth mentioning.
We skinned down the narrow roads in the morning light, and at one point went cruising around the Arc de Triomphe on that crazy roundabout I showed you a picture of. She managed it without a blink. I have deep respect for French women drivers.
The traffic at the Charles de Gaulle airport was bewildering. For the millionth time, Miriam and I thanked God for letting us find out about this shuttle that managed all of it without any trouble at all.
Then the car stopped, and she popped out, helped us haul our stuff out of the back, and drove away, leaving us on the curb at our terminal.
So far, so good.
It all went catawampus from there on.
For some reason, our tickets wouldn't scan. We discovered when we got to the baggage check, that we had been booked on standby. There was no guarantee that we would get seats on our plane. We did, however, manage to check our luggage without trouble. I was even two pounds underweight! To make up for that, my duffle bag felt like it had cobblestones in it. All the heavy things and my technology were in there. I also had my backpack with some other stuff.
Now, when you fly, you're supposed to take one carry-on and a personal item. Staff are authorized to weigh and/or measure any carry-on items and have you check them if they are too heavy. Both my backpack and my duffle were heavy and large, but we'd done our homework. Staff are less likely to weigh hand-held bags, and they are more likely to weigh structured suitcases.
Don't ask me how, but we made it through security with everything intact. We tried to act confident, walk quickly, and avoid eye contact. Also, whenever we were near airport staff, we tried to handle our duffle bags as if they were weightless. In actual fact, mine was probably over twenty pounds, and Miriam swears hers was over thirty. That's like trying to inconspicuously haul a bag of flour through security!
There was one particular staff member who very much impressed Miriam and I. He spoke to the person ahead of us in line, telling him in Japanese what direction he needed to go. Then turning to us, he addressed us in a perfect American accent, and helped us get pointed the right way. You could just feel the smug self-satisfaction rolling off of him in waves at the fact he could address people in their own language. We were shocked, wondering how on earth he knew we were American. I mean, we could have been English, but he addressed us in American!
Later I realized we'd just gone through the checking process and were still holding our American passports in our hands. I'm guessing that's how he knew what language to speak.
Finally, finally we got through everything and to our loading dock. We still had about an hour and a half to calm down and settle ourselves. We kept asking the people at the desk for standby tickets, and they kept having to put us off. I guess they can't give them out until a half hour before. I think we bothered them too much - it took some finagling, but right before boarding they finally handed us our passes. They weren't next to each other, but they were both on the plane, and that's what's important!
The last few minutes, we actually got to relax and admire the airport.
As Miriam said, "Only the French could make an airport waiting room look artsy."
The boarding process started, and we got our tickets scanned and took deep breaths of relief. At last we were home free! Then we saw, to our dismay, staff pulling people aside and weighing their bags. With our hearts in our mouths, and trying to think lightweight and invisible thoughts, we skirted by and made it into the airplane chute.
I always feel like a steer at a rodeo when I'm boarding the plane.
We got to the plane, and Miriam and I reminded each other, "right foot first!" Our dear friend Bobi, the one who got us the Disneyland passes, had told us that a friend of hers, who is a medium, advises always getting on a plane with the right foot first.
Well, far be it from us to doubt her. We right-footed it onto the plane.
The airplane was three rows wide. I was in the middle row, up against one of the columns, so there weren't any seats in front of me. Next to me was a lady and her husband with their baby.
"She's pretty good on airplanes," the mother hastened to assure me. I was just as quick to smile back. If anybody's going to ride next to a couple with a baby, I figure it might as well be me. I'm not going to get nasty if it starts crying or something.
Miriam was a few rows behind me, on the outside row. We could make eye contact when I looked back. I'm so glad we both got seats on the same plane!
Shortly thereafter, we took off. It was about eleven in the morning.
Goodbye, Paris. I don't expect I'll ever be back, but I saw some really wonderful things while I was there.
After the plane leveled off in the sky, two stewardesses came back with a bassinet for the baby. It's really ingenious - it folds open and then screws into pre-made holes in the wall in front of the seats. That way, the mother could put her baby in the bassinet and not have to hold her the whole time.
That's the bassinet. You can see it's got a cloth snapped over the top - I think that's to keep the baby from flying out if the flight gets turbulent. Don't worry, there's plenty of a gap at the top and bottom, so there's good airflow, and the baby won't suffocate.
Because there were no seats in front of me, I didn't have a flip-down desk tray. The couple next to me have obviously done this before though - they dexterously folded trays up and out of their chair arms! I secretly watched and then copied them.
Each seat has a little television screen in front of it. You can watch the flight trajectory, which is what I'm doing in this picture, or you can watch complimentary videos.
I couldn't decide what to watch until I noticed Ben Hur. What an excellent way to spend three hours!
It was an excellent way.
The lady next to me watched the new Cinderella. At one point, she was watching the part where the mice turn to horses. At the same time, I was watching the epic chariot race. It was an interesting moment for me, looking back and forth between the screens. Computer generated horses - real horses. Computer generated horses - real horses.
The real horses won.
This flight was 11 hours long - talk about messing up time zones! I watched Ben Hur and tried to sleep afterwards, but it didn't work very well. We got lunch, which was a real treat. It was a warm sandwich and a drink (I chose cranberry juice). I only had one or two granola bars left and a couple of fruit snacks and a thing of dried fruit leather. Most of that was packed in my carryon though, and I couldn't get to it easily.
We also had a snack, which was fun. The hummus was stronger than I'm used to, and tasted almost oily, but it was a good change. Also, there was a pack of green olives, which I can still taste when I think about it. I've never eaten green olives much, but I do like flavor. I ended up eating them with the crackers and hummus, and I saved the cookie for last.
At one point in the flight, we had a little unexpected drama. The stewardess suddenly came on the loudspeakers. "We have a doctor on board. Dr. ----- -------, will you please come to the back of the plane?"
The husband of the lady next to me suddenly jumped, handed his earbuds to his wife, and went to the back of the plane. His wife and I both stared back at him and then at each other.
"Does this happen often?" I asked.
"No, this is a first," she answered.
He stayed back there for a good half hour. I didn't want to stare, but his wife did some neck-craning and so did I. He and the stewardesses were crowded at the back, talking to somebody. I couldn't hear any details. When he finally came back, he whispered everything to his wife - but again, I couldn't hear a word.
Near the end of the flight, a stewardess came to talk to him with a form to fill out. She thanked him, and said the patient was much more comfortable, so that was good.
As we got closer to Salt Lake City, I got more and more excited. You can see from the map that this picture was taken only forty-two minutes out! Also, look at that travel line! We passed over the tip of Greenland! I didn't sit near a window, and everybody around me had theirs shut, but if I'd noticed while we were flying over, I think I might have got up the guts to ask someone if I could have a peek. I didn't. Too bad.
I'll do that some other time.
Anyway, the plane finally landed at 1:00 MDT. On the clock, the eleven hour flight only looked like it had taken three. The baby next to me had been an absolute angel the entire time - I think she's a better traveler than I am!
When we got off, we had to fill out a form stating how much money we had spent, and what we were bringing back, and what we had done. One of the questions asked if we'd been on a farm or handled any livestock. I was going to say no until Miriam reminded me that we'd been to Shakespeare's mother's farm at Stratford-upon-Avon, and there had been animals there.
I checked the yes box.
Customs wasn't too bad. We're citizens, so they took a look at our cards, asked a few questions, and moved us on. The worst part was waiting in the line. At the desk, the man gave my card a quizzical look. "You've been on a farm?"
"A month and a half ago," we responded.
He didn't really know what to say.
"Well," he managed after a minute or two, "I guess it'll all have worn off your shoes. Don't go near any animals for a while."
"We won't," we assured him. I didn't tell him that we have chickens at home. I just won't go near anybody else's chickens.
Only after we passed did it occur to me that I should have checked the "carrying foreign soil samples" box. Ever since we watched the Queen ride by, I've had gravel stuck in some hollow place inside my boot. You can hear it rattle when I shake my foot. For a while, some pieces kept working their way through the rubber, but there's still at least one piece in there that won't come out.
Still, that gravel isn't going anywhere. I think it's stuck in my boot for the rest of time!
At last we were free. Dragging our stuff, tired and straggly from eleven hours on a plane, with rings under our eyes deep enough to hide things in, we walked through the doors and saw our parents, arms flung out wide as they ran forward to hug us!
There was another family there too, waiting with signs saying, "Welcome home, Grandma and Grandpa!" I thought of the senior missionary couple I'd seen a few people behind us in line, and smiled. Their greeting can't possibly be as good as ours was, but it'll be good too.
It was so good to see Mom and Dad again! While we've kept in touch through Skype, it isn't the same as getting a really, truly hug. They hadn't seen me in the boot, so that was new for them - they knew I had it, and they saw pictures, but it's different in person. They pulled our luggage for us, which was a service which was very much appreciated, and led the way to the car.
Oh, the beautiful mountains! Oh, the beautiful sagebrush and dried grass! You laugh - I honestly mean it. Foreign places full of greenery are all very well, but this is my home.
Mom had made tuna fish sandwiches and chocolate chip cookies and potato chips. It was so good to taste real food again! For the last week, I've been living on granola bars and fruit snacks and the occasional treat. Nothing can beat Mom's food though - nothing.
Arriving home, we found the whole place all decked out, with a banner across the front of the house proclaiming, "Welcome Home M&M!"
On the front window were greetings in every language we'd come into contact with on our trip - French, English, Welsh, Scottish Gaelic, Roman - you name it, they had it.
We only managed to stay awake until 8:00 in the evening, and then both crashed spectacularly on the couch, barely making it to bed. Still though, that's fairly impressive, considering we'd been going on five or six hours of sleep, and had been awake for around eighteen hours. By the time we got to bed, it was around 4:00 in the morning, French time.
The next morning, we got up and drove out to our friend's church to hear his homecoming talk, jumping right straight back into the real world.
It's been a wonderful trip. I'm glad I went, but I'm glad I'm back too. I'm glad I went with my sister. We have food for the imagination for years to come now, and memories that will last a lifetime. I'll never forget the lessons I've learned, the people I've met, the places I've been. Some things are already growing fuzzy, but I look back through this blog and the pictures I've taken, and I can remember again. Other days, I wake up and it seems impossible that I'll never again walk down to the Notting Hill Gate tube stop, or step into a cathedral older than my own country.
I have truly grown in so many different ways. I've learned that I can do hard things, no matter what obstacles lie in the way. I've grown even closer to my sister, as we've spent literally all day, every day together. I've discovered a stubborn streak in myself. I've learned to slow down. Hopefully these lessons will stay with me for a long time.
Thank you very much for joining us on our adventure of a lifetime. I'll miss you. I'll miss this. But I think it's time for another adventure. I start graduate school in three days.
For now though, as Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz,
"There's no place like home. There's no place like home. There's no place like home.
"Click, click, click."
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