Finally got around to it!

April 9th, 2003

All goes well, save for the few hours of sleep that night. But I wake up, have a bite to eat, finish packing, and then I am off. I expected to take a larger suitcase, as the luggage allowance I am used to (trans-Pacific) is two times 70 lb. Suitcases. It turns out that to Europe, on Air France at least, you are only allowed one bag, and a limit of 23 kilos (50 lbs.). Seeing as how even my small suitcase is 5 kilos by itself, I repack into the smaller one, but there’s enough room.

So it’s out the door to the bus, then the train, then the express to the airport, then to wait for the flight. At the airport, I try to use the wireless Internet access points they have set up, but it seems that you have to sign up for some kind of roaming service to get on the Internet proper. But I do find out that they have power outlets, and if I bring my charger, I can use my laptop as I wait for my flight without draining the batteries.

The flight goes well–the food is good, and time flies despite the cramped seats. At least Air France has little touch-screen videos on the back of all the seats so you can watch the movies, TV shows or other things at your convenience (on rotating schedules), along with game-playing and the ubiquitous where-is-the-plane-now chart. The couple next to me is from Japan (Koji and Ryoko, newlyweds), and we chat amicably; Ryoko even gives me a nice origami star box, which she made during the flight, for my family in Spain (which they later enjoy).

At Charles de Gaulle airport I have to change planes, and it’s the usual madhouse rush to figure out where you go. None of the flight boards has my flight posted (the main board is about 6 hours behind, in fact), and I am not even sure which gate to go to. When I arrive at the (unmarked, of course) gate which I think is correct, I ask a gentleman sitting in the area if I am in the right place. “I’m so sorry,” I begin, “but do you speak English?”

It is time for my first rude Frenchman it seems, as he looks up at me and, sighing and rolling his eyes as if to say “this is the tenth time I have told you will you just go away you annoying person,” he answers, “Yessss, I speak Eeenglish” (with an “isn’t it obvious, you moron?” attitude), after which I ask and he resentfully tells me that this is where I catch the flight to Madrid. I swear, I am not exaggerating.But it all goes well from there, everyone is lovely and I get to Madrid on time and in one piece.

I expect customs, and was not aware that when I passed through passport control in Paris, that was customs, so I just have to walk out of baggage claim in Madrid. Okay. My father (who preceeded me into Madrid by 4 hours), my aunt Millie, and my very vivacious and gregarious uncle Vicente (married to my aunt Berta) greet me warmly, take me to the car and drive me to Berta and Vicente’s place for the evening. We gnosh on cold cuts, particularly some excellent chorizo Berta got (the Iberico chorizo is the best!). My father and I must get to sleep soon, because we wake up early tomorrow. The plan is to go to our ancestral home of Pontevedra, a 6- to 8-hour drive from Madrid, from early the next morning.

— Photos from the flight are thumbnailed on the Day 1 Photo Page.