Day 3 - Paris (Part 2/2)

Yesterday, we were saw Paris from high and were insulted by a sad French man. Today, we travel to the Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, and Notre Dame.

Behold, the Arc
After leaving Fnac, we walked up Champs de Élysées -- the equivalent of Beverly Hills' Rodeo Drive -- all stores we can't even think about affording. So Em was allowed to ooo and ahh, but rarely actually go inside said stores.

The avenue is quite striking though -- huge and wide sidewalks with cafes and their annex 30 feet away near the street and a tangible energy and spending of cold cash. It's also the site of past military parades and the last leg of the Tour de France.

'Bout a mile of walking later, we come to the Arc de Triomphe. Massive structure. Just huge. Much bigger than I thought it'd be (it stands 50 meters high; 164 feet).

Let's put it this way -- it's so big that somebody's flew a plane through the arc in 1919. Photo is here if you don't believe me...

Equally stunning is the roundabout ...around... the arc. Twelve different streets feed into it, and with no lanes, watching cars navigate their way around the monument is pure panic and terror.

So it goes without saying that we didn't walk across the street Frogger style to get to it. Instead, you walk underground, under the roundabout and come up in the middle. Walking up the stairs, you look for the sunlight, breach the top and suddenly you're staring up at the arc -- amazing.

The reliefs on the arc facades -- there are six of them -- are so detailed and ornate; fairly impressive for a monument built by Napoleon back in 1836. The same goes for the inside and ceiling of the monument -- decorated with art and the names of some 500 French military figures.

For a small fee, visitors can actually go into the Arc's attic/museum, and then up to the roof for a view from the top. But this trip carried a theme wherever we went -- no lines. So we avoided lines and rarely went inside anything, anywhere. This was no exception.

Instead, we sat down outside, admired the scenery, scoffed at the traffic, observed the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier, and reflected back on how many people stood in the same place -- Napoleon, Hitler, JFK and wife, Charles de Gaulle, and countless others -- all under very different circumstances.

Onward to the Louvre
After spending our share of time in and around (but not on) the Arc, we walked back across/under the street to where we'd enter the Champs de Élysées metro station.

My agency background was at a firm that dealt exclusively with public transportation agencies. So I'd by lying if I said I'm not a bit cocky about easily using public transit and planning trips.

And then we got to Paris. And the Paris transit system slayed me.

It's not that the system doesn't go everywhere, it does. It's more that the routes and vehicles aren't blatantly apparent.

I'm a guy; I require 'blatantly apparent.'

Before we left the country, I found the subway line we'd need to go to the Louvre. I'd mapped it out, knew how  many stops it'd take to get there.

So when we arrived at the station, we easily paid our fare, we easily followed the signs to the correct platform, and then we probably stood on said platform for 15 minutes -- watching subway cars fly-in, hundreds of people disembark, and fly-away.

I'd never seen a system move so quickly. But the trains weren't branded and they didn't have any exterior signage where they were going.

My hesitation being, I didn't want us boarding in haste and confusion only to find out we'd boarded a train out of the city.

We finally just boarded a train, and once inside, there was signage galore confirming that yes, this was indeed the right train. ...woulda been nice to have that same signage near the platform... ya know, for this lame American travelers...

Ten minutes later we'd arrived at the Louvre.

First, you should know that I was among the hoards of people who read Dan Brown's The DaVinci Code years ago, and then saw Ron Howard's silver screen version -- in which the Louvre plays a fairly large role.

So walking through one of the Palace's arches to be greeted by the Louvre's iconic (whether the French like it or not) pyramid was breathtaking.

The palace, which houses the museum, was used as a fortress (the Louvre is a stone's throw away from the Seine) beginning in the 12th century -- think about that. This place (or select pieces that remain of it) are medieval. It wasn't until around 1800 that the palace was converted and used as an art museum. Then in 1989 the icon pyramid was built -- the entrance to the monstrous museum.

In the courtyard stands the pyramid entrance we all know too well as well as fountains and pools. It made for a nice place to rest and take in the sights; which is something we found repeatedly throughout Paris -- a clean, safe place to sit, nothing more.

Just like our trip to the Eiffel Tour, the queue to get into the museum snaked long throughout the courtyard. But with our prepaid tickets, we skipped the entire thing and immediately entered the museum.

We probably got to the Louvre around 4:00 p.m.; we were tired and hungry and hot. So being the great, understanding and compassionate husband that I am, I led my wife through the museum on a trek to find Mona Lisa.

As one of the museum's most popular pieces, ya'd think they'd have a prominent exhibit for her, instead, it was a marketer's dream location -- kind of like putting milk in the back of the grocery store. We probably followed signage through the museum for 20 minutes, a new walking tour.

Before we'd left, I also downloaded a podcast and PDF map from Rick Steves to help us through the Louvre on a short timeframe. We resigned ourselves that there was no way we were going to see everything, so we'd see whatever we could.

So there we walked, through one of the world's most amazing museums with iPad in hand, leading the way and pointing out some of the most famous pieces.

We made our way through the Grand Gallery, which is filled with Italian painters (only Italian painters I believe), took a right into a room, and there before us was Mona Lisa -- behind plexiglass, behind stantions, behind a crowd of packed people.

But still, there she was. And then, we had to remind ourselves, that, there we were too.

After taking the same photo 3 times and raising our elbows to ward off spatially-challenged tourists, we continued walking through the Grand Gallery -- Raphael, Leonardo, Michelangelo (not the turtles). As we walked, I took photos, Em manned the iPad, showing where the next piece was.

The shocking part to us, was the amount of flash photography being used. It was everywhere. And people would stand there in front of a plexiglass frame, using a flash, and wondering why there was a glare in the photo; so they'd try again and again and again. Idiots.

As we walked through the gallery, I woman our age came up and asked Em if she was using an iPad app to get around the Louvre with the iPad. Em responded that it wasn't an app and that it was "just a map that some guy drew."

The girl looked down at the iPad again and said, "Oh! That's a Rick Steves map!" I hadn't exactly told Em who drew what and who Rick Steves was, so she was appropriately puzzled.

The girl continued, "Rick Steves is here today, I saw him downstairs eating a carrot!" And thus concluded our awkward conversation of the day...

After walking the entire gallery, we also went downstairs to see if Rick Steves had anymore carrots; we were hungry and cranky. Rick must've hopped away, so we visited the Louvre cafe instead. Here, we shared a sandwich, a pastry and a Coke.

This would be a pattern for us, we'd share a meal and wonder why were were so hungry. We'd also think any and all food we had was "the most amazing ever. We're still unsure if this was due to hunger, or if in fact, everything was the most amazing ever.

Before we left, we went up to see the Greek sculptures -- Venus de Milo and Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss among them. But the piece that shocked me was Winged Victory.

Installed at the top of a staircase, Winged Victory stands by itself, headless, armless, but gorgeous and powerful. This piece completely made the visit to the Louvre for me. Ya know...cause the hundreds of thousands of other priceless works of art just didn't make the cut.

More walking
It was 7:00 p.m. and we had a choice. Either we walk North for a mile and a half to the Ritz Carlton (Em's mom stayed here years ago and it was our hope to find her room from the garden cafe -- the same view seen in 1904's painting by Pierre-Georges Jeanniot) or we could walk Southwest for a mile to Notre Dame.

It came down to a matter of which we wanted to see more, or be upset if we didn't see. So on to Notre Dame we went.

It was a nice walk along the right bank through a part of town that wasn't as touristy and busy as the Trocadero area.

About 20 minutes later we took a left, saw the Seine on the right side, and in front of us stood Notre Dame's towers.

When we arrived, it was closed, the doors were locked, the gates shut.

So we admired the architecture from the outside, doing a lap around the property starting with the west facade, noting the detail used throughout, as well as the number of gargoyles.

At sunset, it was stunning -- the light, the Seine, the architecture.

When we'd completed the lap, somebody walked out from the church, unlocked the gate and began letting people in for a special video presentation.

So in we went, not for the presentation, but to admire the stained glass and interior with what was left of the day's sunlight.

The setting sun added a different feel to the interior, it was subdued, but still brilliant. Quiet, but still demanded your attention.

How do we get back?
It wasn't really a question, just a statement.

We were 4 miles away from our hotel and it was nearly 8:30 p.m. We hadn't eaten since we'd shared a sandwich at the Louvre and the sun was setting.

So we hailed a taxi and had him take us back across town -- well worth the 11 Euro price tag. It was pretty much the first time we'd sat down all day.

But as relaxing as the taxi ride should've been, it only reminded me of the Bourne films. We were speeding along the Seine in a taxi. Across the river was a European-sounding siren, and vespas seemed to be scooting past you at every turn.

I full expected Matt Damon to jump into our cab, break our driver's neck, and ask to pay if he could use our taxi. Sure Matt Damon, go ahead, but could you kindly stop at 3 Boulevard de Grenelle first? We're awfully hungry.

We dropped into the room, freshened up a bit and headed down to a different cafe on the corner of Boulevard de Grenelle and Quai Branly.

Here we had (shared) a salami pizza and green salad. And of course, after we dropped by to see our crepe friend and ordered another chocolate crepe with chantilly -- which melted extremely fast but tasted oh so good.

Over dinner we agreed that we could live in Paris. Its energy and personality are appealing enough to make me want to move to a smaller pad with two dogs and no doubt, new French men to insult me.

The next morning was an early pick-up for our flight to Barcelona, so we took a look at the lit-up tower once more and headed to bed.



NEXT
Paris -> Barcelona
Day in Barcelona
     

Day 3 - Paris (Part 1/2)

DISCLAIMER: We did a lot this day in Paris. Saw a lot, said a lot, ate a lot. So this day's post is appropriately really long -- two day's worth actually. So read at your own risk.

When we left off, your traveling heroes -- Ryan and Emma -- went to bed around 3:00 p.m. Los Angeles time, and somehow, we managed to get around eight hours of sleep.

It wasn't good sleep, but it was more comfortable and relaxing than 17" of leg room. Still, exhausted.

A redeeming moment though -- still in bed trying to wake up, through the open window comes the sound of a woman singing opera. At 8:00 in the morning. In Paris. Gorgeous.

Sure, the singing source was a stereo coming from an apartment around our hotel, but the environment was something special.

We need to eat
When we were planning out this trip, one of the items we agreed we simply had to do was find a cafe in Paris, sit, and have a pastry.

So that's what we did. Because it was something on our list, and also because the today would mostly consist of walking throughout Paris, and we needed energy.

We went back downstairs to Le Ponte de Seine for a quiet brunch consisting of a pancake with sugar (crepe, not the syrupy kind), tea, orange juice, and perhaps the best croissant we've ever had.

It was a quiet brunch because there weren't many other people in the cafe (me thinks the late night life means a later morning brunch), not because of the 70s era French music videos playing on the flat screens around us. Truly scary.

The tower, finally
It was my one goal for the entire trip. Seeing the tower from the plane was exciting. Sleeping just a few blocks away was grand. But in order for our entire trip to be a success, Emma had to touch the tower, she had to be on it (in it?).

We walked the few blocks from our neighborhood, up along the Seine, passing street vendors and their sheets of identical keychain towers, towards the tower itself. And as you get closer, you're reminded how monstrous a structure the tower is. Simply huge.

Back home a few months earlier, I bought tickets for the tower online. Turns out it would be one of the smartest things I've ever done. We had an appointment to go up at 1:00 p.m.

We got to the tower around Noon, took a photo of a happy, Parisian-dressed wife standing closer to the tower than ever before, kept walking -- passing underneathe the tower, looking up at its lines, looking down at the shadows it cast, and looking around at the thousands of people waiting in 2-hour lines.

We wasted time walking around the Champs de Mars, down to the old French military school where Napoleon learned how to be small and powerful, and then back along the Christmas tree lined open grass area, back to the tower for our ride up.

At 1:00, we entered a line with maybe 30 people in it. A big contrast to the snaking lines of thousands of people. Lesson: buy your tickets before you leave.

A few minutes later, we piled into a lift in the East leg of the tower with 40 of our closest friends.

Quickly and smoothly, you rise above Paris; surreal. The lift makes a stop at the first level, but only allows exit for those passengers who have reservations at the swanky restaurant -- Jules Verne.

We didn't, so on to the second level we rose.

At 115 meters (377 feet) above the Parisian ground, you have quite the view of Paris from four very different angles.

'Twas our plan (and frankly, I paid for it too), to go up to the third level (276 meters), but it was already closed at the time of our visit due to capacity. And then it was closed due to the wind. In either case, the top of the tower was closed. But the second level was plenty high enough; amazing views up there.

So on the second level, we looked out over the Seine, we saw the towers of Notre Dame, and we spied the Arc de Triomph in the distance. Here, we stared out at the Arc with a bit of worry -- seeing it looked really far away, and that was our next destination... walking the entire way.

After an hour or so of photographing the same buildings in the distance over and over again, we decided to head back down.

When you're up on the tower, you have the option to take the lift back down, or you can walk back down via the staircases. The staircases are built well, they're sturdy, you're "in" the tower, but it's still open-air. And that's an interesting part of the tower -- it's not as tall as other structures around the world, but it's the only one where you're not actually "inside."

What we learned walking down the tower was that you can stop at the first level at will. So we did. Partly because Ryan's now-30-year old knees were starting to get whiny, but more because it was another place to explore.

The crazy discovery being that there was not only the swanky restaurant on the first level, but there was also a separate bookstore, a separate cafe, a garden area, and a host of factoids scattered around the walk around the tower.

It'd been a good 4 hours since our last "we need energy" meal, so here, on the Eiffel Tower, we had lunch. Or an excuse for lunch -- two sausages (hot dogs sans buns), French fries (they actually call them French fries; lame), and a Coke (or as Emma diagnosed it, "this Coke is flat!).

Whatever it was, the food was enough to keep us going. And more than that, it was crazy to eat a meal on the tower, outside in the middle of a garden.

We're both so glad to have stopped there -- to learn about the tower's design changes throughout the years, the colors that've been used throughout its history, the secret plan to move it to Montreal in the 80's, and other really interesting stuff.

All stuff you can learn when you take us out for dessert.

And it's all stuff we would've missed if we had taken the lift back down.

Flame of Liberty
Back on the ground, the Parisian walking tour resumed. On this leg, we'd end up at the Arc, but not without two stops along the way.

First, we walked along the Seine with our backs to the tower. Then we walked across the Seine. On the other side, we came to our next scheduled stop -- the Flame of Liberty.

The flame is a full-size, gold-leaf replica of the New York-based Statue of Liberty's torch flame, given to France to demonstrate the warm relations between America and France, but given via donations from around the world. The flame itself is interesting to take-in (it's about 10 feet tall), but more so may be its location.

The flame sits atop one of many tunnels in Paris. But this tunnel isn't just any tunnel.

This tunnel is the tunnel in which Princess Diana and Dodi Fayed died.

Walking just past the monument and looking down at all the cars driving by is a bit strange -- to think about the significance of what happened just "down" there and how it likely changed the landscape of the social world.

On the day we visited, Princess Diana would've been 50 years old.

So around the monument, we found cards, floral arrangements and well wishes.

But on the tunnel wall itself we found permanent wishes from fans across the world who've visited the site -- each writing their own messages.

So while the flame was installed in 1989 (years before their deaths), it's been adopted as a Princess Di landmark. Not sure how I feel about its evolution, but the location itself was breathtaking.

How were the people?
This is one question everybody seems to want to know -- were the French mean? Sad that the idea of that is so prominent, but with one exception, I can honestly say they were terrific. Accommodating, friendly, made us want to come back.

The one exception being a guy at Fnac -- which is France's largest retailer (I'd compare it to Borders or Tower...strangely both dead or dying brands).

Again, before we left the U.S., I pre-bought tickets, this time for the Louvre. And while I had assumed we could print them out before hand (like with the Eiffel Tower) or pick them up box-office style, I had indeed pre-bought tickets that could be picked-up only at Fnac locations. Very similar to the way Robinsons-May/Macy's did (does still?) Ticketmaster.

Here, at Fnac, two things happened.

First, I took off the backpack that I don't think I had removed since around 10:00 a.m. This provoked my loving wife to tell me to put it back on because I was sweating through my shirt (did I mention it was around 85 in Paris and I was wearing pants?). But, to be fair, she also offered to carry the bag for me while I "dried out." Needless to say, I continued carrying it.

Second, we encountered the first and only guy who made me want to shove a crepe in his mouth. He didn't do anything really bad necessarily. Let me explain.

We walked up to the ticket counter and said, in English, something about picking up tickets to the Louvre. He responded, quickly, without looking-up, in French. He then sighed, and repeated the information in English.

This pattern repeated itself for a good five minutes. First, he'd say the response in French, then, in English. Each time, to make a point. Yeah, point taken. Tickets, please?

Tomorrow, we'll move on from the lone sad French soul, to the Arc de Triomphe, Louvre, and Notre Dame.

3 Minutes with Richard Simmons

Don't know how, but we forgot to mention that the Air New Zealand safety video was one to remember. You have to watch for yourself.

Day 2 - London & Paris (with photos and video)

Beware, this post uses the word "amazing" six times over the course of around four paragraphs. 

When we left off, your heroes -- Emma and Ryan -- had found a Starbucks in Heathrow's Terminal 4 and collapsed.

We felt sick, neither of us had slept on the flight over, we were irritable, still hungry (the candy bars and "artisan" sandwich from Starbucks didn't do much for us), and we still had another flight ahead of us.

Shocking, I know, but our flight to Paris was 45 minutes late. Which was grand considering I had arranged for a private transfer from the airport to our hotel. And as stated in their Terms of Service, if we were an hour late, the transfer would leave and we'd need to arrange for another.

Back at Heathrow, contrary to our initial beliefs, Air France wasn't the luxury travel alternative of the French.

The plane looked thirty years old and the only difference between first class and economy is a dirty faded blue curtain that crosses the aisle; not that it mattered from our economy seats.

The flight from London to Paris was only 45-minutes long, so that it made it more tolerable. At one point in the flight you can look down and see the English coast on one side and the French coast on the other, with only the English Channel laying below.

Geographically, I knew this was the case. But, still, to see it, surreal almost. And not 'surreal but nice' in the Notting Hill sense.

Paris, finally
Emma always gets the window seat. Why, I'm not completely sure, but it's hers.

On the decent into Paris, Em looks out the left of the plane and spots the Eiffel Tower in the distance. Instantly, the trip was a success. Happy wife.

When we were in Maui, we got off the plane and immediately noticed the air was cleaner, easier to breathe. In Paris, we landed, got off the plane, and smelled food. It was perfect.

Maybe because we had been traveling for the last 14 hours and we just needed something to eat. Or maybe because the Parisian food is just that good.

Unfortunately, the food would have to wait because it took us 3-times as long to get through customs at Charles de Gaulle than it did at Heathrow -- ya know, the airport with its customs agents on strike.

It didn't get much better at baggage claim. Our bags had arrived yet again (yay), but there was an unidentified bag left near one of the turnstiles which completely shut off the exits; nobody in or out.

All that to say, our private shuttle transfer had come and gone. So there, outside an airport in Paris, your heroes -- Emma and Ryan -- stand waiting amid foreign smokers for their shuttle to come back. This turned out to be an hour's wait... what's another hour, right?

We finally arrived at Hotel Eiffel Seine around 9:30 p.m. And yet, the sun didn't set in Paris until around 10:30; sunlight was ours for its abuse!

The hotel had recently been remodeled. It was probably three of four rooms wide and four stories high.

The elevator was big enough for one of us, plus one piece of luggage. So getting up to our room on the third floor took a bit of time.

We walk into the hotel, there's a nice gentlemen manning the desk, we fill out our info, we learn that when we leave the hotel we give the hotel attendant our room key and they give it back to us when we get back (odd), and we're on our way upstairs.

Once inside, we discovered our room didn't have any electricity; neat. Here we were 14 hours after flying 6,000 miles, all we wanted to do was use the restroom, and we ended up doing so in the dark.

The plus side being it was still bright outside and the room was quaint and charming. The room looked back into a courtyard of local apartments.

It was peaceful and picturesque; nothing like it back in the states (and we'd learn this would be a recurring theme).

I booked this particular hotel because of its proximity to the Eiffel Tower. If we got to the Tower and nothing else, the trip would've been a success.

And the hotel was perfect. So close. About 3 blocks close in fact.

We'd walk outside the hotel, pass 2 small cafes immediately to our right, cross the street (looking over the Seine), look up to our right and immediately gaze upon the strength and height of the Eiffel Tower.

We were so impressed by how close we were... and by actually being in Paris, we took a video of it... a video that Emma decided not to be in. Though she'll claim you can see the back of her head in it. Watch it, won't you...(it features some pretty fantastic music)?



After freshening up in the hotel, we walked downstairs, returned our room key to the attendant and told him there was no electricity in our room. To which we learned you actually had to place your room key in a slot near the doorway to activate the electricity. ...woulda been nice to know initially...

Our only goal for the night: remember we're in friggin' Paris, suck it up and power through, walk a mile down to the French Statue of Liberty -- which is found at the very end of a mile-long man-made island in the middle of the Seine.

We walked along the Seine at sunset (an amazing experience) down to the statue (it stands 37 feet high and was given to Paris in 1889) and just kind of breathed for the first time.

When we got to the statue, there was a local gathering at its base; a bunch of people standing around drinking wine. A bit strange.

We came, we conquered, so we started to head back back to the hotel, which was an amazing walk with the Eiffel Tower and Seine in the near and far distance.

You look up, see the Tower, and despite taking a hundred photos of it before, you take another one because it's so deserving.

The closer we got back into our area of town, the darker it got, which meant, the more the Tower lit up. Another amazing experience.

Like I said, there were a couple cafes immediately next door to our hotel, so we sat down at Le Pont de Seine for a 10:30 p.m. dinner. And still at 10:30, the sun was still shining a bit and the city was so alive; bustling with people and sounds and energy and happiness.

While in France, we did as tourists do and ordered Croque Madame and onion soup. Both amazing, both devoured in a few minutes.

Immediately next door to the cafe was the equivalent of a sweet snack bar. And at the near end of the bar is a nice French guy cooking-up crepes on order.

Naturally, we ordered "un chocolat" crepe; which was equally devoured in just a few short minutes. ...the chocolate used was fairly amazing.

Before we called it a night, we walked back across the street, looked up to the right and saw the Tower shimmering and lit up in the night's sky. It was breathtaking.

Plus, we caught it at the top of the hour -- when there's a 5-minute show of sparkling lights. The French may hate the pomp of it all, but to see it and just watch silently was amazing.

And here we stood for about five minutes, and no longer, because Emma (maybe a bit too tired) could've sworn she saw a drug deal happening fifty feet away.

So we went back to the hotel, called it a night at midnight in Paris. After all, it was 3:00 p.m. back in Los Angeles, and we needed some sleep.

If you want to view more photos (in bigger size and better resolution) check out the slideshow below and click through.



NEXT
Barton walking tour (Paris edition)

The Bartons go to Europe

Em and I have been pretty fortunate since getting married three years ago.

Two weeks in Hawaii, a week in Alaska, two weeks in Central America via the Panama Canal, and earlier this month -- nearly three weeks in Europe.

Across the next few weeks, we're going to share our trip... day by day by day.

How we got started
Back in December, Em and I went to the company Christmas party -- our sole reason for going being the possibility of winning airline tickets.

We went to the same party two years ago and weren't among the fortunate prize winners. This last year was a bit different though -- amid shrieks of surprise and happiness Em and I won 2 roundtrip tickets on Air New Zealand.

Not sure I've ever heard Em scream and giggle so loudly; it was a surprise for sure.. lots of happiness. And a big help towards our end goal of vacationing in Europe -- a couple days in Paris, one in Barcelona, then a 12-day Mediterranean cruise.

But then we started the process of trying to actually use the tickets, which was an entirely different experience.

Blackout dates... can't book more than 60 days out... $500 per leg in taxes... can't get our Air New Zealand contact on the phone, etc, etc, etc.

At the end of the day, we were able to book a flight from Los Angeles to London (then fly from London to Paris), but had to pay our own way from London back home. Not the end of the world, but certainly not 2 free roundtrip tickets.

LAX -> London
Our flight left Los Angeles around 4:00 p.m. We ended up making amazing time down the 405 and got to LAX at noon... a bit earlier than the 3 hours required suggested for international flights.

So we walk into the airport and see this.

If you can't read it, that's a sign reading "We will open at 1:30 p.m." Neat. Swell, even.

So, hyped up for our European trip of a lifetime, Em and I sit outside the airport for 90 minutes before we can even check-in our bags.

Our flight was scheduled to depart at 4:30. At 5:30, a frustrated Emma and Ryan were still standing outside a gate in Terminal 2 waiting to board our flight. First impressions of Air New Zealand weren't exactly ideal.

On a 10-hour flight, I suppose you can still make-up some time, but still... it wasn't the beginning of the trip we expected.

The plane was nice and big, new, and had a great selection of TV episodes, movies, news and games that was available for each traveler on the headrest in front of them.

About 20-minutes after taking off, the captain comes on the intercom and advises there were labor strikes affecting all public and government employees in London. "But we don't want you to stress out just yet," he finished.

What does this mean for us? There would likely be big delays waiting for us because of Britain Border Control strikes.

Not good considering we had a connecting flight at Heathrow, in a separate terminal.

A separate terminal means we had to get off our plane, go through customs, get our luggage, take the train from Terminal 1 to Terminal 4, check in for our Air France flight to Paris, go through security and make our way to our new gate.

About a week before, I woke up at 3:00 a.m. with a panic attack about this flight connection. Heathrow's website estimated that landing, getting our luggage, going through customs and security and getting through the other terminal would take about 90 minutes. And we only had 115 between the time our Air New Zealand flight landed and the Air France flight took off.

So I forked up another $500 and pushed back our Air France flight to its next departure -- two hours later. I figured it'd be worth a two hour wait to make sure we actually got to Paris. Plus, we didn't want to start off our vacation sprinting through an airport desperately trying to get to our flight.

Back on the plane, we tried to relax, watched a few movies, a couple TV shows, and unsuccessfully tried to sleep.

Just over nine hours later -- flying over northern North America via Canada, a little bit of Greeland, and then back south to the UK -- we began flying over London.

And that in itself was pretty amazing -- to look down on Buckingham Palace, Big Ben, London Bridge, London Eye (that big ferris wheel), and Wembley Stadium -- I didn't expect to see all that in 2 minutes.

Ceiling in Heathrow's Terminal 4

We were happy to land (we left Wednesday, we arrived Thursday), happy to be in London (even if we never left the airport area), but we were exhausted; and we still had to get through customs and connect to another flight before our first leg as over.

Before making our way to baggage claim (to see if we'd have clothes for the next 16 days), we had to conquer Britain Border Control -- the same labor strike-stricken obstacle.

Fortunately for us, our terminal wasn't Heathrow's big international terminal, and despite the strike, we made it through customs, baggage claim (with all of our bags, yay), took the subway to Terminal 4, checked-in on our Air France flight, checked our bags, made it through another layer of security and arrived at our gate without about an hour to spare.

That 3:00 a.m. panic attack was worth it; we made it to London, we made it for our connecting flight to Paris, found a Starbucks in the terminal and collapsed.

NEXT POST
London -> Paris
Day 1 in Paris