We were afraid they wouldn't come at all. Jacqui had had a rough week. Your health matters most, is what we said.
Please, please come to France, is what we meant.
[Photos above and right by Esme.]
The travel will be the worst part, Dr worried.
And travel, with an assist from weather, lived up to its reputation. Their first flight was delayed so long that they took another the following day. The next morning, assured by the Air France website that they'd landed, Luke and I waited in the damp of a cafe on Place des Vosges and warmed our hands on a cappucino and a cup of hot tea. Charlie warmed our feet. The waitress turned on the outside heater as we scanned the corners for arriving cabs. Instead we got a text message -- Landed in Pau.
Are they in Asia? Luke asked. Their flight was diverted from Paris to Bordeaux, and then finally to Pau in the southwest of France. Too far away to rescue them, plus, they weren't allowed off the plane because the airport didn't have any customs facilities. "We were a jet-age version of the Gar-barge," Dr lamented. While they waited on the runway for hours, he asked a flight attendant if they were going to have to stay in Pau forever. "I hope not," she replied. "I've been here before." To their relief, the captain eventually announced they were heading back to Paris again.
Finally the long-awaited taxi emerged from the gloomy mist, flashing headlights just in case we mistook it for some other ordinary cab. And in a rush, doors flung open, and out spilled suitcases, long curls, blue eyes, mile-a-minute chatter, and the impossibly beautiful faces of our friends.
It was finally starting to feel like Christmas in France.
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