And all I could think about was Princess Diana

A recent post by Konrad West reminded me of a similar experience.

Summer 2004, I was stuck in the city of lights. My connecting flight had left even before we landed and there was nothing we could do, except to go to the hotel and come back the next morning.

There were about 10 of us who were stranded and we were all staying in the same hotel. In a few minutes we hatched a scheme to go out into the town and take a tour. There was one small problem, it was already 6 in the evening and not until later would we find out that the trains in Paris stop running after midnight.

Awesome sights, confusing roads and the company of a couple of old people kept us at a snails pace. By the time we got kicked out of the Eiffel tower and took a train it was already 11:45. With about an hours journey left to get to the hotel, a couple of locals told us that the train would take a different route and that we would be better off taking a cab.

We got off at the station and walked out. There were 3 cabs and there were about 5 people in line. I walked over to one of the cabbies and told him that we might need 2-3 cabs. His English was so much better than my French, if that makes sense. He nodded, exchanged a few hurried words in French to the other cabbies and we were all set to go. Given that I was one of the unofficial leaders of the expedition, I made sure that everyone got in and finally it was my turn. I do not remember names, but there was this guy who spoke Marathi, worked for a software company in India, this girl who had just gotten married and also spoke Marathi and me.

We were lucky, or so I thought, we were in a brand new Mercedes. Honestly, I have been in Chryslers before, but not in a Benz that was a cab. It was exciting, it was weird, and a minute later, things got weirder. The other two cabs had taken off, so our driver floored it.

The next 10 minutes went by like a chase sequence in a movie. Lights whizzed past up, others cars seemed to be standing, tires screeched, words were exchanged in Marathi (and I do not know Marathi) and the tunnels kept coming.

In a Mercedes, doing about 250 Kilometers, in Paris and driving through tunnels. All I could think of was princess Diana. The funny part was that we had no clue if we were being kidnapped or we were actually being driven to our destination.

As fear started setting in, the cab seemed to go faster and faster. And then it happened. There was this huge sign that said Charles De Gaulle; there was a united sigh of relief. We knew we were there and in the next couple of minutes the Merc screeched to a halt in front of our hotel. We were the first to arrive. The other cabs got there in the next couple of minutes.

The one thing I will never forget is the look on everyone’s face. It was pale white, drained out of any blood that they might have had. I instantly knew that I was not alone.

So the next time you take a cab in Paris, hang on for dear life, its seems like its a routine out there.

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