Do you know that people make bombs that look like ipods?

February 20, 2012

So here I am ranting about the ugly American and I was one of them last night. In an effort to save a few Euros (and not pay $5 for a bottle of water), I ordered tap water at dinner. I went to the bathroom and when I returned a tiny, overpriced bottle of Vittel water was waiting for me at the table. My first instinct, "I'm not paying for this." I asked the waiter for tap water instead and in an awkward exchange that I can only assume meant, "Tough cookies. I already brought the water to the table so you're paying for it.", the water ended up staying put. And costing me 4 Euros. France 1. Elizabeth 0. I guess the idea of having endless pitchers of ice water brought to your table Chili's style is a very American ideal. C'est la vie.

I hate to admit it, but I was also a rather ugly American this morning while I was checking in for my flight. I only planned to carry on, but the self-check kiosk were roped in on all sides. Not wanting to wait in line behind the whole French women's water polo team, I did what any impatient American would do, I went under the rope. Or attempted to. I would have made it free and clear had my backpack not caught the rope and sent it reeling back with a very loud snap. The airline agent, who I'm sure will be complaining about me later at the water cooler, scolded me and sent me to the back of the line. After answering a ridiculous amount of security questions (How long have you owned your ipod? Are you sure it's not a bomb? You have nail clippers? (Is she allowed to have nail clippers?) Do you know that people make bombs that look like ipods?), I ended up checking my bag anyway. American Airlines got their payback after subjecting my fellow passengers and I to perhaps the most ridiculous boarding procedure I have ever encountered. Over an hour and three modes of transportation to actually get to the plane later, I was on board. But Paris redeemed herself yet again with a spectacular view of the city and the Eiffel Tower as we made our way west toward the Atlantic. Paris wins again.

When did flying lose its magic?

After the rather spectacular panoramic view of Paris subsided, I expected the young teenage girl in the seat next to me to settle in to her book, but she kept leaning over me to look out the window. When she saw that I'd committed to the inflight movie, she asked me if I wanted to switch seats. She spent the next few hours staring out the window into the vast blue of the Atlantic ocean. Remember when getting the window seat on the plane as a kid was a big deal? I mean a really big deal. You felt like you could see the whole world out your little 8 1/2 x 11 window. You saw the amazing landscape that we, as Americans, often take for granted...the snow capped mountains, crystal blue lakes, and plains laid out like a green patchwork quilt. And what about all of the other great things about flying? you have nice people that bring you juice and tiny pretzels and a tray of food where, as a kid, everything is just your size. You have this big, comfy seat all to yourself. And you don't have that pesky adult problem where a person who might need more than their fair share of a seat is slowly squeezing you out of yours because you're small yourself. And no pesky siblings fighting you for the remote or annoying parents asking you to turn down the volume because you plug in your headphones and the inflight entertainment is all yours not to mention eight radio stations plus the random channel where you get to hear all of the action that's going on up in the cockpit. What's not to like? And don't forget about the bathroom. Kids are the only ones who can comfortably fit inside. So the next time you're shoehorned into an airplane seat with a seat back reclined within seven inches of your face and starving because all you've eaten for the day is four tiny pretzels, try looking at it through the eyes of a child. and then next time, fly first class.

A stamp in your passport...

I almost made it in and out of the country without a passport stamp. Had I not asked the rather surly woman in France, I would not have received a stamp and would have no evidence of my trip.