Despite its rather temperamental website (as Papagaio can attest), Iceland Air is quite an excellent airline. I was surprised that no meal was provided on the flight, as every trans-Atlantic flight I have been on before included one. No matter; the food I purchased was quite worth the money – a veggie wrap, an Icelandic donut-like pastry called “Keila” and Icelandic chocolate. Normally I would not buy food on a flight but all I had on me were Odwalla bars and now that I am in Europe, that American food-like substance was well, frankly unappealing. Furthermore, I was not going to be spending any time in Iceland and who knows when I will be in Iceland next so I thought, well, I might as well try the cuisine while I can, even if it is via airplane.
You may be wondering why Iceland Air plays any part in my French adventures; it is because flying through Iceland was the cheapest one-way ticket I could find from Boston. Iceland seems desperate for tourists; instead of just the usual airline magazine, each seatback pocket was filled with brochures about Iceland’s natural wonders and vacation packages. I was intrigued and would consider a visit after looking over the materials, so they do work. Furthermore, they do this Make-a-Wish-Foundation-like fundraiser, whereby they place envelopes in the seatback pocket for your loose change or bills (any currency is accepted) and that money is used to fund travel for children with long-term (I think they meant fatal) illnesses and their families. I have been brought up in a household that values travel enormously; thus my envelope was jingling a little by the end of the flight.
I also got to watch another of Woody Allen’s wonders: Malinda and Malinda. Although infidelity is a central theme of the film – it is presented almost as if it is an inevitable, nature part of the human experience, and thus makes me depressed and angry that we as a society do not aim for something higher or believe ourselves capable of being loyal to our partners – the film is creative, funny, and so very Woody Allen.
For those who may be reading this in hopes of advice on the more procedural points, here goes: Customs/inspections was the easiest I have ever experienced; it was probably largely due to the fact that the flight from Boston to Iceland was delayed and I had a tight layover, so they were rushing people through the customs line. Once at Charles de Gaulle, it was very easy to find the SNCF station (Terminal 2 – there is a shuttle that you can take from other terminals to Terminal 2).
If you didn’t bring a photo with you for your carte 12-25, there were at least 2 “photons” photo booths I saw in Terminal 2 that would take care of that. The carte 12-25 was very easy to buy. Make sure to “composter” (punch) your train ticket before going downstairs to level 1 to wait for the train. On level 2 (the same floor where you buy your tickets and carte 12-25), there are several small yellow kiosks where this can be done. I’m not sure if I did it right, but when the train attendants came around to examine my ticket, they said nothing, thus so far so good!
What I am most interested in discussing is the food; surprise, I know. My first truly French meal of this year was courtesy of Paul’s, a kiosk chain of very typically French sandwiches, breads, and pastries. I had a whole wheat and raisin bread stick, a green and black olive breadstick, and coconut flan. French flan is not like Brazilian or the Spanish-speaking world’s flan (which are the same thing, by the way), for it is creamier, within a crust, and looks more like a tart than the other flan, which looks more like white jello, but it is fabulous anyway and a very filling bienvenue to the land of my-stomach-never-wants-to-return-to-America. This mini-feast was enjoyed outside, as I watched trains come and go, Parisians chain-smoke, and foreigners search for a McDonald’s (there is one in Terminal 2).
I’m on the train now (and thus this post will be put up after I have written this) and feel at peace, though incredibly exhausted. I have that tingling feeling in my throat that comes with too little sleep. I’m nervous about my French, though if I have made it this far, I think I will be ok. Part of that confidence has been the friendliness of the French I have interacted with today – from people in the train to the lady from whom I bought my carte 12-25. We are passing green upon green; it’s beautiful. It is strange to be back in Europe yet oddly comforting, as I noticed that my train continues on to Hendaye, which is a border town between Spain and France that I went through when I was studying in Bilbao and went to Paris – my current route in reverse. I believe my brief stopover in Hendaye was the first time I ever saw a croque monsieur. Mmm…that sounds delicious.
This train runs so smoothly! Come on California. It is quite ridiculous that we have no train connecting San Francisco and Los Angeles.
Final comments:
1) Paris is truly the city of fashion. Why? Even the women’s bathroom stalls were decorated in fashion décor, as if the bathroom corridor was a mini runway, where you should pick your stall based on which outfit most appealed to your clothing tastes. Smile-inducing.
2) Today is September 18th and I am glad to have traveled on this day because I consider it lucky; it is the birthday of two of my very good friends, whom I met in very different places in very different circumstances, but whose sharing of a birthday date I think protects me as I travel today in not-quite-a-Harry-Potter’s-mother-like way. Today is also Chilean Independence Day and to all of my Chilean friends: Vamos. Chile. Carajo.
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