"Why did you just take a picture of that step?"
"Because I want to remember that when we woke up we were the only ones out except the guy with the laundry -- and it was raining."
Our time on Mont Saint-Michel in the morning was brief -- just long enough to get back down all the winding steps and streets -- but perfect. If ever I stay again, I commit that we will stay up past dark, and get up before the sun is fully realized.
We caught our shuttle and drove the million hours (The Dad did -- the rest of us were all at different places on the coma spectrum). In an effort to not be late (like we almost always are), we did not stop for breakfast. We all had a speculoos biscuit that was in the hotel room, and The Sister and The Girl split a croissant that was in the car from the day before, while the boys and I nibbled on some Jaffa cakes.
As we neared Charles De'Gaul The Girl actually said, after asking the time, "Wow. So we aren't late." Yes, that's how often we're late. Unfortunately, she spoke too soon... Because we still had to find a gas station, so as to avoid a $350 fine. And that proved difficult. And so by the time we got to the airport we still had not eaten lunch, my chest was tight, and the plan was for The Dad to deposit us and all the bags in line, with the hope that he would be able to return the car and join us, but if not, at least we would hopefully be able to get all the bags checked -- as you are not allowed to check bags after a certain point on an international flight -- as well as the four of us. Hopefully, they would allow one bag-less man to check in late. These kind of "plans" and shenanigans are exactly why "airport travel" has become synonymous in my mind with "please-medicate-now."
As it turned out, it didn't matter. Our flight was canceled. Once again, the French were striking. Air Traffic Control doesn't like a new sanction -- yeah, it will be safer, yeah, it will be better for the environment, blah, blah, they don't like it. About 50% of the flights were canceled. Ours was one of them.
Okay, a couple of hours at the airport -- the earliest flight out would be Friday morning, yes we could keep the rental car, but first you have to prove that you really want it by standing around for an hour, etc. and so forth. With our rental car we drove to the closest Marriott -- not to check in -- but so The Dad could analyze the situation from every possible angle. We were throwing eating/lodging scenarios at him left and right, but the man was like a stone wall. When it comes to travel plans he will not be rushed. Still no food. At one point I demanded the last euros in his pocket and was able to buy one small can of Pringles from the little cache behind the front desk where you can buy suntan knee-high nylons and aspirin -- we each got five Pringles.
Finally, a decision -- to the Marriott Villas outside of Paris where we stayed for a week last time. We would watch a movie and play a board game and figure out what to do!
We stopped at an Auchon super grocery store and loaded up on all the cereals we had been wondering about, and chocolate, and stuff for a spaghetti dinner...
We got to the villa and ate spaghetti until we couldn't breathe. And watched the second Harry Potter that we rented from the little store, and were excited to point out all the props we had seen... And then we crashed.
It's strange how we could fit ten million adventures into one day, but then on this day the hours were eaten by driving and standing in lines... We must take care to not spend our lives driving and standing in lines...
