Paris (Vienna to Paris, France)

Look out, dear reader, it's a transit day, so photos are there to provide you with relief. It's the day where something will go wrong, in abject defiance of my meticulous planning. Today was no different. Sigh. Thankfully there is only one more transit day after this one. It's huge though, all the way back to Sydney. I'm getting ahead of myself.

We set an alarm although it wasn't required. We lounged in bed reading the news online from Australia and checking email until it was time for breakfast. Our wonderful host, Gerhard, had checked out the various modes of travel to the airport. The train was the cheapest but for an extra €10 we could pre-order a taxi. Door to door - no bag drag. Of course we chose the latter. I'll save the wheelie bag versus cobblestone event for the Olympic city.

Somewhere in Hofburg.

The taxi was scheduled for 10am and arrived a few minutes early. The company app alerted me to his approach. We wrangled the bags into the lift and down the few stairs out onto the street. Our driver was there within the minute. The suitcases were placed into the boot of a black Mercedes that I probably couldn't afford to drive at home and we settled into the leather interior and chatted with our driver. He was originally from Turkey but had been in Austria for 27 years.

The conversation soon dried up and we relaxed into the drive. The traffic was light so we would make the airport in plenty of time to enjoy the Air Austria lounge. And then, you knew there would be an "and then", dear reader, didn't you? We entered the freeway and all was fine for a few minutes, and then the traffic increased significantly and gradually we slowed to a crawl.

The Mozart statue in Burggarten.

Our driver was somewhat perturbed by this occurrence. There was no way of telling what the problem was and he assured us he had chosen the route because his app indicated light traffic. As annoying at it was, we were never going to be inconvenienced by arriving later than anticipated. I was concerned for our driver who was on a fixed fee fare and was losing work.

The Sydney style traffic crawled on and more traffic joined us from the on ramps, slowing things further. As you would expect in a situation like this, we were tantalisingly close to the airport exit. Less than 4 km in fact.

While there were roadworks, they were not the problem. As we exited the freeway, we could see they had chosen that particular spot to commence narrowing lane access from three lanes to one. Another km or even 500m would have made the world of difference to those heading to the airport. Once again, organisational issues.

Burggarten again.

The approach to the terminal was smooth. The doyens of Sydney airport could learn a thing or two. Taxi parked, he helped with our bags. I over tipped because he had lost at least one fare in the traffic chaos. And he seemed like a nice person.

Inside an unfamiliar terminal, we found the Air Austria desk to be told Business check in (I won an upgrade bid) was elsewhere and we were waved away with vague directions. We stumbled across their service desk where one of the attendants finally acknowledged our presence and pointed us down the adjacent corridor. 

The Opera House stage and our guide.

Business check in. Deserted. Luxury. Bags checked, tickets in hand, it was time for security. Fortunately there was also a Business line here. In no time at all, we were on the other side, breathing normally and thinking of the lounge.

We set off toward our gate. My belief, (mistaken as it turned out), was that the lounge is usually in proximity to the departure gate. As it was in just about every other international airport I had visited. Off we wandered towards to the F gates, pausing to purchase a T-shirt on the way. Several times, Jayne questioned where we going. I held firm to my belief that the lounge would be nearby. Wrong. We turned and retraced our steps.

A marble relief on the wall in the Opera House.

Of course Jayne, being female, had to ask for directions. She approached someone at the Air Austria service desk who directed her, allegedly - I didn't hear what he said, back down the corridor towards the security area and up the escalator on the right.

Still smarting from my directional failure, who was I to question? Out we go and Jayne points to the first escalator. There. Um, it doesn't say 'Lounge', it just says 'Gates'. You can adlib the next interchange, dear reader, but be nice. As we are about to enter the escalator, a woman is running down towards us ... teenager style at the shopping centre. Except she keeps saying, "Pardon, pardon, pardon."

The front of the Opera House from across the road above the trams.

When we reach the top, I understand why. No man's land. To go forward takes us into the exit gates for flights. There is no going back unless we too run down the escalator. I'm up for it. One look at Jayne says that is not the way forward.

Anyway, we commenced roaming around on the wrong side of the barrier, hoping to find someone who can help. That didn't happen. After several minutes of mild, sweat inducing panic, we were spat back out at security. Fun times.

Yeah, nah. It was just there. I have no idea.

We lined up and arrived at the point of choice. I chose to stand behind the woman who looked like she was ready to go. But no. She was a decoy and proceeded to remove items from her bag, one by one, and place them in the tray. Assiduously blocking access to those behind her. As her partner moved down the line, Jayne walked to the space where he had been and procured a tray for our belongings as well as a dirty look from the woman who was still fluffing around.

Our gear was in the trays and we sailed through having just completed this process minutes earlier. Through the metal detector, we stood waiting for our trays to pass through x-ray. The guy in front had his bag detoured. No drama because his partner was still dicking around putting things into the tray.

The Belvedere pond. Sorry on a good day it's a fountain.

It was with much dismay and disbelief that we watched Jayne's backpack get detoured into the 'naughty bag' lane. Our other belongings gathered, we waited at the end of the desk. Nothing happens quickly here and the bag checkers worked in pairs. I grew a beard waiting for our turn.

The guy in front was having his bag searched as his partner finally made it through the metal detector. At least she's not a robot. He seemed pissed that he couldn't take his 'savings size' bottles of shampoo and conditioner in his carry on luggage. The very large, sharp looking scissors that came out of his bag next surprised me. Maybe he was intending to cut hair on his next flight. Who would have thought those things would raise an alarm?

A 3D ceiling.

While he was still remonstrating with the security people, someone finally attended to Jayne's backpack. The same backpack that had successfully passed through an x-ray machine further down the line minutes ago. He looks in the pack. Returns to the x-ray machine. Looks in the pack again and removes a cylindrical silver object. "What is this?" he asks. Hmmm, what to say? How stupid are you? Have you never seen one of these before?

"It's a solar powered torch," Jayne deadpans. What did you expect, dear reader? "I will show my colleague." he replies. Seconds later he returns with the torch and we are on our way to the lounge. Again. The lounge for F gates was at G. Of course. Makes perfect sense. This is Austria.

Inside the Museumquartier.

The lounge was not quite what we are used to but at least we were on the right side of the barrier with about a 15 minute walk to our departure gate. At the appointed time, we headed down to find the priority boarding for Business Class was non-existent and passing through the boarding gate was a free for all. Once we made it into the corridor, dejá vu... we came to a screaming halt where we soon realised we were not walking directly onto the plane; we were waiting for a bus to take us to the plane somewhere out on the tarmac. No one could go any further till the transport arrived. Really? How third world.

Eventually a bus arrived and we all piled on to then queue up again to get onto the plane. While there were both a fore and aft entry available, everyone, for whatever reason, decided to go up the front stairs. So once again we waited in a queue, not going anywhere. Once we did get on board, of course there was no locker room near our seats so our bags had to be stowed at the back of the section while we were seated right at the front. Not feeling the love for Austrian Airlines at this point ... or Austrian organisation in general. I haven't read about the collapse of the Hapsburg Empire but I can speculate, based on recent experience.

The entrance to Hofburg.

Once the flight commenced, however, things improved immeasurably with good cabin service, decent food (yes really), and an uneventful journey to Charles De Gaulle, where our bags appeared promptly on the carousel and we then worked out the shuttle service between terminals to go to where we needed to be to catch the RER train into Paris.

And here we are at the title song. There are so many, many songs about Paris. Today though we have chosen Paris by Tay Tay. I'm no Swiftee, I'm not even sure how to write Tay-Tay, but is this 2022 song a nod to her current partner? Some people might care, I'm  not one of them. Enjoy the music, her lyrics are good.

Carved pews.

The service at this point was very good as well, with staff designated to assist passengers with correct ticket purchases. So much friendlier than our previous arrivals in France where we were barely acknowledged.

The lady who assisted us, inquired where we wanted to go. "Luxembourg s'il vous plaît," was the reply.  "Just checking, do you mean Luxembourg the station, or Luxembourg, the country? I have had someone think they were going to the country to find out they had just bought a ticket to do a circuit around the Paris Metro."

Ukrainian artwork from the Lower Belvedere.

Our destination confirmed, we headed down to the platform and only had to wait a couple of minutes before the Line B train arrived and off we went. While all this was pleasantly smooth, we refused to be lulled into a false sense of security, as the last time we caught the train into Paris, we inadvertently found ourselves caught up in train strike which resulted in us and our baggage being jammed like sardines into a shockingly overcrowded train. The trip had been extremely stressful since we were not certain if we would be able to push our way off at the desired stop. While that unpleasant experience ended successfully, we were not keen to repeat it over a decade later.

Happily, no strike was on the cards today and, while the train was crowded, we knew we would be able to get off at Luxembourg for the 20 minute bag drag to our final home away from home in the Latin Quarter.

I shan't bore you with the devious routes planned by our GPS or the usual stories of bags on cobblestones. Both occurred. Down narrow streets when we could have traversed a boulevard, past a film shoot and finally to our door. The codes worked, keys secured we then lugged the bags up to the second floor to battle with the old French locks. They seriously love security in this country.

The door to the street has a push button code. The internal door has an electronic swipe. The door to the apartment has two separate locks, both have two levels of locking mechanism. If there's a fire, I will die.

Once I was comfortable with the locks, we went exploring our neighbourhood, our first stay on the Left Bank. We are surrounded by boulangeries and patisseries. Rue Mouffetard, a well known restaurant strip is within 5 minute's walk. There are also numerous supermarkets and a marché that appears across the road on Friday and Sunday. 

Supplies purchased, we settled in for the night. Almost. We were sitting and discussing what we would do with our time in Paris when I became aware of voices. It was not possible for them to be from next door because that was a solid stone outer wall. Upstairs? Yes, as it eventuated. Stupid boys. Probably gaming. It lasted until midnight. One of them in particular was extremely enthusiastic and his yelling and jumping around ensured we knew when he'd scored a win. I wanted to push him down our narrow spiral staircase and break his inconsiderate neck.

Jayne sent me to bed.

À demain.