IT WAS A DAY - TO NOT REMEMBER

SO, YOU WANT TO TRAVEL, EH!

It was not Murder on the Orient Express, it was religion on the fast train from Antwerp to Paris! But after my experience, murder seemed appropriate. There I was sitting with my Belgian associate, Michel, a young Asian man and an Orthodox Chabad Rabbi. We were all heading for Paris with different reasons for being on the train, but there we were, together, traveling south at more than 300 kph!

After passing through Brussels I asked the rabbi where he was headed. The rabbi indicated that he ran a Chabad Yashiva in Paris and he was heading home.. My associate and I were headed for Le Bourget, a suburb of Paris that hosted the Paris Air Show and has a sad history of exporting Jews to concentration camps during World War II, for a meeting. The young Asian fellow remained silent.

There we were, traveling at 300 kph plus through the country side of either Belgium, The Netherlands, Germany or France. At that speed, who knows what countries were whizzing by? Now we arrive in Paris. I have to check my luggage in a secure locker area. It was like airport security. It was so hot in there and till I found a locker in the back of the facility that would accommodate my luggage, I worked up a good sweat.

Now after fighting the ticket machines that did not like any of our plastic cards  and walking mile to the platform we were on the local train to Le Borget. Then after a “local” lunch in a local brasserie, we walked to our meeting – or at least we thought we were walking the eight blocks to the building. After about a mile, we tried to get a taxi.. However, there were none available. Now we are going to be late for a meeting we traveled through four countries to get to! I stuck my thumb out got a cab to stop and pick us up.

 So much for walking or directions! That building was designed not to be found! The meeting went well in spite of it being held in an office that doubled as a sauna.

We were now back on the local train to the Paris Nord station. There I would connect to the EuroStar train to London under the English Channel. First I had to retrieve my luggage. Getting to England meant standing a in a long, stagnant line to buy a very high priced ticket from people who just didn’t care (the French)!

 I boarded the EuroStar train for Waterloo Station, London! (Waterloo – now I know why Napoleon didn’t like that name). Two and a half hours later, I have my 70 lbs (31.2 kg, according to the locals) of luggage and make the trek to get to the Underground for the ride to Heathrow where my warm, comfortable bed and room service awaits!

But, you must buy a ticket! There are ticket machines everywhere. Just put in your credit card and out pops the proper ticket to ride. That is how it is supposed to work, It didn’t work in Paris why would I think it would work in London? However, after exhausting all the plastic in my wallet, the ticket window finally opened and another line was formed. I now have a ticket to ride the Bakerloo Line to Picadilly Circus where I have to change trains.

There were several flights of stairs – many up and just a few down and one escalator. Once again, bathed in sweat, I arrive at the proper Underground station to go the one stop to Picadilly Circus. Getting off at Picadilly Circus I looked for the Picadilly Line to Heathrow – just a mere 15 stops or so. Up, down, (mostly up)  around, through this passage way to another passageway up stairs – down stairs – 70 pounds of luggage in hand – all three bags and I arrive at the platform where I will board the train that will take me almost home – that is – after the bus ride to the hotel from Heathrow and back to Heathrow and the 5200 miles in the air! This is the last train ride!

Because of the terrific down pour, the train was painstakingly slow! But nevertheless I arrived at Terminal Two – Heathrow airport and it is late!. I find my way to stop number 12 to take me to my hotel. Once again, I have to buy a ticket to ride. Of course there are ticket machines to buy tickets and as it was at Waterloo and Paris the ticket machines at Heathrow refuse to read my plastic. So, I asked the bus driver to drop me at my hotel and I would then pay him for the ride. “No, get off, I can’t do it, get money to buy a ticket before boarding, get off, get off, get off,” he said with no empathy in his demeanor or voice. So, in the rain, back into the terminal, up a flight of stairs down a corridor to a cash machine which read my card without a problem. Got the 10 pound note I needed for a ticket and the tip I would not be giving to the driver.

As we arrive at the Hotel I wondered what might else go wrong – I was soon to find out! “Mr. Freedman, we were waiting for you, you had a day rate and you didn’t arrive!” “WHAAAT?” That was my constrained response!  She added, “We are sold out. Everyone at Heathrow is sold out.” We are, in fact, oversold!” ‘WHAAAT?” “I can get the manager for you,” the polite desk clerk offered! “WHAAAT?”

The manager arrives and repeats what she had said. I was experiencing some hypoglycemia and my hand was shaking – my voice was shaking and I was about to shake Heathrow!

“Please have a seat and I will see what I can do!” So I sat and waited. Mind you it has been 14 hours since I left the hotel in Antwerp and to say I was close the end of the line – well that was true of my emotions and my location, I was very close – closer than the manager wanted me to be!

“I can squeeze you in,” he offered. It will be about 225 pounds.

“WHAAT?’

“With breakfast?” I asked.

“No.”

“Free movie?.”

“No.”

“Free internet?”

“No.”

“A bed?”

“Yes.”

“Sign me up!”

For more than $350 I was determined to stay in the room to last possible moment before gathering my luggage to venture to Heathrow! Upon arriving at the American Airlines counter and hearing “Mr. Freedman, you are all set on flight 137 – leaving on time,” I decompressed!