Our Air France flight on Friday plunged us into the most venerable of French traditions, the labor strike. While two of them affected our transatlantic journey -- an Air France pilots' strike, and a French air traffic controllers' strike, Air France decided that all of its long haul flights would proceed. So after pulling into Terminal 2 next to Air France's HUGE Airbus A380 (this was a highlight for me), we enjoyed a leisurely stroll through Charles de Gaulle, with no crowds. Unheard of. With no lines at the usually hectic, elbow-jostling immigration line, the officer didn't ask any of the usual questions -- how long are you staying, where are you going to stay, etc. After I offered my passport with a "Bonjour!", the only question he asked was, "You speak French??" He then stamped my passport and I was through in about 5 seconds. I still don't know if he was making some sort of joke.
This is the essence of our France trips, year after year. Frustration, delight, language confusion. Oh yeah, and the other thing that happens every year.. climbing!
After stopping at the ATAC for some supplies, and dropping off our luggage at the gîte, we were informed that our friends were conveniently located at the nearby Petit Bois. We joined them for some company, after which, we enjoyed our first dinner in France:
A selection from the charcuterie, boulangerie, and fromagerie for dinner.. what could be better?
