We didn’t see that coming.
“What’s the plan, Phil?” – Claire Dunphy, ABC’s Modern Family
Do you like to have a solid plan when you’re hurtling your young family overseas? So do we. That’s exactly why we didn’t. Oops.
Like most people, we prefer to have a plan; it just makes things easier. That said, a large part of our “shake-up” is to change the way we do things; try them on for size. So instead of making a firm plan we simply selected a global destination, booked a hotel for two nights and would follow our hearts from there.
Yeah, it was scary … but it was also very exciting. I mean, really, what could go wrong … right?
“I have been through some terrible things in my life, some of which actually happened.” – Mark Twain
The best deals on flights to Europe happened to be January 1st; an excellent date to kick off an extended adventure (it’s easy to remember how long we have been abroad).
It has been twenty-four hours since we hugged out our goodbyes at the Edmonton International Airport, flew the quick hop to Calgary, boarded our nine-hour flight to London Heathrow to layover for eight hours (sweet joy that was) and then completed our final two-hour leg to Nice, France.
With the agility our small carry-ons provide, we leave behind the pack of our traveling comrades and take our first steps towards our new adventure. My God, we’re in France!
We roll our lives out between the large glass doors and onto the first of many sidewalks our ten feet will tread along the South of France. Greeted by wonderfully warm air and the dark silhouettes of palm trees standing against the late night sky, we see … no one.
Picture this: a wearied family of five, standing alone on a dark sidewalk in a foreign land with our tiny Canadian bags, looking up and down the line seeing zero cabs.
The sign says Taxi; the street says bullshit.
Our fellow travellers begin joining us along the street. Those smarty-pants, with prearranged (read: planned) pick-ups, happily stroll towards their chariots while the rest of us stand perplexed.
Scanning the other faces, we see those resigned to simply wait to fate. Not us. We pull our tiny, tired horde back into the quiet terminal and approach the “Informations” desk where a well-dressed clerk is shutting down her station for the night. We approach faster.
She nods in confirmation that there appear to be no taxis out front. We look at her for a long moment. She doesn’t appear to grasp our quandary. Right. We ask if she would be able to contact the taxi companies and let them know that there is a flight full of people looking for cabs. Although it’s the end of her shift she seems happy to do this. As an aside we remind her that we will need a taxi for five.
She shakes her head and simply proclaims, “Zeis is impossibul.”
Pardon?
She looks at us as if we have asked her to whip up a batch of crêpes in a teaspoon. Like, how dare you bother our country with your excessive litter of three children?
We are shocked, exhausted and now confronted with an unexpected twist. Our first steps into a new country and we have to split our family up between late-night taxis. This isn’t sitting well with this protective father.
Armed with only one print out of our hotel confirmation, I quickly find the electronic copy stored on my iPhone. We split up our passports, the boys with Daddy, our daughter with Mom. And we wait.
It’s been an hour and a half since we landed. Our youngest hangs hunched over his short carryon, trying to muffle his tired whimpers, and our two other children look on in desperate exhaustion.
It’s a long time before the first few taxis arrive and our earlier cab coordinating efforts are rewarded by singles and couples quickly snatching up these rides from our family. The intervals between arrivals are long. We will be split between taxis and who knows how much time. Still, we can’t sleep out here.
Initiated to the apparent dog-eat-dog rules of this game, I step forward as the next car finally approaches, secretly daring someone to try and steal this one from this fatigued father.
We load the girls into the taxi … the driver looks at me, “I’ll take all of you.”
An angel sent from heaven.
The young man, well dressed, with a very heavy foot, flies down the freeway towards the Musician’s Quarter of Old Nice, whipping past tightly packed cars parked along the ridiculously narrow streets, master of his maneuvers. This reminds me of my Manhattan cab ride back in November, only my precious children get to share my peril. It is high contrast to the orderly travels on our Canadian roadways. But smiles light our faces. We are in France; the windows are down, in January, allowing the warm Mediterranean air to wash across our faces.
Our hotel stands before us like a welcome home. We made it.
As we tuck everyone in for the night, we make a mental note: never assume … always book a car or know the train routes before arriving in a new location late at night. This will be the first of many world travel lessons, but tonight everyone sleeps sound.
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