Paris, Part Five: You Could Teach Monkeys To Design Better Airports Than This
Our plane left in the late afternoon, so we had a leisurely morning of packing and then left our bags with the front desk so we could have a final walk around the area. We had brunch at a café and then went to another street market near the hotel. The weather was a bit better, sunny and not quite so cold. The Parisians were all out at the market, buying Sunday dinners, new socks, flowers, and whatever else they might need.
I saw things at this market that just amazed me. Giant pigs’ feet. (I don’t know why I always thought pigs’ feet would be small.) Hearts. Livers. Kidneys. Sea urchins. Enormous crabs. Whole chickens with the necks and heads still attached. A conger eel. A skinned rabbit.
The market was just incredible to me. I mean, do you know anyone who wakes up and thinks “I’d like to drop into the market today and pick up some octopus. And maybe a nice eel. I haven’t had eel in ages.” I can barely bring myself to make stew with pre-sliced meat chunks. I have no capacity to deal with food items that looks like what they used to be.
We decided to skip the Roissybus on the way back to the airport and instead took the train, which got us there in good time and for about the same price as the bus. I hate to end my travelogue of Paris on a bad note, but Charles de Gaulle airport is a nightmare.
We were flying Aer Lingus, which was listed as being Gate 5 for check-in. We made two complete circuits of their check-in hall and couldn’t find a Gate 5. We’d see Gate 3. Gate 6. Gate 4. No Gate 5. We saw a staircase that looked like it would take you down to Gate 5, but it just didn’t look like the kind of place you’d be permitted to go.
Peter stopped an airport worker and was in the process of asking him if he spoke English and was about to ask him where Gate 5 was when the guy took one look at him and said “Aer Lingus, Gate 5 is downstairs.” So, as you can see, they have a lot of pale-faced, ruddy-cheeked, red-haired Irish-looking people asking for Gate 5. It’s obviously a problem – why not put a big sign showing where Gate 5 is?
I guess because that would be too easy. After we were checked into our flight, we began our quest to find lunch. Charles de Gaulle has a satellite system where instead of long hallways with gates, they have circles with gates. The circles are dotted around the airport and you get to them via underground walkways and moving sidewalks. Peter was smart enough to ask the guy checking boarding cards at the entrance to the satellite system if there was food on the other side. The guy advised going to the food court in the main hall, so that’s what we did. (A good thing too, since there was only a coffee concession in the satellite.)
We had McDonald’s because the choices were thin on the ground and I think Peter just really wanted to order a Royale with Cheese. After lunch, we went on quest for bottled water. The shopping choices were pitiful and although we finally found a newsagent, they didn’t sell bottled water. (We ended up buying it from the aforementioned coffee concession.)
We went to our satellite, waited about 15 or 20 minutes to get through security and then I spent another 15 minutes queuing to buy our water. Maybe 30 minutes before our flight, I decided I’d better go to the bathroom. Guess what. Charles de Gaulle Airport was designed by monkeys. There’s no access to the bathrooms on the checked-side of security. In order to go to the bathroom, you have to leave the secure area and then go back through security. You have to leave through the sort of air-lock doors Dublin banks use to thwart robberies.
I was desperate and couldn’t wait until we boarded the plane, so I went through the air-lock doors and then got back into the security line when I was ready. The people in front of me were Irish and were complaining to the people in front of them about how badly designed the airport was. I told them “If you have to go the toilet, you better go now. You can’t get to them on the other side of security. You’ll have to come out and go through queuing for security all over again.” Hey, it was a public service. OK, it wasn’t entirely altruistic, since my little announcement resulted about half the people in front of me leaving the queue.
Our flight back to Dublin was swift and uneventful. We were sitting in the emergency exit row, so Peter had plenty of leg room and I had the illusion of increased survival prospects in the unlikely event of an uncontrolled landing.
In conclusion, we enjoyed Paris and are looking forward to going back in warmer, more hospitable weather.
I saw things at this market that just amazed me. Giant pigs’ feet. (I don’t know why I always thought pigs’ feet would be small.) Hearts. Livers. Kidneys. Sea urchins. Enormous crabs. Whole chickens with the necks and heads still attached. A conger eel. A skinned rabbit.
The market was just incredible to me. I mean, do you know anyone who wakes up and thinks “I’d like to drop into the market today and pick up some octopus. And maybe a nice eel. I haven’t had eel in ages.” I can barely bring myself to make stew with pre-sliced meat chunks. I have no capacity to deal with food items that looks like what they used to be.
We decided to skip the Roissybus on the way back to the airport and instead took the train, which got us there in good time and for about the same price as the bus. I hate to end my travelogue of Paris on a bad note, but Charles de Gaulle airport is a nightmare.
We were flying Aer Lingus, which was listed as being Gate 5 for check-in. We made two complete circuits of their check-in hall and couldn’t find a Gate 5. We’d see Gate 3. Gate 6. Gate 4. No Gate 5. We saw a staircase that looked like it would take you down to Gate 5, but it just didn’t look like the kind of place you’d be permitted to go.
Peter stopped an airport worker and was in the process of asking him if he spoke English and was about to ask him where Gate 5 was when the guy took one look at him and said “Aer Lingus, Gate 5 is downstairs.” So, as you can see, they have a lot of pale-faced, ruddy-cheeked, red-haired Irish-looking people asking for Gate 5. It’s obviously a problem – why not put a big sign showing where Gate 5 is?
I guess because that would be too easy. After we were checked into our flight, we began our quest to find lunch. Charles de Gaulle has a satellite system where instead of long hallways with gates, they have circles with gates. The circles are dotted around the airport and you get to them via underground walkways and moving sidewalks. Peter was smart enough to ask the guy checking boarding cards at the entrance to the satellite system if there was food on the other side. The guy advised going to the food court in the main hall, so that’s what we did. (A good thing too, since there was only a coffee concession in the satellite.)
We had McDonald’s because the choices were thin on the ground and I think Peter just really wanted to order a Royale with Cheese. After lunch, we went on quest for bottled water. The shopping choices were pitiful and although we finally found a newsagent, they didn’t sell bottled water. (We ended up buying it from the aforementioned coffee concession.)
We went to our satellite, waited about 15 or 20 minutes to get through security and then I spent another 15 minutes queuing to buy our water. Maybe 30 minutes before our flight, I decided I’d better go to the bathroom. Guess what. Charles de Gaulle Airport was designed by monkeys. There’s no access to the bathrooms on the checked-side of security. In order to go to the bathroom, you have to leave the secure area and then go back through security. You have to leave through the sort of air-lock doors Dublin banks use to thwart robberies.
I was desperate and couldn’t wait until we boarded the plane, so I went through the air-lock doors and then got back into the security line when I was ready. The people in front of me were Irish and were complaining to the people in front of them about how badly designed the airport was. I told them “If you have to go the toilet, you better go now. You can’t get to them on the other side of security. You’ll have to come out and go through queuing for security all over again.” Hey, it was a public service. OK, it wasn’t entirely altruistic, since my little announcement resulted about half the people in front of me leaving the queue.
Our flight back to Dublin was swift and uneventful. We were sitting in the emergency exit row, so Peter had plenty of leg room and I had the illusion of increased survival prospects in the unlikely event of an uncontrolled landing.
In conclusion, we enjoyed Paris and are looking forward to going back in warmer, more hospitable weather.
posted by -Ann at
9:37 PM
1 Comments:
Sounds like you had a great time in Paris overall. I did make refernce to the unfortunate location of the Aer Lingus desk in CDG airport in my post about Paris but I didn't say where it was exactly. We were waiting for ages there because they had a trainee check people through. It's a pity that the last experience in Paris is such a bad one.
Btw, I've heard that you have less chance of surviving in a plane crash if you're sitting near the emergency exit so your sense of security may have been misplaced...
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Anonymous, at 1:58 PM
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