Monthly Archives: September 2011
Are the French always on strike? Avoid the Palais Imperial and the Sofitel in Marrakech …
We landed at Orly a little after 11am, so only one and half hour late. After collecting our luggage in the baggage claim area, we started looking for the check in gates for our next flight to Marrakech. The South terminal at Orly is always crowded, today even more so; and stuffy too as it seemed that there was no air conditioning.
We finally found the check in gates, but they were deserted as it was too early. So we looked for a place to sit down and have a cup of coffee. After being informed that the restaurants were on the third floor, we located the elevator area; only one elevator was in working order, an elevator which could only take two of us at a time. But the elevator seemed to be full of people whenever it reached us, so it took us a while to make it to the third floor.
But make it we did, only to find that the restaurants were all closed. Why? Because today is a day of strike in France at least for restaurant workers. My luck continues, it seems.
So we started making our way back to the ground floor. On the first level, we saw a coffee place which was open, and even had tables and chairs! It seemed wonderful, although I am always taken aback when I have to pay the equivalent of five dollars for a minuscule cup of coffee.
But at least we had a place to sit down and relax until the check in gates opened. Right?
Wrong. I had barely finished my cup of coffee, in one gulp, when I noticed a group of people gathering next to us at the entrance to the coffee place. Within a couple of minutes, the group numbers about a hundred people and they all pull out whistles and start whistling as loudly as they can. Apparently, we found the one coffee place which did not shut down with the strike, and the strikers want it closed. The noise is so deafening that we have to leave and try to find our way down to the ground floor.
French strikers use whistles and horns to chase people away from non-striking cafes
Thankfully, the check in gates opened a few minutes later and we were able to check in for our flight to Marrakech and escape to the duty free zone, with the sound of the whistles and shouts diminishing gradually as we worked our way through security.
The next question is: will the strike affect the departure of our flight to Marrakech? Stay tuned.
We were scheduled to fly from Paris to Marrakech on Transavia, the pack-them-like-sardines subsidiary of Air France. I was not sure whether the restaurant strike at Orly airport would affect the flight departure, and my nervousness increased as time ticked by and the departure time came closer. Half and hour before flight time, there was still no boarding or any announcement. Then, suddenly, fifteen minutes before the scheduled departure time, boarding was announced and the sardines all converged on the gate at the same time. This was a full flight and we took off from Orly only fifteen minutes late.
What a relief. Now we only had three hours left before reaching Marrakech. And we had more good news: they were going to show the movie “La Fille du Puisatier” during the flight, the Marcel Pagnol film we had first seen in Provence back in June. This would help pass the time and keep us awake until landing. I was also looking forward to the meal I had been told would be served on board. Alas, the meal consisted of a thin brochure with the picture of snack bars, drinks and a few sandwiches and the price of each. Given the exorbitant prices charged, I imagine the airline makes more money with the snacks than it does with the flight tickets.
Finally we landed in Marrakech, where the weather was sunny and hot. Naturally, when we came out of customs and started looking around for our driver, he was nowhere to be found. We walked the whole airport, inside and out, looking for someone with a sign with our name on it. I was about to get us a taxi when the driver finally showed up, thankfully with a nice and big Mercedes Vito which could easily accommodate all of us and our luggage.
Palais Imperial/Sofitel in Marrakech … anything but paradise
We arrived at our hotel, the Sofitel Palais Imperial, confident that we were finally at the end of our travel and would soon be in bed after this long trip. After check-in, we were shown to our two rooms. Oops, there is a problem. Both rooms only have one bed each, and they are far apart from each other. So we tell the bell boy to bring the luggage back down and we ask the reception clerk to see if he can get us two rooms close to each other, but with one room having two separate beds. The guest relations manager came over and, showing me a copy of my reservation, said that my reservation at the Palais Imperial did not mention the requirement for two separate beds, but they would try to help. After a long wait, the reception clerk informed us that the rooms were not available as requested; however, they could accommodate us in the regular Sofitel hotel, which is located in a separate but interconnected building. I pointed out that the rooms in the regular Sofitel were not as nice and were cheaper than what we had reserved and paid for; the guest relations manager came to explain that the prices were the same and the rooms were simply the same types of rooms decorated with a different concept. Having no other option, we consented and made our way to the rooms we were being offered in the regular Sofitel.
The room for our daughters indeed had two separate beds, so this was a step forward. And our room was the next room, … in a manner of speaking. You had to walk around a wall, down some stairs, back up some other stairs in order to get to the next room. And that room was a much smaller room than the room we had just rejected in the Palais Imperial. So I asked for a different room, now telling them that I would accept a room which was not next to our daughters’ room, but it had to be at least as large as the room we had in the Palais Imperial.So they moved us again to another room located down the hall from the girls’ room.
You would think that, by now, in our third room for the evening, we would be set for the night, right? Not a chance. I noticed that the room was relatively warm and I checked to see if the air conditioning was working. As our luggage was being delivered, I asked for the maintenance people to come check the air conditioning. They came, checked everything and told me that everything was working fine and that the room would be cool in a little while, now that we had set the thermostat to the coldest temperature. So we settled into our third room, unpacked the bags and got ready for bed. But the room was not getting any cooler; there was no way we would be able to sleep in that room. So we called down to reception to mention the problem and ask for a third different room, one with a working air conditioner.
By that time, the hotel staff had changed and the night shift was now on duty. Someone came up to see us in the room, and agreed with us that changing rooms was appropriate. The young woman said that the only thing she had was in their sister hotel, the Palais Imperial, but that this would represent an upgrade from what we now had and it would cost more! It took a while to convince her that the room she was offering us was the same type of room we had paid for and moved in at the beginning of the evening.
So we packed up everything and got ready to move back to the Palais Imperial; unfortunately, the bell boy did not show up so I had to go downstairs to try to locate him. It was only after I returned to the room that he finally showed up, but without any chariot or cart with him. There was no way he could handle our move, so we had to send him away to get a cart. Another long wait followed, and I just about resigned myself to making the move myself without help via four or five trips when the bell boy finally returned with a cart.
So Lynn and I moved back again to the Palais Imperial, our fourth room for the evening, and, I am glad to report, one with a working air conditioner. So we again unpacked and again got ready to get to bed for a well deserved rest. Not so fast!
The telephone rang. It was the young reception clerk again. She was calling to tell me that she had looked and had found no evidence that we had reserved at the Palais Imperial! (a reservation which I had prepaid in full months before, and which, as I was about to find out later, the hotel would charge my credit card in full a second time at the end of my stay, despite the check out manager’s assurance to the contrary; I have never been able to recover that money).
And that is how we came to Marrakech, not for the first time, but, I thought at the time, probably the last?
Are the French always on strike? On our way to Marrakech …
We are on our way to Marrakech, Morocco where the daughter of a close Parisian friend is getting married on Saturday October 1st to a Parisian attorney. The groom’s family owns an estate in Marrakech, which will host the wedding reception on Saturday evening after the church wedding, as well as the Sunday brunch. The rehearsal dinner on Friday will actually be a cocktail reception at the enchanting Palais Rhoul. We are looking forward to all of these celebrations.
Both our daughters will be with us, since they both know the bride to be and her family very well; in fact, both our daughters have individually stayed for longs periods at the family’s apartment near Notre Dame in Paris, and the bride to be lived with us for two summers in Wisconsin, working for my wife’s business.
We will naturally fly to Marrakech via Paris, in order to cross the Atlantic on our favorite airline, the all-business-class Openskies. Openskies has only two routes, New York-Paris, and Washington-Paris. Both my wife and I have come to like the ease and comfort of making the trip to Europe on that airline.
Of course, all of my trips have a few hiccups here and there; the first one in this case occurred four days before departure, when the cabin crew of Openskies went on strike! I found out about it on Monday morning when we received an email from the company announcing the work stoppage. Fortunately, not all of the cabin staff joined the strike action; you see, only half the staff is French! The company said that the flight would take place, but with a schedule change which would consolidate both the Washington and the New York flights. We would go to New York, pick up the New York passengers there, and then go on to Paris, arriving at Orly Sud two hours past the original scheduled arrival time.
That was relatively good news, since our connecting flight from Paris to Marrakech was in the afternoon. It looked as if we would make it.
There was nothing new or different announced on Tuesday, nor on Wednesday morning, the day of our departure. So we were quite optimistic when we stacked the luggage by the door of our townhouse, waiting for the SUV limo I had ordered for the trip to Dulles airport. You guessed it, I know; yes, the SUV limo did not show up at the appointed time. In fact, after repeated telephone calls and increasing levels of anxiety, a stretch limousine showed up at the door, 40 minutes late. “Beltway traffic”, claimed the driver as an excuse, as if five o’clock traffic on the Beltway in Washington was an unexpected event!
The other problem was that there was not enough room in this large limousine for all of our luggage; a stretch limo can comfortably sit eight people, but the trunk is very small. That was the reason I had ordered a large SUV, not a stretch limo. We finally solved that problem by sharing our seats with the overflow luggage, and made our way to the airport.
You would think that this would be the end of our ordeal, wouldn’t you? Our airline on strike, a detour to New York, the ride to the airport 40 minutes late, and the wrong type of vehicle; no, that was not the end of it. After we successfully boarded the flight, and after the plane left the gate area towards the runway, the captain’s voice came on the speaker system; “The airport has closed all departures towards the west, because of weather; we are shutting down the engines and will wait here until further notice”.
Sounds familiar? Well, for those who did not hear that story, our last scheduled flight was a flight to Quebec City for the wedding of one my brothers, a flight from that same Dulles airport, a flight where the captain made the same exact announcement. The end result then had been that we had sat on that plane for six hours until they cancelled the flight and returned us to the gate. We ended up driving to Quebec.
I am glad to report that the end result was different today; after about half and hour, the captain received clearance to take off and we left for New York, where we stopped for about an hour before our departure for Paris.
As I am writing this, we are now on the plane, occupying all of row 8 in this 84-passenger 757. One of my daughters is already sleeping after gulping down the delicious Parmesan-crusted cod fish we were served for dinner. And to think they had both Saint Emilion and Gigondas red wine to offer us! I just finished my tea after a satisfying meal (I particularly liked the cheese), and I am now going to take a nap, confident that when I wake up, all of the hiccups of the trip will already be behind us. Right?
