 Just one last coffee |  it was waiting, so were we |
After squeezing one more hang in a nearby cafe, it was really time to go. Our driver arrived early in a small mini bus as this was deemed the right size vehicle to get us and the luggage to the airport. I remembered our first night away and being stuffed into a very average sized cab in Singapore, the luggage in the boot bulging out and straining the hockey straps our driver had used to keep everything in. You don't do that shit in Paris. Our driver had a suit and dark glasses and spoke very good Anglais.
He was early and so were we, the operation to the street with all our bits and pieces executed wordlessly and efficiently. We had it down by now. Now that we were leaving. On the way our driver pointed out places of interest and talked with passion about his city and where named areas started and stopped. Where the suburbs were now working class and full of migrants. Migrants bought in because "we the French have liberty, egality, fraternity and so we welcome people from other countries." Hmm, no mention of colonisation here. I let it slide. I looked at our driver. He had the suit and tie and the charm, but the top button was open and the tie loose. Casual style I guess, but he seemed too smooth to be an airport shuttle driver. It turns out he was a victim of the economic problems besetting France and other EU countries, apart from Germany. He was a stock broker until quite recently. He talked at great length about the EU but was adamant that it was a good thing and something to maintain.
After flying from Paris to London, we had to change planes at Heathrow for Hong Kong for our final stop over. This meant negotiating the weird little underground metro shuttle that takes you to the correct group of gates. As the doors shut, we turned around to see that Dion hadn't made it. We mouthed the gate number to him as he stood there smirking his devilish smile. At the drop off point, Remy set off to find the gate. Karol and I waited for the next shuttle, hopefully with Dion. This seemed to take a long while but I knew we were OK for time. Standing there alone in this super modern cavern with it's white, minimalist styling, I started looking around to notice that there were at least 4 CCTV bubbles in the ceiling, partly concealed, that were probably relaying this mid transit anomaly. Hey, it looked suspicious to me too.
Karol and I looked at each other and started to recount the high points of our holiday. Quite soon we were kind of choked up, a little glassy eyed. The next shuttle arrived, no Dion. We made our way to the gate, straggling behind the other passengers, a little anxious about the missing son. Dion and Remy were there already with head phones on, listening to music, nothing out of the ordinary I guess, just another air corridor to wait in.
He was early and so were we, the operation to the street with all our bits and pieces executed wordlessly and efficiently. We had it down by now. Now that we were leaving. On the way our driver pointed out places of interest and talked with passion about his city and where named areas started and stopped. Where the suburbs were now working class and full of migrants. Migrants bought in because "we the French have liberty, egality, fraternity and so we welcome people from other countries." Hmm, no mention of colonisation here. I let it slide. I looked at our driver. He had the suit and tie and the charm, but the top button was open and the tie loose. Casual style I guess, but he seemed too smooth to be an airport shuttle driver. It turns out he was a victim of the economic problems besetting France and other EU countries, apart from Germany. He was a stock broker until quite recently. He talked at great length about the EU but was adamant that it was a good thing and something to maintain.
After flying from Paris to London, we had to change planes at Heathrow for Hong Kong for our final stop over. This meant negotiating the weird little underground metro shuttle that takes you to the correct group of gates. As the doors shut, we turned around to see that Dion hadn't made it. We mouthed the gate number to him as he stood there smirking his devilish smile. At the drop off point, Remy set off to find the gate. Karol and I waited for the next shuttle, hopefully with Dion. This seemed to take a long while but I knew we were OK for time. Standing there alone in this super modern cavern with it's white, minimalist styling, I started looking around to notice that there were at least 4 CCTV bubbles in the ceiling, partly concealed, that were probably relaying this mid transit anomaly. Hey, it looked suspicious to me too.
Karol and I looked at each other and started to recount the high points of our holiday. Quite soon we were kind of choked up, a little glassy eyed. The next shuttle arrived, no Dion. We made our way to the gate, straggling behind the other passengers, a little anxious about the missing son. Dion and Remy were there already with head phones on, listening to music, nothing out of the ordinary I guess, just another air corridor to wait in.
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