So Much For Things Going Smoothly

Hey, remember when I said my trip would only take 37 hours if things went smoothly? Well it took nearly 60. Yes, SIXTY. Let me explain why.

• The check-in line at Sydney airport for economy looked about 2 hours long. Fortunately I fly so much that even when I'm flying with the poor people, I'm allowed to use the first class check-in counter and hang out in the Business Class lounge. But that didn't make up for what followed.
  
• My plane left Sydney almost 4 hours late due to technical problems. Sorry, but even when that shit is fixed, the last thing I needed to hear was "The power on the plane has failed" AND "one of the fuel pumps isn't working". Good thing I'm not a nervous flyer.
  
• My plane took an extra hour during the Singapore layover because, once again, "one of the fuel pumps isn't working". Funny how the more tired you get, the less you care about these things.
  
• By the time I got to London, I had missed my connection to Paris by about 4 hours. My assumption was that they could stick me on the next flight, but the next one they could confirm me on was on a different airline EIGHT HOURS later. I reluctantly took this, as it was the best offer.
  
• But wait -- due to the most ridiculous fog I have ever seen, most flights to Paris were cancelled. Mine was allowed to go -- over 4 hours late. That's over 12 hours in Heathrow. Once again, I was allowed access to the Air France lounge, so the free booze and snacks made me feel a little better, but not much.
  
• Many thanks to the Greek quasi-midget I chatted with over dinner at a pub in the airport, and the random fat black American who happened to be stuck in the Air France lounge for far too long as well. I was desperate for company by that point.

Now let me say that I took all of this in stride, with a few low moments, understandably. I finally arrived in Paris over 12 hours later than planned, and realized I would have to spend the night (or at least a few hours) at an airport hotel before I could get on the next train to my mother's house. But just when I had thought to myself "well at least I'm in the right country", the other shoe dropped -- Air France had lost my luggage. I consider this the log that broke the camels back. I filed my lost luggage claim, checked into the crappiest little hotel at the airport, showered and shaved with a cheap plastic razor that makes those disposable Bic razors reek of luxury, and got into bed. And this is when it occurred to me that I might actually cry. I didn't, of course, but I don't think I could have been that far.

Anyway, I promptly headed to my mom's house the next day, and everything has been fantastic since. We went on a 100 Euro shopping spree that Air France will reimburse me for, and apparently my luggage was found at Heathrow and sent to Paris, so I will hopefully be able to pick it up either during my 24 hours in Paris on Friday, or before I fly to India on Saturday for my New Years celebrations. And I feel at least one more rant coming...