Flying the "Friendly" Skies

For a girl who adores Paris and loves to cook, getting on a plane and heading back to culinary school in France after spending two weeks at home with my husband and family was harder than you might think.  While I was excited to continue living in Paris, finish Ferrandi's program, and start my stage at a restaurant, all of that was shaded a bit grey by the fact that my husband would not be able to return permanently to Paris with me.  Pourquoi?  Well, it's that pesky little thing called a business that he has to run and considering the fact that I certainly deem myself on the spending end of the spectrum as far as money goes, to my chagrin he has stay in the states and work. 

Trying desperately not to cry, I put on a brave face, took a deep breath, and boarded the plane which was headed first to Frankfurt and then to Paris.  Or at least, that is how it was supposed to go.  What followed was perhaps the worst possible 24 hours of my life spent traveling.  After semi-smooth sailing over the Altantic (as long as you consider semi-smooth an elderly Indian woman wearing no shoes yelling at me in Hindu from time to time and an old man shooting me the evil eye when I tripped over his cane that happened to be in the middle of the aisle), I noticed that we seemed to be flying in circles and were not landing in Frankfurt.  Just then, the pilot announced that yes, we were indeed flying in circles because of a snow storm in Frankfurt.  We were now extremely low on fuel and the airport had closed.  So, we were heading to Stuttgart instead.  In Stuttgart, we had the pleasure of staying on the plane until things got better in Frankfurt.  How long would that be?  They didn't know and I certainly didn't think it would be the 4 hours it turned out to be.  Apparently, neither did the airline since all they had to pass out to the passengers was Toblerone candy bars.

Finally landing in Frankfurt, I mistakenly thought there would be some sort of order when we deplaned.  You know, someone who meets you at the gate and tells you where to go and what to do since you have undoubtedly missed your connection.  Man, was I wrong!  Instead, mass chaos reigned wherever I went, lines hundreds of yards long were forming, I saw one woman faint, others yelling in all kinds of languages, and each person I asked for help had no idea what I should do.  After being shuffled to three different lines and being told that I could not be helped in each one, I was sent to two more lines where they attempted to help.  Finally, I was put on standby and given what looked not unlike a random piece of paper with my name on it, the word standby and a hand written gate number.  Fearing that this was not exactly a sufficient boarding pass, I attempted (no lie) 3-4 more times to speak with an airline employee in order to confirm that I was definitely going to get out of Frankfurt alive that day.  Well, NO ONE WAS HELPFUL, in fact they were downright rude (and I told them that).

Sensing that I was on the verge of going crazy, I decided to get myself something to eat since I was starving.  I sauntered up to a German sausage/hot dog stand that had been tempting me with its delicious aroma every since I had entered the airport and stood in 8 different lines. Just as I was ordering my German hot dog, I was told they were closed. CLOSED! It was 2 pm. People were everywhere. They had tons of hot dogs. It made zero sense and it quickly became the straw that broke the camel's back.

Enter breakdown.

Exhausted after not sleeping at all on what had become close to a 16 hour flight, ravenous after only have eaten some toblerone in the past several hours, stuck in a crowded airport with mean employees and the prospect of not leaving there at all, I just couldn't handle it anymore.   Tears came and the irrational thoughts of a sleep deprived, starving woman who missed her husband turned into "I hate it here.  I just want to go home.  Etc."  I'm sure you can imagine it. I lost it right there in the middle of Terminal 1 outside gate A22 in Frankfurt.  I doubt anyone noticed, though, because the place was an absolute cluster of confusion and mounting passenger anger.  After allowing myself a few minutes to wallow in my self-pity and frustration, I realized I was being just a bit irrational, took another deep breath, and decided going back to the States was a bit dramatic.

Luckily not too much later I found out that the random piece of paper I had been given was indeed valid (after finally being able to speak with someone who had both a heart and a brain).  I was on standby for a later flight out of Frankfurt and by the grace of God, I was the last standby passenger that they let on the plane. 

So, almost 24 hours after I headed to the airport in Dallas, I was on my way to our tiny little apartment in Paris.  And boy was I glad to see it.