London Bound

After every trip with EasyJet Airlines, I always step off, promising myself never to take another flight with them. Flying with EasyJet is anything but easy. If you manage to get a flight that isn't cancelled (which happens often) and you're patient enough to wait through hours of delays (which happens always), then you'll find yourself onboard, mid-air, hoping that this much turbulence is normal and it's not too late to restore your faith in the religion that you doubt on a regular basis. But because their fares are reasonable and their flights are frequent, you continue to book flights.

This particular evening, I found myself in the EasyJet queue because my fellow Au Pair, Ife, had just finished her demanding nine months with her host family and was en route back home to London. As the devoted and dutiful friend that I am, I was there to help with her luggage. I was there for moral support. I was there for the free place to stay and personal tour guide around London. What can I say?! I'm a giver.

We met back in February at the language school. Two months later, I invited myself on her trip to Barcelona. I have since invited myself on her vacation to Provence, London, vacations with her British friends, and all future trips with her family to Nigeria. We bonded over Au Pair life, over French culture, over our unmet expectations of Lyon’s charm, and our love for all things involving shoes and intelligent men. She rescued me when I needed to escape the chaos of my host family and assuaged my frustrations. In return, I’d go kidnap her up when she couldn’t stand anymore of her French farm life. We talked, we shopped, we dined and we wined. Somewhere in between hiking up the hills of Casis and counting down our days until freedom, a lasting friendship was formed.

But it hasn't always been blue skies because this particular person, when I travel with her, falls victim, every time, to Murphy's Law of if something can go wrong, it will. When we went to Barcelona, our flight was cancelled and we had to drive eight hours back to France. We got lost. We get lost often. We hit traffic. We end up facing the wrong direction on one-way streets. We drive down bus lanes. We use GPS. It rarely helps.

I should've known better than to fly with her.

And there we stood at the EasyJet counter; Ife was reduced to fictitious sobs as she pleaded with the EasyJet employee to make an exception for the extra weight of her luggage, which included the last 9 months of her life. I was (unsuccessfully) trying to turn my tears of laughter into tears of condolence as I watched her One Man Show. For 16 extra kilos, EasyJet was demanding an extra 190 Euros, which for an Au Pair, is an unfeasible amount. Let’s break it down. That is the equivalent of two roundtrip flights to London; 47 Starbucks Grande Lattes at French prices; 40 bottles of good French merlot; potentially 5 pairs of Nine West heels. Lastly, that amounts to enough baguettes to last a French family of five, every day for six months.

There’s something to be said though, about traveling with someone and encountering undesirable situations. You truly get to know that person; how they react; how they handle stress; how many espressos they need to combat exhaustion or how many drinks they need to battle customer service representatives. The person I got to know is the self-adoring, idiosyncratic, overly dramatic, assertive but calm, go-getter that eventually did get her luggage through Check-In without paying a cent extra. As she described, “You forget I’m Nigerian.”

But since she is who she is and she stays true to Murphy’s Law, we entered the security line to board our plane, only to find out that our flight had been cancelled. Of course, why wouldn’t it be?! In the end, we found ourselves in a paid hotel suite across the street, which wasn’t so bad after living on a farm or in a house full of kids.

The next morning, we made our way to London. The airlines fought again, to refuse her luggage and this time she lost. I suppose you can’t win them all. Minus the hiccups, we proceeded to have a fabulous time in London being tourists, being independent, being without host-families, without stress. So Ife, thank you for an incredible vacation! The friendships that come from traveling the world are nothing short of amazing.

Just as the trip started, it ended with me in line again for another Easy Jet flight. This time to Croatia. Solo.

Gratitudes

• Good friendships
• Summer time in Europe
• Gelato.
• Starting a new book

RIP Sister

I’ve never been a good liar. I don’t have the boobs for it. In fact, I’m the perfect subject for a “how-to” article: “How To Detect If Someone Is Lying.” I’m really terrible at it; honestly, I am. Unless it’s a little white lie, I become afflicted, immediately infested with guilt, and fall victim to the classic signs: avoiding eye contact, over-detailing the story, over compensating, over-talking, and divert from the topic: “So how about those (insert name of sports team of the sport in season here)!?”

I even battle internal conflict about not divulging complete truths. This was witnessed firsthand by “T” in Corisca, when the landlord of our vacation rental came to do the final inspection and take us to the train station. “So yeah, everything was tres bien, tres super, magnifique… J’adore cet apartement! The heater absolutely didn’t stop working at all (it did), and we definitely didn’t have any problems with the fuse for the electricity constantly blowing out (we did, multiple times. Correction: I did.). And uhhh… oh, all you asked was if you could help me with my backpack? Oh, Oui. Merci.” Meanwhile, being shot looks from “T,” Stop talking, Lauren! At least I didn’t tell him we broke the toilet paper holder on the wall, even though I think it was already broken.

I attribute the truthfulness gene to my mom, who ingrained in my head at a young age, that lying is the most heinous act a person can commit, that is of course, second to addressing groups of people as “You guys.” Ya’ll agree? I’ve accepted that with this trait, I’ve disabled my options of certain professions: Used-car salesman, politician, a priest. I also suck at infidelity… very un-French of me[1].

So, when it came time to call the airlines to barter a credit for the second half of my roundtrip ticket that I failed to postpone (You would, too if it said 1MAR10. I mistook it for March 10th) I assumed honesty and the classic "helpless-girl" voice would be the best route. I was wrong. “Oh, so there’s really nothing that you can do? And, why? All because I didn’t reschedule it before the departure date? Ugh. Okay, thanks anyway.”

I may proscribe to an honest philosophy, but I’m not one to walk away when there’s something of value at stake and nothing to lose. Plus, when my good moral-bound friend Kim instructed, “Lie, baby, Lie, and make mama proud!” I realized what had to be done.

“Hello, Aer Lingus? Customer Relations, please. Sure, I’ll hold.” Start to cue tears.

“Top a’the mornin’ to ya.” (No, they probably said something along the lines of ‘How can I help you,’ but with the Irish accent, that’s all I heard.)

“Hi. I’m hoping you can help me. I had a flight from Ireland to LAX, that I missed. There was a … family emergency; my sister, (cue tears), well, my sister passed away (Always use a relative that doesn’t actually exist). I realize that the ticket was non-refundable but would it be possible to attain a credit? I have to get f light home… please don’t leave me stranded here with (here’s the kicker) the French. (cue sobbing).”

Silence.

“We’re not supposed to credit non-refundable flights (yeah, whatever), but hold on…”
5 minutes later.

“Okay, I just spoke with a supervisor who agreed to credit you for the flight and you just need to pay the flight-change fee and whatever difference there is to reschedule you’re flight. Oh, and I spent some time in France; I know how you feel.”

I did it. I lied and it worked. The tears came easier than I expected and it was even, dare I say, gratifying? But more so because I got what I wanted. In the end, it wasn’t a complete lie; I may not have a deceased sister, but I was in mourning: of my patience with this job, patience with the "kid," patience with the family, dinners that don’t involve crème, ham, and pasta, the loss of personal space, tasteful home décor, dance classes, turning right on red lights, and well, you get the idea. But, when life gives you lemons, take them and turn them into a $300 airline credit.

I knew I always liked the Irish.


[1] Adultery is quite the institution in France and looked upon as innocently as their Chocolate Nutella spread; They know it’s not healthy but they have it, anyway.

Gratitude:

• My friend Rachel is coming to visit in June!!! We're not sure where all we'll go but backpacking will be involved :)
• The weather has been warranting sandals and shorts. There may be a purchase of some, this weekend.
• I went to a weekly quiz night at an English Pub in Vieux Lyon... I had fun.
• I'm watching French television and I understand what they're saying.
• Play-dates with the kids of the American family. I adore them :)