Jules in the City Blog

Writing with my students.

Tonight I am having my students work on a Narration Essay. I decided to work on one along side them.  This is posted in my portfolio, eagerly awaiting some feedback!

The Valerian pills I took before take off didn't let me sleep, really, they only made me sleep-y. So, when we finally landed in Paris, I was not of clean, clear mind to find my connecting gate. Stupidly, it had not registered with me that everything in Charles DeGaulle airport would be in french. I stepped off the plane into a sea of voices. I couldn't pick out a word of english.

With 15 minutes to find my gate, I knew I couldn't dawdle. I forced my head to clear quickly and took in my suroundings. This looked like an ordinary airport, signs, loudspeakers, parents with children, too much luggage and a very long line at security. I smelled the coffee coming from the kiosk and wished I had time to stop. Only the signs were different. They were all in French. I hadn't had any french since high school.

A few words came to mind: crepe, moi, bois, baguette. Nothing about getting along in an airport. I turned an ear outward and listened for any signs of english. So many europeans spoke english these days and I hoped I would find one. No such luck. Voices sounded strange and unfamiliar. I would have to ask for help. But who?

I moved into the line of traffic and scanned the monitors. My flight was listed as "On Time" and departing from gate 36. Looking around, I found a sign with a "36" on it with an arrow. I moved in that direction. The arrows soon let me to a security checkpoint - with a very long line.

I waited, uncertainly, not sure if I was in the right place. The airline agent was working her way toward me answering questions. When she got to me I blurted out my question in English.

"Can you tell me how to get to gate 36?"

She responded in French and moved on. I had not a clue what she said.

Just then, a small tour group came walking by. I overhead the guide shout something to her group that included the word "trente-six".

My eyes must have lit up as my head snapped in her direction.

"Thirty-six." I said to myself. "That's my gate!"

The guide was beckoning her group to follow, and I jumped in with them. Sure enough, past the security gate I saw the large gate sign with a huge "36" overhead. I sighed, outloud, from sheer relief.

I ran toward the open door, worried it would close before I got there. Another young woman was running in the same direction. We caught each other's glance and smiled. She spoke english too.

We were the last two people on our plane.

The door to the plane closed as I settled in my seat, out of breath. When I landed in Holland, my story was the first of many I shared with my friend I had travelled so many miles to see.

Unfortunately, my luggage didn't make it with me. It doesn't speak french either.