Saturday

While waiting for the plane, my stomach starts to rumble – and not in the “I’m hungry” sort of way. I make my way to the men’s room (labeled “Gents”). There is a man standing inside with a small roll of toilet paper. As people finish their business and wash their hands, this guy hands them a few squares of toilet paper for drying off. Apparently paper towels are at a premium here. Inside the stall, there is no toilet paper and things are not pretty. I will hold until the plane arrives.

There are a lot of advantages to traveling business class, but one that doesn’t usually come to mind is the fact that since they let you on the plane first, you can rush to the toilet. This feature proves itself invaluable this morning. Its official, I have a certified case of TD (traveler’s diarrhea). Was it the food at The Beach? Was it the food on the KingFisher plane?

The travel clinic in Ann Arbor had prescribed a strong anti-biotic for this situation (Xifaxan). I take out the bottle and read the instructions. Begin medicine if having 4+ loose stools daily. Rules are meant to be broken, so after 3 trips to the toilet, I go on my meds. A few hours later, I’m feeling a bit better.

The Air France flight attendants continue to talk to me in French. Do I really look French?

We land in Paris at 8:40 in the morning. For those of us traveling on to the U.S., they have buses and vans waiting to take us to the appropriate terminal. They don’t ask for our ticket stubs. Heidi and I sit in a van for a while. Nothing happens. I wonder if this is a practical joke that the French like to play on Americans. After a while, we play a game of musical vans (moving from one van to the other for no apparent reason) and we’re on our way.