Click here to watch the video on youtube in fullscreen.

Tour Eiffel was standing tall in the bright sun of day outside my plane window as we descended toward Charles-de-Gaulle Airport. I had arrived. The strange part of travel is you never really feel like you’re thousands of miles from home. Stepping off the Boeing 777, I couldn’t believe I made it. I’ve had a recurring dream where I get on a flight to Paris, but I always wake up in real life before the landing. But here I was, hustling with several other passengers through the gargantuan airport that is CDG.

A french family of three sat in front of me the entire flight and disembarked behind them. I hustled behind them knowing they probably knew where to go. I followed them until we were separated by custom lines. The customs officer opened my passport and stamped it without question. I’m not sure if he even looked at my picture.

I collected my baggage and wandered through the airport following signs that said, “Paris by Train.” I read that I needed to take the RER as it was the cheapest way to get into Paris at €10.30 or about $11.40. I bought my ticket at the automated kiosk and asked an airport worker for directions to the train. I saw the train at the bottom of the escalator and hustled toward it. There was a gypsy there that said, “This train for Paris,” in english. I was actually under the impression she might have been some ununiformed cleaning woman or something, but she went around the train asking for money afterward. The RER was off and I was headed to Gare du Nord, speeding past the parisian suburbs.

When I arrived Gare du Nord, I was confused. I was underground in a foreign country. I had planned on taking a taxi to my hotel from the station as it would be cheaper from Gare du Nord than from the airport. I looked for exit signs, but I couldn’t find one in my tired state. I saw an entrance to the subway, so I used my RER ticket to transfer into the station, hoping to find an exit. That ended up being a bad idea as I learned both directions led to subway trains. I tried to use the ticket to exit the station, but it wouldn’t let me. I was trapped.

So, it seemed I was destined to take the subway to my hostel. I used my phone to route the best way to Les Piaules, my hostel. The subway was on tracks up the stairs, so I carried my heavy luggage up the stairs. A frenchman offered to help me with my bags, but I was too paranoid and told him no thank you. He started walking away annoyed, but then I said, it’ll help me build muscles, and it made him laugh. I took the subway to my transfer point where the train dove underground again. The transfer point was above ground, so I had to carry my luggage up the stairs again. I transferred and that train went underground as well. I disembarked at my stop and climbed the stairs once more. The french seemed to love building steps.

I had taken plenty of subway in New York City and some in Chicago. After taking subways throughout Paris, I realized quickly that once you learn how to take them in one city, you can do it in every city. Subway trains are more or less the same around the world and can be navigated as such.

I checked into my hostel and stored my baggage in a locker downstairs as the rooms were not ready yet. It was time to explore, Le Paris!

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Lessons learned: Always come extra early to Charles-de-Gaulle

Anxiety still fills my mind thinking back on this day. I was awake early on the morning of July 4. I wasn’t worried about missing my flight. I had signed up for a sketchy cash-only shuttle to take me from the hostel to the airport. I was scheduled to leave for the airport at 9:30…

by Kim L. O'Connell January 19, 2020January 19, 2020

Anxiety still fills my mind thinking back on this day. I was awake early on the morning of July 4. I wasn’t worried about missing my flight. I had signed up for a sketchy cash-only shuttle to take me from the hostel to the airport. I was scheduled to leave for the airport at 9:30 A.M for my 1:10 P.M flight to Seoul. That should be plenty of time. I was awake at 6:30 A.M, took a walk at the nearby Parc de Belleville, and had a satisfying breakfast consisting of coffee and a french pastry. Today was going to go smoothly.

The shuttle picked and another passenger up a little late, but nothing to panic over. I met a woman in the shuttle from Wisconsin who had just completed a bicycle trip through the Netherlands. Her phone was stolen on the train to Paris, so she didn’t know her flight details. I let her borrow my phone to check which terminal she needed to be dropped off to.

The shuttle hit a little traffic, but there was still plenty of time. I walked inside the terminal, crowded to the max with passengers from all over the world. I found the baggage check-in counters for my flight, but the line stretched down the hall. It was 10:45 A.M. I did the math in my head, if I got through this line in say, 30 minutes, and security in say an hour, I would be fine. I’d even be able to wander the terminal a bit.

Time passed by… 15 minutes… 30 minutes… 45 minutes… the line barely moved. I could see the mass of people still in front of me. I started to get a little nervous. But I still had plenty of time. It was only 11:30 A.M. The line slowly inched forward until I finally got the check-in counter at a little before noon. Okay, I was running a little tight. I checked my bag and sprinted to the security line.

To my dismay, the security line was worse than the baggage check-in line. I nervously stood in line as it creeped forward. I could see the line zig-zag back and forth to what seemed liked miles ahead. There was an American family in line that asked a security person if they could move up as their flight was leaving in 20 minutes. I waited painstakingly in the line, praying it would move faster.

It was 1:00 P.M when I finally reached the checkpoint. This entire time, I thought it was a line for security. No, this line was only for passport control. Security was later. I checked my passport through and suddenly it was the Kentucky derby as I sprinted toward the signs directing me to my terminal. I reached a dead end where I realized I was being directed to an entire separate terminal. I had to take a tram to this other terminal. I waited again, watching the clock anxiously. The tram came and I anxiously hopped on board. I met a guy from Taiwan who was flying home. We talked about how we were anxious about missing our flights. The tram still hadn’t left the station, and I remember verbalizing angrily that this train needed to move.

The tram took several minutes to get to the next terminal. The guy from Taiwan and I both wished each other good luck as the tram arrived at the next terminal. The doors opened, and it was Preakness as we sprinted through the airport, up the stairs, and hit, you guessed it, THE SECURITY LINE. The line stretched a long way. Not as long as the passport line, but long enough to where I knew I was going to miss my flight. I stood in line with the Taiwanese man in disbelief that I had come so far and I was going to miss my flight. In my mind, I was at least thankful I had purchased travel insurance to cover this. A message arrived on my phone from Air France explaining that the doors were closing.

I begged a worker as she walked by to move me up in line, showing her my ticket and the time, but she told me she only helps business class passengers. Another flight attendant walked by, and I begged her to move me up. She did not understand english very well, so I pointed to the time on my ticket. My new Taiwanese best friend spoke french to her and explained my situation. Thank god for that man. She nodded and took my ticket up to the security line and came back. She motioned me to follow and moved me to the front of the security line.

I threw my belt and shoes off into the tray. I ripped my laptop out of my backpack. I stuffed everything into the security trays, my personal belongings loose. I went through the metal detectors and was cleared. I put my shoes on halfway and grabbed all my loose items, belt and laptop in my arms. There was no time to repack. If earlier was Kentucky and Preakness, this was the Belmont stakes, and I was determined to win the triple crown. I sprinted up the stairs and through the terminal, the bougie french airport shops a blur as I read the signs directing me toward my gate. With my belt in hand, my pants began to fall down, so I had to continue to pull them back up. I sprinted to the gate like my life depended on it.

I saw two women at the check-in counter. They saw me coming in hot. I slammed the ticket on the counter and they scanned it. I walked briskly down the ramp to board the plane, followed by a flight attendant. I boarded the plane and watched as they closed the door shut behind me. I found my row. A french woman in the aisle seat and a Korean woman in the middle stared at me in my frazzled state. I handed the Korean woman a bunch of my loose items and asked her to set it on my seat. I shoved my carry-on in the overhead compartment and the two women got out to let me into my seat. I checked the time, it was 1:11 P.M. A whole 11 minutes after my flight was scheduled for takeoff. I took a deep breath and wiped the sweat from my forehead. I made it. I was going to Korea.

Image taken from my window at CDG as I barely made my flight.

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Bienvenue à Paris – July 2, 2019

Click here to watch the video on youtube in fullscreen. Tour Eiffel was standing tall in the bright sun of day outside my plane window as we descended toward Charles-de-Gaulle Airport. I had arrived. The strange part of travel is you never really feel like you’re thousands of miles from home. Stepping off the Boeing…

by Kim L. O'Connell January 19, 2020January 19, 2020