PART 1 of 2: PARIS by HAPPENSTANCE:
True-life experiences inspire my writings! With that said, imagine
being stranded at Death Valley’s BADWATER BASIN during the dead of summer. At
282’ below sea level, this location is not only the lowest point in the United
States, it is very often the hottest place in the northern hemisphere. At noon,
temperatures here can climb to 115° F, and as the name implies, you dare not
drink the water! Imagine yourself standing here for hours, dripping with sweat
under a hot midday sun, with nothing to quench your thirst. In a blink of an
eye you are suddenly inside a cool air-conditioned room, drinking from an ice
cold bottle of clear spring water. Got that image? Okay, hold that thought
while I tell you of why I traveled to Paris, France my first time.
To be perfectly clear, Paris was an Oasis! The city of light
and romance became my air conditioned room and bottle of ice cold spring water.
The bad water basin? That had been a port city in North Africa, a town of 5
million on the Mediterranean Sea.
Much like my fictitious character Dennis Lynch, I had never
imagined traveling to Paris.
Meanwhile, back in the desert:
I woke at 8:00 AM Tuesday morning, October 11, 1983, to a loud
intrusive pounding. I knew immediately the sound was that of frantic individuals
knocking on my hotel room door, but I needed a minute or two to collect my
thoughts. I was in fact in North Africa, I quickly reminded myself, and those
pounding on the door were my boss and his frantic wife.
I had finally fallen asleep at 5 AM that morning, arguing with
the person responsible for us being in Africa. The host was packing, and I had
been trying to convince him that it was wrong to abandon us in an estranged
land. My arguing however had fallen on deaf ears. After being jarred awake
three hours later, I found a scribbled note laying atop my suitcase: “See you
in the U. S. A., your friend, M.” My friend my butt!
The purpose in coming to this desert city had been to contract
with the government to construct badly needed infrastructure. Our “hosts” were
two individuals, a native of the land we were visiting and his partner, a
Florida general contractor. A detailed itinerary had been mapped out long before
leaving the United States, and that schedule did not include us being left to
fend for ourselves.
NOTHING prepared us for our journey. From the moment we
touched down in Africa, until that exact second of our departure, when the
airplane’s wheels finally let go of the ground beneath to become airborne,
NOTHING went as planned.
Remember we are in 1983. We did not have a cellphone, and as
phones and televisions in our hotel rooms didn’t work, we had no contact with
the outside world whatsoever.
Hotel accommodations were, “at the poshest hotel”. During
check-in, I was instructed that to reach the 4th floor, and my room offering
wonderful views of the Mediterranean Sea, I needed to take the elevator to
three, then walk up one flight to the fourth. The number four button had fallen
out weeks earlier, and a technician was expected soon, as he was flying into
this city of 5 million from France. The button never was fixed while we were at
the hotel, and we learned for those preparing us to do work in this foreign
land that such was par for the course.
We were given a tour of a four story building still under
construction in its fourth year. A steel framework was in place, but the
building still didn’t have exterior walls. “Plan to bring your own equipment
and people,” we were told.
Tuesday was day three of a planned six day visit to the desert
city. Since departing Orlando, I had had little more than five hours of sleep.
Exhausted, stranded in a foreign land, panic set in when my boss was informed
the hotel could no longer honor the remainder of our reservation. We had to get
out of the hotel, and as there was no alternate place to stay, it seemed only
logical we needed to figure out a way to get out of the country.
My boss looked to me to do that, and I understood why. At
dinner the night before, as we sat at a table of six, with three of us arguing why
both hosts should not abandon us in a foreign land, the African partner said, “Don’t
worry, Rick knows how to get you out of here!”
In fairness to me this requires clarification. Our native
African host had been referring to a very strange meeting he and I had had
earlier that day. The two of us drove into town so he could introduce me to my “personal
contact in Africa.” Mohammed, I was told, would take care of anything I needed anytime. If ever in a bind, all I need do was to pick up a phone
and call Mohammed.
One simply did not purchase or exchange airline tickets in
this country, and so we felt as though we were in a bind! Using the front desk
phone (our room phones did not work), I called my “personal contact in Africa,”
explained our dilemma, and said we desperately needed three airline tickets,
“today!” We’d be willing to travel anywhere north of the Mediterranean Sea. Mohammed
assured me he’d be back in touch within 15 minutes.
Two hours later, still waiting for a return call, three stranded
Americans sat sipping on warm (no ice) alcoholic beverages, conversing with a traveling
French salesman we had met the day before. We had been warned though, by our
African host, one of the jerks who abandoned us in this faraway land, never to
talk with strangers. “You never know who that person might be,” he had said.
Spies? Really?
The salesman, it turned out, offered us excellent free advice.
“Go out to the airport. Look around at how things get done there, and I promise
you, your way out will come to you.”
Three deserted American’s, having not much more to lose, arrived
via taxi at the stifling hot airport at 11:10 AM. We were soon told all planes
departing this day were sold out.
There were no seats, nor any nearby hotels. Unbearably hot, terribly
disturbed, tired and frustrated, we three watched to view how things got done.
While observing, we learned the international language of the airport.
Folded greenbacks, a thousand to be exact, induced a ticket
exchange. At 1:05 PM our airport buddy rushed to where we were instructed to
wait, grabbed our bags, and said we needed to hurry to catch a flight scheduled
to depart at 1:10 PM.
We hadn’t yet cleared customs, but managed to advance quickly
with a little help from additional greenbacks. At 1:35 PM we boarded the last
bus waiting to transport passengers out to the plane. Ten minutes later, the
door to our plane closed, with us seated inside. Our jet lifted off from a
North African runway at 1:58 PM, leaving behind three would-be passengers,
folks who for one reason or another had been told they would not be boarding
this plane.
Before ever reaching cruising altitude, flight attendants
delivered bottles of ice cold water to each and every passenger. In our rush to
board though, I never inquired as to where this plane was taking us. So, after
first downing an entire bottle of deliciously cold water, I turned and asked my
boss: “Where are we going?”
I waited while he took another sip of ice cold water. He then
smiled and replied: “Paris!”
Back home in the States:
I recorded in detail our North Africa experience.
We were laughing by then, but it occurred to me that one day my journey might serve as inspiration for a story, perhaps even a Novel.
I
eventually penned a Novel in 1993, but its subject was not exactly about my time spent
in Africa. Never published until this year, the Novel, ‘In His Brother’s
Memory,’ was inspired instead by two events immediately following our Africa departure.
Part 2 of this MYSTIQUE Blog, ‘Paris by Aspirations’, to be published here next Friday, September 30, 2016, will
share those two events that became the inspiration behind, ‘In His Brother’s
Memory’.
Excerpt
from my new Novel: In His Brother’s Memory
“Day
1: A Surreal Arrival. Wednesday, 4:36 AM:
“Jonathan’s
body floated face down, arms outstretched, bobbing in murky water beneath that
bridge.”
“Forty-four
years young, Jonathan did not deserve to go before his maker in such a horrible
manner, dumped in a river, an iconic waterway considered the world over as a
symbol of love and romance.”
For
additional details visit my Web Page:
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