Carry Your Own S**t!: Sketches From a Father in France
Part 9
Two men appeared from around a dark corner and intercepted two women walking in front of us. They were likely mother and daughter tourists. One of the men was offering promises of cheap and rapid transportation into the city. They were piggybacking on the official taxi operation just ahead on the curb. It looked rather shady to me but the two women took the bait, maybe not recognizing a distinction from the actual taxi line. What befell them, however, worried me little. I presume an unlicensed, overpriced ride that probably got them to their hotel unaccosted.
On any larger trip there’s almost always a moment where I’m presented with the exposed threat of the unknown — a moment where it’s not obvious what to do next. Not unlike the two women. Usually this happens at the beginning or ending of large travel days. We found ourselves finally free of the grip of air travel and standing at the doorstep of a rather big and intimidating city. The previous 24 hours of our lives had been meticulously planned to the minute without a single decision to be made by us aside from chicken or beef. We’d been shuttled around, from one line to the next, along designated paths, instructed to stand here and queue there, where to sit, what to eat and when to drink. Anything that would happen to us now would be done entirely and only on our own volition. It was our time to shine and it’s a rather exhilarating and liberating, yet mildly frightening, feeling.
After proudly leapfrogging the many tired faces waiting at the baggage claim with our carry-on luggage, we drew money from the lone ATM by the exit. There were a few moments of panic when the first few attempts were rejected but our fears were quelled at the realization it was due to our bank’s daily withdrawal limit. Taking the two women as a warning we stuck with our plan and headed to the official taxi stand. The options to the city center from Charles de Gaulle are train (RER), taxi or Uber. We opted for the simplicity and speed of a taxi. Taxis to and from the airport to the center of Paris run on a fixed 50 Euro fee. It may not be the cheapest option but it is by far the speediest and simplest and suitable for a large family.
We tossed the kids backpacks on the seats in the back of the black SUV just like we had practiced at home. One by one the three of them eagerly climbed on top like adventurers scaling a great mountain. They clicked their seat belts into place and the nylon straps perfectly crossed their bodies in the right positions, just as we predicted. Our unusual solution to car seats was legally precarious but highly creative and I gather, mostly effective. Though taxis and driver services are exempt from car seat requirements it doesn’t mean little ones are somehow magically safe. As we loaded the rest of the luggage in the back of the SUV I thought about those who travel everywhere with their own car seats and I almost laughed at the extra burden they would create. We were light and agile and it was already apparent and paying off.
