Getting there

Or rather, "getting back", which proved just a bit more difficult than it was to get to Paris. There was a strike. We had words.

Actually, it wasn't that bad. Having just finished packing and set the alarm for the ungodly hour of four o'clock, it wasn't a great feeling getting the email that our flight had been cancelled. But as we ended up getting a few more hours sleep, in the end it didn't bother us that much. Instead of going to the airport at five in the morning, my friend and I took a bus at eight or so. Much better. I was slightly less zombie, slightly more human. Yay!

After standing in a long line of confused vacationers who wanted to get home but didn't know how, we finally got to talk to the best person in France. She rebooked us onto a flight that was going to Finland, and another one from there that would actually get us home. Success. And so much gratefulness. We also got a breakfast voucher as a "sorry for the inconvenience" gift. More gratefulness. Bribe me with food, always, and I'll be fine. Sure that it was yet another croissant and a pain au chocolat, but who am I to complain? Give me all the sweet, carby goodness, s'îl vous plait !

After having watched and wandered over the beautiful Finnish landscape (my friend) and snored the whole way there (me), we landed in Helsinki, having just about time to down a coffee and pop into the loo before our second flight. Thank the lord for pre-made Starbucks. I completely approve of their taking over the world, long as I get my sugary caffeine.

And then we were home, saying our goodbyes after a lovely trip together. I went on to hunt for food (I feel that might become a theme...) and then taking another couple buses to actually get properly home, back to my flat, where my wonderful sofa said a gentle hello by pulling me into it for, most likely, the rest of the evening. Au revoir.