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Getting there – Part 1

The 47-hour tango begins

At long last, the day has come. The day we’ve been counting down to ever since we casually decided “hey, let’s go to Polynesia” last year — and then promptly made it our personality.

Yesterday, Air France graciously reminded us of our upcoming odyssey by nudging us to check in. And like the seasoned travel pros we are (read: control freaks about seat selection), we dove in immediately to lock in those carefully chosen business class seats. Travel tip: never trust fate with your legroom.

Now, our boarding pass claims this trip will take a mere 47 hours. That’s not a typo. It’s just that our entire day in Paris counts as “transit.” Apparently, lounging in a hotel bar still qualifies as mid-journey. Who knew?

The drive to Toulouse airport was smooth—almost suspiciously so. No traffic, no wrong turns, not even a forgotten passport. We arrived obnoxiously early (the only proper way to travel), breezed through security, and swanned into the lounge. Not an actual Air France lounge, mind you, but our business class tickets worked their magic, and voilà—free snacks, comfy chairs, and the illusion of importance.

Once aboard our humble Airbus A320, I found myself in the enviable position of row one, seat solo. No neighbour, no elbow battles, just me, my thoughts, and Chantale—the cheffe de cabine—who was everything you want in a flight attendant: kind, competent, and not afraid to gently herd us all into efficiency. The flight to Charles de Gaulle was a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it one-hour hop.

First off the plane, I executed my patented airport power-walk to the baggage carousel (Olympic level, truly),

collected my case, and headed for the CDG Val—Paris’s answer to “how can we make people feel like human Tetris pieces for a few minutes?” After squeezing into the third train that came along, we were sardined into transit bliss for a few bumpy minutes.

Next stop: the Mercure hotel. Check-in was a breeze—we’re All club members, darling—and in no time we were reunited at the bar, sipping our first drinks of the holiday and letting the “we’re really doing this” feeling wash over us.

Early night, of course. We’re pacing ourselves. Because if this was just Day 1…

Polynesia has no idea what’s coming.

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