Capt. Mondo's World o' Mondo-ness

Arrival in Paris, Then Nice, Then Car-Ride, Pool and Bed
I've never been able to successfully sleep on a plane ride, and this one is no different. I open the window to let in the sun to help me adjust to the new time zone, and switch over my watch to the local time to help stymie jet lag as much as possible. As we come into Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, I crane my neck looking to see if I can see any recognizable landmarks, but no Arc du Triumphe or Eiffel Tower are to be seen, thought I do manage to see what I think was the Seine. The landing comes hard, harder than most I've experienced on a plane as large as this, which causes a few exclamations from other passengers as we touch down, though otherwise the flight had been completely smooth and without incident.

The airport itself is striking, with the definite intention to impress. From the outside it there are a number of architectural elements which look impressive, though it is the spidery steel arches supporting an extensive glass ceiling that is most impressive. It lets in the light and makes the whole structure seem airy and evanescent, though it is hard to forget that earlier in the year part of this deliberate showpiece of French architecture collapsed under its own weight.

The airport is teeming with people, and I notice several heavily armed guards near one of the entrances, casually talking to each other. I thought about taking a picture - from a discrete distance -- but decide that that might not be a good idea. I take a quick look through an extensive magazine shop, and in particular gawk at the vast selection available - all in French of course. Everything from starlets with their boobs falling out on the covers in one section, to the inevitable (and adjacent) fashion section, car magazines, editions of The Economist entirely in French, stacks of newspapers, car and gadget mags, history and science publications, and comic books. The French publishing industry is very healthy, going by what I see around me. I pause at an Asterix book, and think about getting one to read to Vanessa, but realize that my own French is not yet up to the task, and that an English edition - were it available - would be a better bet in the long run. I also walk into a toy shop, and realize that very little of what was there - various Barbies, toy cars and planes, portable games, etc - wasn't so different from what I could find at home. "Made in China" rather than "Made in France" seemed to be the rule.

Charles de Gaulle Airport - Departures

So I made my way to the Departures area, and wait for my flight to Nice. About a half hour prior to the boarding time I notice that they have moved the boarding area to the one adjacent to where I was sitting. What this does is that it puts together two flights leaving to two separate places (Barcelona and Nice) leaving out of one boarding area - with no clear signage as to which voluminous line-up leads to which airplane. While all around us there are other boarding areas that are completely empty. And to top it off, there is only person handling all of the check-ins for each plane. A flight that was supposed to leave at 10:10am only manages to fill up with it's passengers a full half hour after that. Insert stereotypical comment about Gallic efficiency - or the lack thereof - here... With all of the delays, the flight manages to leave a full hour after its scheduled time. This isn't such a big deal for me as it might seem, since I am expecting a long wait for my Father-in-Law at Nice, since he is delivering his girlfriend to the same airport for a flight to her parents which leaves about 3 hours after mine was originally due to arrive.

It's a smaller Airbus this time, with no TV screen set into the seat in front of me. Instead I turn on my Sony minidisk player and slip in a music disc at random. Turns out to be the one that starts out with the Strangler's "Nice in Nice" - couldn't be a more appropriate choice.

Land in Nice, and manage to pick up my bags without any fuss. Am a bit annoyed that my prominent Red Hat baggage tag has managed to fall off of my luggage case, and make a mental note to ask them for a replacement. I find a change machine and convert a 10 Euro note into coinage so that I can make a phone call.

But there's no need of this as yet, since I've got a multi-hour wait ahead of me. Coincidentally, today turns out to be the 60th anniversary of the Allied liberation of Nice, and there are prominent automated advertising signs postering this fact, switched every 30 seconds or so with a slinky model advertising some random French perfume. Make a mental note to pick up a book that looks into this aspect of WWII, since I don't know much about the liberation of the southerly, non-Normandy section of France, which I think was part of Vichy.

I end up wandering through the airport, and pick up a few cheesy old postcards for friends, but cannot find stamps for them anywhere. Have been well fed (and wined) on the flight over, so am not hungry. I take a look at the phone and discover that they are credit or phone card only - there is no slot for taking change. I also discover after a couple of attempts that my transatlantic phone number for calling the chateau does not easily translate into something I can call locally, but am at a loss to know which numbers need to be subtracted (other than the obvious leading "011") or new ones to be added.

So I find a seat and wait. And wait. And wait some more. Do some people-watching, looking at the incredibly thin and svelte never-ending gaggle of fashionably tanned females flow by, mysterious behind their dark sunglasses. I manage to stifle coughing from the smoky cigarette infused atmosphere within the building. Welcome to Europe. I start reading a Scientific American article about Einstein-ian physics, and realize that it is not helping in my struggle to stay alert and awake.

I begin to get slightly panicky around 3:30pm, as Joseph must have arrived by now in order to drop off his girlfriend. I ask two board-looking tourist advisors about the phone number again, and they add a couple of extra area code numbers that I wouldn't have known about. I try the phone again, but am ultimately stymied by some sort of automated error message in French that I cannot understand in the slightest. Am beginning to think seriously about the prospect of sleeping off the rest of the afternoon in a nearby hotel when I see Josef's friendly face appear from around a corner. Turns out he had been hanging out in Terminal One, which is for international flights, and I had been hanging around in Terminal Two, which is for domestic flights, like the one I had just come on from Paris. I had thought about trekking over to the other terminal, but thought it best to stay in one place in case we ended up missing each other. In the end I finally emerge from the smoky interior and make my way to his car in the parking lot, and we begin our hour+ journey from Nice to Ramatuelle.

I don't usually end up having much in the way of talkative conversations with my Father-in-Law, but this time I manage to get him talking about some of his recent trips around Europe and North Africa, including tours of Egypt, Greece and Italy. He tells me that the only way to properly see Egypt is by a floating cruise down the Nile, and tells me of his fascination with the once-buried Roman city of Pompeii, and urges me to go there with the family one day. The scenery rushing past on these twisting streets is breathtaking, and much more green and lush-looking than when I last visited in the winter. I'm not normally car-sick, but my stomach does begin to churn a bit at all of the hard turns in the road, and I can't help but wish that more ancient Romans had come to this part of France to lay down their classically straight roadways.

The Pool at Chateau Volterra, Overlooking the Mediterranean

As we arrive at the chateau, I see Vanessa sporting curled braids and a yellow dress, obviously waiting for my arrival. "Daddy Daddy!" she exclaims as I un-pretzel myself from the car, and little Annie similarly comes rushing from inside to greet me. I grab them both in a big hug, and Vanessa begins to drag me towards the pool that she wants me to see. I kiss Erika in passing as I am monopolized by the kids as they cajoled me into my swim trunks and within mere minutes of my arrival I am with the girls in the water, in a magnificent pool that overlooks a vast swath of the dark blue Mediterranean far below. Erika tells me that Vanessa has been great in the water, and thanks to the help of a swim vest, Annie is on the verge of swimming herself. I happily swim with the girls in the late afternoon for about an hour before going back to our room and finish some basic unpacking. By this point I am rapidly fading, and decide against staying up for a typical late evening dinner and begin to make motions to bed. Erika gets ready for a night out on the town with the others as I take my leave and pleasantly and thoroughly sink into blessed restful oblivion for the night.