I’ve spent weeks thinking about this post.
My first visit to France was a roller coaster of emotion.
I didn’t have a house sit lined up after Yorkshire, so I took the opportunity to go to mainland Europe for the first time in my life. <shock face> I left my hotel in London around 10am and the day just went everywhere from there.
Yes, I literally started crying at the airport and then took a photo.
I had booked a week in a co-living space in Basque Country in a small commune (French communes are analogous to civil townships and incorporated municipalities in the United States and Canada) called Bidart. I managed to book business class on the way there (because it was cheaper than economy for some reason) but I couldn’t eat most of the food (there was food even though it was an hour flight time…wild) because of my dietary restrictions. I did eat delicious cheese, though.
Anyway, I landed at Charles de Gaulle (CDG) airport to transfer to my 2nd flight of the day and even though I had read everything I could about immigration and passport control on the Air France website and googled to see where I’d have to go through that so I could be prepared (I like to be prepared) I had not been able to find any information.
So I followed the signs through the airport and suddenly ended up at airport security where I had to remove my liquids and electronics again (obviously I had done this at Heathrow as well). I was confused and everyone was speaking French (rightly so). Outside of greetings and yes and no, my most used French is “Désolé. Je ne parle pas français.” (“Sorry. I don’t speak French.”) My belongings make it through the scanner and then the last bin with my snacks purchased at LHR is rolled back in and then the man checking it stands up and asks loudly and angrily whose it is. They make me go back through the metal detector to see the unopened can of sparkling water that is causing everyone’s delay. I say (in English) I didn’t know and he says I can drink it…I’m not chugging an entire can of water in the security line when I need to run to catch my next flight, so I toss it in the trash bin and he rolls his eyes. I then go back through the metal detectors, frantically get my things back in order and continue to follow signs to my departing flight’s terminal.
But wouldn’t you know, after several more minutes of rushing through the airport, I’m suddenly looking at passport control. It’s fine, but again I had googled and everything said I’d do this at my final destination since it was still in France. Turns out that was false. So after 30 minutes waiting to be grilled by passport control, they barely look at me, stamp my passport and wave me on.
I finally make it to my terminal another 10 minutes or so later and my next need is getting an EU SIM card. I go to the shop in the terminal that the internet said I could get one (I confirmed with multiple sites and blogs), but the man at the shop says, “These are too expensive. You should get one when you get where you are going.” I explain my flight is landing in a rural area after 10pm and this will not work for me. He then says he doesn’t want to sell me what they have because they only have ones starting at €40 right now. I just walk away with nothing, find a seat and start crying.
I just cried. (Well, I cried and took a photo and connected to the airport wifi and messaged my family members about how frustrated I was.)
An aside about Charles de Gaulle Airport (as if I don’t already have half a dozen asides in this update): I had the worst time at this airport and on my return I found out that the World Airport Awards named it the Best Airport in Europe for 2022. I disagree.
My 2nd flight was delayed a bit but I watched the sun setting over the Atlantic and we landed at twilight (around 10pm). And wouldn’t you know it, then needed €25 cash for a taxi to my lodging. The driver was so nice and even got out of the car to check and see if we were close because the place I was staying wasn’t easy to locate with Google Maps. Then he only asked for €20. And I really needed that kindness.
The long day ended with me exhausted, walking into an empty co-living space in a country house in a country I’ve never been to, climbing the stairs to my room and crashing into bed having seen a few nice views from the plane.
I’ll tell you more positive stuff about my time in France in the next post.
For now, here’s the view I woke up to.
Beautiful morning view from a French country house
Follow along if you like and remember — Even tiny adventures matter.