We woke up at 4 to make sure we could be at the airport in time for Chuck's flight. We walked downstairs with our bags and the front door was locked. We couldn't leave the hotel! We tried our room key in it, we tried wriggling this and that, we started looking for windows. Chuck rang the doorbell outside of the reception office, but if there even WAS a night staff here, it would probably be that old man and he would be sure to not hear this bell.
But sure enough, ten minutes after our rings, he hobbled out of the reception door and asked me what we needed. I told him we needed to leave in order to catch a flight and then he started saying something I didn't understand. I thought for sure my French was just really poor because I kept thinking he was asking me about the television. Finally on the third "comment?" I understood that he WAS asking me about the television in our room. "Yes, I told him, that was our room, but we didn't watch it." and with this answer, he seemed to understand everything and let us out of the hotel.
On the way there, we went over Chuck's flight information and he started talking about how he'd arrive in Chicago the next day.
"No you won't" I said. "You arrive this afternoon, see? The time zone change works in your favor"
"No, look" he pointed to the date on the paper. Sure enough, his layover in Madrid looked like it was 26 hours. The company he had used to book his ticket, StudentUniverse, had sent him many emails in the past month changing around his ticket times, and this last time the change held him back in Madrid for over a day. I asked someone at his airline's help desk, which was the most unhelpful help desk I'd ever been to.
"There's nothing we can do."
"You can't even check to see if there exists a flight that he could try to talk to someone else about changing into?"
"No"
But we found someone at the check-in desk who got Chuck on an earlier flight to Madrid so that he might be able to have a higher chance of finding an early flight to Chicago from there. Meanwhile, I had to run to catch my train at the Gare de Lyon. He took me as far as he could take me without actually getting on the subway train that was headed to the train station.
I always worry about rushed good-byes. But I know that we spent every last second that we could with each other because I arrived at the train station only 7 minutes before my train was to depart. I sprinted trying to find it and then sprinted down the track to my seat, and it pulled away only seconds later.
The weather in Paris was chillly and grey, but as we continued down the line towards the South of France, we drove through blinding blizzards. By the time we reached Provence, the sun was shining on the red dirt and green fields and everything looked like summer, but I learned later that that morning they had gotten snow as well. It snowed in Aix for the first time ever in Provence on easter. Cars were covered with almost an inch of snow, Colette described with her fingers.
From the TGV station in Aix, I took the bus to the airport in Marseille to meet my parents. They had seen the Mistral wind from their plane, and felt it too. I was really hoping for some beautiful weather for their visit, but the Mistral was a biting cold that is awful to bear. They were greeted by the harsh alpine wind and then by my walking demands. When we were in Europe over Christmas they got tired of all the walking I made them do, and this time I tried to make it better, but on our way to the villa I realized I had them walking up and down hills and for much longer than I realized. They were pooped when we arrived. They asked about France and I talked all excitedly, but their sleepiness took over and they took a late afternoon nap.
