In which GT recounts her trek from Stuttgart to Columbus via two very large airports. Mostly, she walked.
Part I – Stuttgart – Paris
I knew it was going to be a long day when I realized (the night before) that my flight left at 7:15 a.m. (All I’d remembered was “earlier than the usual 11:00 a.m. Stuttgart-Atlanta flight.”) I should have been suspicious when the check-in agent handed me a pamphlet containing 11 pages of maps and explanations about arriving at Paris - Charles de Gaulle (CDG) Airport. (Really, I just counted them!) She warned me that it would take a while and that I’d have to take a bus, but I figured that meant an Atlanta while and that we’d just wander over to a bus stop and the bus would zoom efficiently to the correct terminal. She even drew me a picture of where I’d arrive and where I’d be leaving from. Normally, I read instructions and information and am immune to travel surprises, but it was 5:15 in the morning fercryinoutloud!
The directions we got as we left the plane were: “Go around and then left and then left again” or words to that effect. There were hand gestures to illustrate the “around” part, so it wasn’t quite as confusing as it sounds. I was relieved to see that the terminal looked basically the same as the one I’d spent 8 hours in about 10 years ago. Familiarity is good, right?
Well, yes, except when there aren’t any signs telling you when to turn left. There are these little exits that take you out of the airport. (They’re tucked between various shops.) None of them tell you that you can go through them and turn left again and then head for the Holy Grail…er…I mean Terminal 2E. (Has anyone ever noticed that airports generally have subpar signage? I always feel like I’m headed the wrong way.)
Eventually, I stumbled upon a map of the terminal and determined that I was “there.” (It told me so in about five languages.) I had already walked for at least five minutes and it looked like I was maybe a quarter of the way to my destination. The map also contained a large empty area labeled [del]“here be dragons”[/del]“under construction” in French.
Soon, I started seeing signs for Terminal 2E. They took me through a snaky tunnel, down some stairs, onto a couple of moving walkways, past the entrance to the Sheraton, up some stairs (I think – by the time I started writing it down the trip was all kind of a blur), and then to…security. That was quick and painless, at least.
Optimist that I am, I figured I must be almost there. After all, the sign said: “Gates 70-87, this-a-way.” (I was aiming for gate 86.) Deceptive. As we entered the building, the path split off into 70-77 and 80-87. The lucky people headed to the 70s presumably stayed in that building. The rest of us were ushered out the back door. It would have seemed dodgy if we hadn’t been through security already. Airport personnel pointing us to a waiting shuttle bus also lent it an air of legitimacy. Additionally, I wasn’t quite awake. (I am rather sheeplike when not quite awake. Please don’t tell Hal.)
You know how trips take longer when you’ve never been to the destination? It’s even worse when you’re sleep-deprived and in an airport. At first it felt like Joe-Average terminal-to-terminal shuttle trip. That ended when the bus bore left and then right around an area that was obviously part of the construction zone and then proceeded INTO the construction zone (at least that’s what it felt like). Really, I wanted to reach for a hardhat. The next leg of our journey took us on what seemed to be a European country road. There were a few trees and a few intersections; in fact, it looked strikingly like part of our drive to the Stuttgart airport.
Finally, I spotted an airfield, which we proceeded to enter. I’m not kidding. We even had to stop to let two planes cross the road. I think we were driving on a runway.
At long last, we could see our destination. You know the trailers they use in American schools to create temporary classrooms when there are too many students? That’s pretty much the spirit of this area. Only with planes added to the mix.
Here we were, at one of Europe’s largest airports, in one of Europe’s most important cities, and it looked like we were arriving at Middle-of-Nowhere Regional Airfield. And, do we just pull up to the front of the terminal? Why no, no we don’t. Instead, we go around to an area that looks stikingly like the back of my neighborhood Target (there’s a shortcut behind it) and finally get to an entrance that at least looks like it’s part of an airport.
Elapsed time from gate to gate: just under 45 minutes.
I’d say that’s enough of a start for today; not very ooh la la, rigs, but the next installment is - a little bit.
Happy Monday!
GT
I know moving is supposed to be hell, I know buying a house is full of ups and downs, and I know that I’m better-packed than any seemingly-scatterbrained thirtysomething (okay, thirty and three weeks) has any right to be. Doesn’t mean I’m not quietly freaking out on the inside.