30.10.2006, Paris - Mumbai

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I arrived at Paris Charles de Gaulle airport yesterday around 2230. When you expect Paris at this time of the day as the well known City of Love, you can be sure that you won't get this impression at all. Everything is closing down, has to be cleaned and prepared for another day with thousands of passengers rushing through this hell of an airport.

"I am sorry, the last train to le city centre will depart around eleven. There is non night service...", the nice Madame at the information desk tells me and continues: "So if you go by taxi it will be about sixty Euros one-way. This is Paris today, the city of money!" Thanks darling, to tell me this, but where did I arrive? Manhattan or Paris? Madame finishes with: "But you can take one of the service nocturne, these busses are going whole night." As the chance is not so bad that the night busses will end up to be blown up by under-privileged ex-French colony teenagers, I just change my plans and decide to cancel my first Paris at Night experience. Paris can wait and I want to life a little bit longer.

Leaving the airport building clears up my mind. Stars are shining, there is a cold but friendly wind around, bringing some interesting smells up to my nose. Watching left I see about 20 garbage plastic bags, so big that you could get rid of your loved mother-in-law in one of those bags, filled with the rests of an average airport day. Only a higher intelligence might understand why this litter has to wait for transport next to the hotel shuttle bus stop. Maybe everything has the same way to go. The bus that should bring me to my IBIS hotel is not full, it is crowded. I got one of the last places to stand right next to the door and when the door is closing I wished I'd never had left the garbage. Litter is beautiful and doesn't really stink compared to this experience. I am in a mini bus with about 20 other people which must have together about 250 flight hours or more. Water runs out of my eyes, my nose is speechless and the parts of my body that are still under control, try to concentrate not to move or touch anything or anybody. 10 minutes and about 15 panic smell attacks later I arrive with the other 250 flight hours at Parc du Hôtel Accor.

In the middle of an industry estate Accor created up an hotel park with 5 hotels (from one to five stars). The bus door opens; I am able to leave, so my legs do work and I am still alive and make my way to the IBIS hotel. Restaurant and bar are closed; there is no public transport available. "A taxi one-way might cost about sixty Euro, you know, Paris is...", the receptionist starts to explain to me and I continue in my mind that Love is expensive, but this is really no reason not to water and feed the people that do come to this town! No food, no drinks, good night.

The next day might be better. MIGHT. Well, not so bad... Shower ok, breakfast ok and this time a relaxing trip back to the airport. Then I enter hell - again. The terminal 2A is for long distance and trans-atlantique flights. Check in for AI144 is easy, there are four empty check-in counters and I am informed that the aircraft is on time arriving from New York (ok), I can wait in the lounge (nice), have an exit seat (very nice) and an empty seat next to me (that's what I call service, guys!). What nobody tells me is that I have to queue for passport and security control for about 90 minutes with another approx 5 million passengers going to everywhere in the world. Gringos next to Mexicans and French going to French Polynesia (first I thought they go to India...), few Indians and more French going to I-don't-know-I-don't-care. After security check I have 10 minutes to relax and to use a clean toilet (why are airport toilets never clean - especially in France?!), I hurry to the gate where I see exactly 50 passengers which wait for boarding.

More or less on time we can enter the aircraft, I still have in mind that this Boeing 747 will look pretty empty with just 50 passengers. My passport is controlled between gate and aircraft door another four (!) times - the reason must be the lovely picture, maybe they look for new celebrities for Bollywood - and finally I am in. It takes me some seconds to return from my two second nervous breakdown. This aircraft is already full. First I think that they have had started with boarding before, but just a bit later my nose tells me the truth and I remember what the girl at the check-in told me: "Mister, the aircraft will arrive from New York on time!". The last thing I realize is a packed economy class compartment that smells like twenty tandoori restaurant kitchens without air circulation. Then it's getting dark. To much smelly stuff in less than 24 hours.

I do not know how many minutes my mind is missing, but next I remember is me sitting upstairs in the aircraft, having an orange juice and a friendly purser having small talk with me. "You must know, Mister, I fly now for 35 years and I really love it." Yes, I believe you. While talking to me, she moves her head that Indian style. But her English is pure Cambridge, almost queen’s style. "This 747 looks old and shabby, and, Mister, it really is. It was already flying when I started in Air India..." I don't want to know the rest and decide to close my mind and ears. The problem with this strategy: my nose thinks that it has to work three times as much (to compensate the impressions that might enter my body through other channels) and gives me an impression of lovely Indian whatever. As I cannot stand this for longer than 10 seconds I decide to open my ears again. "... but we will get now 777 aircraft and this here will go next month to Korea..." Korea? KOREA? South or North?? I cannot imagine any Korean sitting in... well, actually I can.

The lunch later is really beautiful, guess what it is - right, Curry, but really nice. Later, over Iran, it's big movie time. A 70's Bollywood, Hindi with English subtitle.

Hours later, after supper (my Cambridge purser doesn't call it dinner), we talk again. About the brits. That they were important for India to give them a chance to develop their country. And more about the brits. That they took almost have taken so many diamonds and other stones from India's temples (what is left over is only cheap glass or plastic from Taiwan). About India, education and HM Elisabeth II. I close my eyes and she really sounds like an Indian Lady who lived all her life in England. But opening my eyes again I see her wearing her green uniform sari, full lips, dark taint and henna tattoo on her forehead. Only her British (almost Diana-princess-of-hearts-wise) hairdo, Majorica earrings and modern, western-style pair of glasses don't want to fit into this picture.

I feel a little prepared for this country now, but more questions are open to be answered later. Two hours left before we land.

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