After wedding bliss, reality felt obliged to call us back to its concrete bosom, of course, and we were soon on a train to Paris to catch our plane. What a surprise we were in for when we arrived – dashing around the airport, we couldn't see any sign of our flight on the screens. We were soon informed that our flight had been cancelled, and that in fact when we had bought our tickets, the airline already knew that the flight was cancelled and that the agent we spoke to on the airline's desk that day was surprised that we hadn't been informed at the time. Nice!
And so our trip ended with one more night in Paris, in one of the airport's hotels, paid for by the airline company. Free dinner, free breakfast and a downy nest of a bed – there are worse ways to deal with a flight's cancellation... And the next day, thanks to Krusty's legendary negotiation skills – a seat in business class!
Krusty is always saying that he doesn't see the point of paying the extra money to travel business class. But now that I have spent 12 hours sitting in one of those perfect seats, I am making it my life's mission to never travel economy again. Not that I want to ever pay for it though...
But it's almost worth it: noise cancelling headphones, an actual duvet to snuggle up under, a fluffy pillow, a closed off fully horizontal bed... A goody bag full of agnes b and dermalogica products, champagne... The whole thing is perfect.
Krusty was on the level above me (I thought that level was just an urban myth, with the stairs you pass on your way to economy just a technique to make you feel unworthy), so I started the trip a little scared of something going wrong and not being able to reunite with my new husband before the plane went down... Rio hasn't helped my fear of flying...
But as the hostess, calling me by name, asked me if I wanted another glass of champagne while I applied another layer of lip moisturiser, I soon forgot everything else in favour of deciding whether I wanted braised lamb shank with potato gratin or monkfish with saffron sauce. Bliss. And I suppose we were doubly lucky to get upgraded on a flight from France, where the kitchens are probably better than anywhere else...
The hostess came back after we took off – would I prefer a glass of Vieux Chateau Landon Cru Bourgeois or an Anjoux Vire Clesse? The real cutlery, the porcelain, the salt and pepper shakers, the linen tablecloth... Oh! The comte, camembert and Saint Maure cheese plate... Ah! Not just a random cup of tea; a choice of peppermint, camomile, earl grey... in a ceramic mug!
What a perfect way to end a perfect trip.
And now I am back to a humid flat with an empty fridge (save that bottle of sake we left behind) and a neighbourhood of jackhammers. But I couldn't be happier.
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