Departure

My eyelids flutter open as an unfamiliar tinkle disturbs my deep slumber. I stare at the ceiling, my mind a complete void. The annoying jingle tickles my awareness. The bedside phone is ringing. It’s the wake up call. No… it’s the hotel reception desk. The taxi to Charles-de-Gaulle airport is waiting downstairs.

I shake Mr G awake and he slowly turns away and grumbles as if that was a nudge for having had too many red wines the night before.

“It’s 6.30 am! Missed the wake up call!”

“Er… what wake up call?”

Merde! The one he forgot to set. We bolt out of bed. There are showers to be had, final packing to do, squeezing last minute purchases into over-inflated suitcases and never mind the obligatory morning brew.

Paris at dawn

Frantically, I hop in the shower trampling over semi-open luggage. My mind is ablaze with the possibility of missing the flight, what is one to do? As I dry off, my thoughts are peppered with the “what-ifs” of the night before.

Had we not leisurely meandered through the left bank towards boulevard-st-germain after dinner, taking in the sights of nocturnal Paris, encore une fois, one more time. Had we not sat down at Les Deux Magots, and watched the night life in a city that inspires. Had we not ordered Bas Armagnac, and were served a double for the price of a single by a gracious waiter. Had we not recounted the highlights of the trip and with the last amber swill toasted a worthy end to the sojourn abroad. Had we not returned to our hotel late, very late…

I smile as I take one last look around the dishevelled room. Checking out is swift, as one would expect from an establishment that upgraded us to a suite during our entire stay. A taxi is hollered. We squeeze into the back seat of a Peugeot 307 as comfortably as our oversized luggage is laid in the boot. Le Figaro, L’Express and Paris Match magazines peep through the back pocket of the front seat.

It is still early morning. Paris se lève…Paris awakes and the city is enveloped in a dense and static haze. The taxi pierces through the fog at lightening speed, traversing the yawning Seine. Notre-Dame de Paris cathedral stands to my left. I bid my respects to the grande dame just as the sun floats languidly over the low horizon ahead. I glance towards the city one more time.

Au revoir, Paris.

A la prochaine.

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Departure was last modified: December 20th, 2015 by Corinne Mossati

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Corinne Mossati

Corinne Mossati is the founder and editor of Gourmantic. An avid scribe, she has taken pen to paper since the age of five. Her repertoire includes long works of fiction, short stories and travelogues. She is a winner of the GT travel writing competition, has judged the Australasian Whisky Awards and several cocktail competitions. She is also named in the Australian Bartender Most Influential List.

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