In an attempt to cut costs, I booked a round-trip ticket from
London to San Francisco, intending to change my return ticket to Europe. I
learned upon my arrival in the U.S. that I would not be able to adjust my
return ticket and would need to find another solution. With costs in mind, I
explored many options to travel to France for my first club match on April 26.
I found myself scouring websites for different routes and destinations as I now
know how well everything is connected by train in France. I finally found my solution:
Portland->San Francisco->London->Toulouse->Bordeaux (via train).
Without fully acknowledging how long this journey would be, I made sure to give
myself plenty of time for each transfer as they were all on separate
reservations requiring self- transfer. Fortunately, I was able to check my bags
from Portland to London, leaving me less than a few hours in San Francisco to apply
for Global Entry since my first flight was delayed on the tarmac. Based on
information online, it is possible to conduct your Global Entry interview upon
departure or arrival to the U.S. rather than booking an appointment. With that
context, I left the terminal in search of the Global Entry offices, just to be
denied and instructed to apply when I arrive, as I can interview without an
appointment. Back through security for me in San Francisco as I awaited my
flight to London. The flight was relatively uneventful, other than the initial
delay and being squeezed into an aisle seat next to a broadly shouldered Brit with
a constant flow of passengers getting up to use the restroom. With only a
couple of hours of sleep in me, I got off the plane and rechecked my bags for
Toulouse. Smooth sailing in London-Heathrow and off to the next destination. Yet
another delay for my third leg of the journey. As I gathered my checked baggage
and went through immigration in Toulouse, I was desperately counting the number
of minutes I had to get from the airport to the train station. With only 20
minutes to spare, I booked a taxi and prayed I would make the train. Tick… tock…
I was desperate to make this train as I had to arrive in time to practice with
my team ahead of our match the following day. As we were approaching the train
station, I received a notification that the train was delayed, and the stress
momentarily subsided, until the anxiety gradually returned as we sat in line
for a ticket to the drop-off parking lot. Precious time was ticking away as
each minute that went by felt like a needle in my temple. As I got out of the
car, I grabbed my belongings and lumbered into the train station, only to see
my train no longer on the board as it had already departed. Distraught and
frustrated, I found a place to sit in the bustling corridors of the Toulouse
train station next to a public piano being mediocrely played by some high
schoolers with the sound of younger schoolchildren running around. It was time
to solve the problem with my remaining energy, so I went to the ticket office
to try to exchange my ticket for the next possible train in an hour. Obviously,
this wouldn’t be possible, as the two trains were operated by different railway
companies. So, without much choice, I booked a new ticket for 40 Euros or so,
arriving at the train station at about the same time my team was beginning to practice.
Since I had missed the train, they could no longer pick me up on the way to
practice, so it was up to me to get to the tennis club. I hopped on a tram once
I arrived in Bordeaux and got as close to the club as possible, just in time
for the team to be concluding their practice. I then waited another 20 minutes
at the tram stop for my team to pick me up on their way to the hotel. In total,
my travel time had eclipsed 24 hours, and it was time for a quick shower and
dinner with my team. Never in my life have I been so grateful for a shower,
despite it being the smallest shower I’ve ever seen. Quickly thereafter, I got
ready for dinner, where we drove less than a quarter-mile down the road to
La
Boucherie, a French restaurant chain serving exclusively meats… fantastic.
I was lucky to find a
saumon option with rice, which wasn’t nearly
enough food as I caught up with my teammates with our lives since we’d last
seen each other a year ago, only for that conversation to last 10 minutes, and
the remaining hour at the restaurant was spoken in French. Just the cherry on
top of a travel day and a half. Goodnight, it was time for a sleep before my
first club match of the season.
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