Getting to France was a connect-the-dots operation — from Vero Beach, to Orlando, to Detroit, to Paris to Marseilles to Avignon.
Our favorite limo service did great. We landed in Detroit mere minutes before our next plane was to leave. We got to the gate three minutes before they began boarding. The flight to Paris was only seven and a half hours. Charles De Gaulle Airport was a bit of a puzzle, but a young woman near the shuttle station sorted out the connection for us. It helps to have been in this airport before (which we hadn’t).
The terminal for the connection to Marseilles was a mad-house (boarding lines here are merely theoretical), and an equipment switch put us on an airplane which could only have been filled fuller if they had stacked us. Fortunately, Marseilles was only 70 minutes south, and a nice Frenchman surrendered his window to us so we could see “his beautiful country and Marseilles.”
The Viking Rep at the airport was friendly and efficient. The charter bus to Avignon took us by Salon-de-Provence, the home of the French equivalent of the Thunderbirds/Blue Angels. We watched them practice for a few miles as we made our way to the ship.
After a light snack, we napped until dinner time and declared ourselves no longer jet lagged.
The post title refers to the childhood song [You Tube link] most of us know, though it should be Sous not Sur since the dance now occurs beneath the remains of the bridge not on it.