Meet the French

At our brief stopover in Heathrow we come face to face with 20 feet of passenger hell. The security gate is requiring people to have only ONE carry-on bag. "Just cram one bag into the other, and you can take the laptop out of your bag and carry it separately" they helpfully suggest. Between us, we have 4 bulging bags that certainly can't fit any more, much less each other. OK, we only have to get everything to squeeze into 2 bags for 20 feet. For the next 5 minutes we are a flurry of activity. Shirt, pants, and jacket pockets are filled to overflowing. Occassionally we ask each other "Do you have room for this?" and we eventually manage to each empty one bag into another. Mine won't even zip shut. Once we waddle through security we repack our bags as before. After a quick flight, we arrive in Paris on New Year's Eve. Ah, those winter Paris nights! It's freezing and pouring buckets outside and our luggage is lost. Not all of it, just the giant cardboard boxes. I knew we should have duct taped them shut. They probably came apart in the baggage system and scattered clothes everywhere. The BA woman tells me "oh cardboard boxes, they always get lost. They go through a different track." We're instructed to come back tomorrow. But, we'll be in Lyon tomorrow - our hotel checkout is noon. She then says BA can ship the boxes to our Lyon address. Sounds like Sawyer Luck saved the day! But I don't trust BA to get our bags to us in Lyon, I'd rather see the bags with my own eyes, especially if they are leaving a trail of clothes as they go. The free shuttle drops us off near our hotel and it is so dark and rainy we can't even see the hotel. We're trudging into the murk when I hear a plaintive "help!" from behind. 3 bags is proving too much for Monica so I take one from her and we stumble into the hotel lobby, bags crashing everywhere as I try to man-handle 4 big bags through a tiny vestibule with aggressive doors. Once we get to our room Monica crashes. Her cold has been getting steadily worse and she's in no shape to go to dinner much less a NYE party. So we took showers and around midnight I plugged in a european hairdryer without noticing it had been switched to 110V. rrrrRRRR! Blam! So, at least we made some noise for the turn of the calendar.

The next day Monica is still near death, so I spend the day moving our itinerary back one day and get my first real chance to deal with actual french people in the french language. At Hertz, when I ask the agent if it is possible to pick up our car the next day and return it one day later for the same price, she blows out her cheeks like she is performing a herculean feat and clicks on her keyboard for minutes. Occassionally she shoots a glance at her supervisor, but I'm not sure if it's from fear or whether she hopes she might get some help. Exhausted and frustrated she turns to me and says "yes. It is possible." But, she hasn't actually changed anything I suspect. Rephrasing my french sentence again, I ask her to make this change. More cheek blowing and clicking and finally "it is changed." I double-check the dates and price and she assures me it is changed. I'm not so confident, but that's the best I can do. Next up is the boxes. Apparently, when the BA agent said to come "back here" she really meant *right here*. But, she's in a hermetically sealed room on the other side of customs. How am I supposed to get back there? After talking to several information people I find out what I need to do - and it sounds like something out of an Ian Fleming novel. This is the official way to get lost luggage?

Agent: First, go to the barricade that separates the rabble from the people exiting customs. Wait there, then when someone exits, vault over the barricade. Next, dash through the door before it closes. If you make it through, present your mumble-mumble form to the armed customs agents to get past them.
Dave: But I don't have that form.
Agent: Then you will have to do something clever. Here is a piece of paper, perhaps you can wave it at them or use it to distract them in some way in order to get past them. Good luck.

OK, I get into position and wait. An elderly Indian man slowly pushing a mountain of luggage comes out the exit. This is my chance! I vault the barricade and easily skip past him into the customs lair. Drat! There isn't even a potted palm in here for cover. I had considered doing a forward somersault to avoid the bullets, ala The Matrix, but what luck! All of the agents are in the back chambers, bludgeoning other travelers I presume. I'm free and clear! In fact, I can already see one of our boxes in the BA hoard! Triumphant, I tell the BA agent I'm here to get my lost luggage which I've already seen in their treasure trove. She doesn't even act impressed, but takes my name and begins clicking away. Alas, only one of the boxes made it. It's much rounder and has some cuts and scars, but it's intact and probably hasn't lost anything. Regretfully, I tell the agent that not all my bags made it after all. "Ah! Why did I listen to you??" she screams. Not something you hear from American agents, but I bet they think it all the time. She had closed my file and now has to open a new one for the remaining missing bag. After that initial outburst she is actually quite kind and even gives me the form that will let me get past customs tomorrow.

Returning through customs, a young french customs agent pulls me aside and cuts open my box to look through it. He is very friendly and once he hears I'm moving to France he begins to give me all those great tips you wished you had before you started. Did I know I could pre-clear customs at the french embassy and bring in $1500 worth of goods? He even told me to beware of BA because they always lose luggage. Finally in English he tells me "I'm looking for scotch." What? Thankfully we didn't try to smuggle in any liquor... With a final poke or two he leaves and heads to the back rooms. Then I realize what he said and I wait around. A few minutes later he returns with a roll of brown packing tape and reseals and repairs my box (tearing the tape with his teeth) so it is better than before. With a big smile he wishes me good luck in my adventures here in France. You know, those french people can be pretty nice after all.