There is a great scene in Blackadder Goes Forth about the causes of WW1. Baldrick says “The thing is, the way I see it, these days there’s a war on, right? And, ages ago, there wasn’t a war on, right? So, there must have been a moment when there not being a war on went away, right? And there being a war on came along. So, what I want to know is – how did we get from the one case of affairs to the other case of affairs?”
And Blackadder replies, “Do you mean why did the war start?”
I sometimes feel like this about emails, especially when you are awaiting an important missive. One minute, you check and it’s not there, right? The next minute, you check and it’s there, right?
And so it was with our email. It was Monday morning, and we had been to the market in Chalais, which was a much-reduced offering from earlier in the summer. If I’m honest, we were feeling a bit fed up. Our time in France should be ending, but we didn’t know when. The weather was turning grey and cold. We were uninspired by the market, hoping to leave for Sardinia soon and didn’t really want to buy masses of food. As a result, we decided to do a small shop in Intermarche, and not buy from the market itself.
Unknown to Richard, I had emailed Elena at the boat yard to ask if she knew when the boat would be ready. I’d sent it on Friday afternoon, and, although I checked all over the weekend, I didn’t really expect to hear back until at least Monday. Here we were, then, on Monday morning. Richard queued at the checkout, I hung back, out of sight, and checked my email. Nothing.
We then stowed the shopping in the car, and decided to head up to a bar for coffee. As we waited for drinks to arrive, I checked my email again. And there it was – Ogliastra Yacht Services. “Hi Alix, the boat will be ready for the launch from Monday 4th. If for you it’s OK we can do it on Monday”. The next minute you check, and it’s there, right?
Suddenly, our mood lifted. The atmosphere was cheerful, we started talking logistics. We drank our coffee and headed home to laptops and internet access.
Our journey back was probably going to be a mirror image of our journey to France. We’d split it over two days to cut stress of getting to places. Dear reader, how you will laugh later in the blog. [By the way, did you know that authorial intrusion was popular in the eighteenth and nineteenth century (think Jane Austen, Charlotte Bronte) but is a bit old-fashioned and to be avoided these days.]
The main steps were:
1. Taxi to Angouleme station on the Friday
2. Train to Paris airport on the Friday
3. Overnight at Paris airport hotel
4. Flight to Sardinia on Saturday
5. Taxi back to Arbatax on Saturday
6. Hotel in Arbatax for two nights.
We could get a flight from Paris Orly airport to Cagliari on a weekday, or from Charles de Gaulle to Olbia on Saturday. The incentive to fly from CDG was that we could get a direct train from Angouleme to the airport, whereas Orly is a schlepp of train changes, walking to the metro, taking the RER etc.
So, Saturday to Olbia it was.
The critical step was whether we could book the taxi back to Arbatax? I emailed the company we used before and they agreed to meet us. I then booked the flights, and a hotel in Arbatax for two nights.
The Trainline.com showed a direct train at 06:47 or 13:47 – perfect. Our friend Helen, who offers a taxi service in Aubeterre as part of her business, couldn’t do the trip but referred us to someone else. Eek – they couldn’t do it either! Helen came back to us to check, and very kindly shifted her day around so she could get us for the 13:47 train. We went to bed on Monday night pleased with our actions so far.
Tuesday morning – lots of lovely coffee, up and at ‘em for more exciting travel agent activities. I started looking at airport hotels – yawn. Decent airport hotels are few and far between, and nothing at CDG took my fancy.
Meanwhile, in the red corner, Richard was back on the trainline.com to book our rail tickets. The fact that Richard’s mother reads these blogs prevents me from noting here what Richard said, but basically the 13:47 train was now fully booked. Ok, we could get another train and change.
Then ping – a lightbulb moment from yours truly. We could get a direct train to Paris Montparnasse instead, stay in the city, and then catch the RER local line direct to CDG the next morning. The mainline and RER stations are 15 minutes apart, so we picked a great hotel between the two. Paris (and dinner) here we come…
…And so we went. By Friday morning, we were packed and ready to go. Helen waved us goodbye at Angouleme; our train was on time; we emerged at Gare Montparnasse and toted our bags to our lovely, slightly old-fashioned hotel with our room overlooking Montparnasse Cemetery, where loads of famous people are buried, including Baudelaire (French poet, did him for A-level), Saint-Saens (probably my favourite composer) – and google the rest if you want.
Dinner at a fab bistrot, where we ended up talking to a couple of Germans on the next table who had been foreign correspondents cum photographers.
On the way back to the hotel, we pop into a bar for a coffee. Then started the usual exchange we have every time we catch a flight:
Alix: What time shall we set off for the airport?
Richard: What time’s our flight?
Alix: Half past two
Richard: Then let’s leave at twelve thirty, it’s only half an hour to the airport
Alix: I think we should leave earlier, we have to get to the station, wait for a train etc
Richard: Then why don’t you just say what time and don’t ask me?!
You may or may not recognise this discussion…
Cutting a long story short, we walk to the metro to find that we can’t access the line we need. I run down to the ticket office, and ask a very bored woman, who is obviously on a personal phone call, who couldn’t give a flying you-know-what. I buy two tickets and race back to Richard, and a kind passer-by gives us directions to the RER entrance.
RER Line B heads out of Paris and splits into two sections branches: one track to CDG; the other to Mitry-Claye. We stand on the platform. The next train is for Mitry-Claye in 10 minutes. Eventually, Richard sees a larger screen and notices that all trains in the next 45 minutes are for Mitry-Claye, not one is for CDG!
I go up closer to the screen – the word “Travaux” is in very small font. Basically, the line to CDG is closed due to track maintenance. Aaaarggh!
I run upstairs and find a member of staff.
“Oui” she says. “Travaux” she says. “Un bus de remplacement” she says.
"Where from", I cry dismayed (bit of Jilted John sneaking in there).
“Mitry-Claye” she replied (sort of Jilted John again).
Back down to R. He is as calm as a calm thing. I am not quite as calm as he is. Relax, he says, plenty of time. Well, that sort of depends how far Mitry-Claye is from CDG. The train arrives, and it is fast from Gare du Nord, i.e., no other stops before our destination. Once on the train, I google maps how far from M-C to CDG. It’s only 10 mins by car. I do actually start to relax.
We arrived in Mitry-Clavy expecting the worst, and found it was ok. All ticket barriers were open. Queues of buses lined up for the different terminals. Fifteen minutes and we were on our way.
However, the bus didn’t follow the signs for CDG airport. Oh no, that would have been too easy. Instead, we followed big, yellow 'Diversion' signs over slightly unmade roads. You couldn’t make it up.
