Air France 50-Year Celebration

The Air France activities were delightful. The trip was comfortable as far as TACA was concerned—on time, planes not too full. But the timing of the flights both directions nearly finished me off.

I reached Mexico City at 11:00 pm. The new terminal is gorgeous but TACA is at the far end of an exxxxtennnsivvve walk. In addition to perhaps fifty yards of regular perambulating, there were seven moving sidewalks that did only a little to help. When I reached the baggage area, I compounded the distance walked by not being able to find the right carousel. I went to the only one with baggage, at the far end of an enormous room. No suitcase. I began thinking in terms of facing the Air France festivities in the suit I was wearing.

A very unhelpful woman official finally waved me to the other end. No suitcase. Someone there told me that TACA baggage was at “8” and I should take the elevator. I did and went to the wrong floor. A very helpful man led me down a flight of stairs to the right location. There, all by itself, stood my dear roll-aboard waiting for me.

It was 1:00 am before I reached the hotel, checked in, and got myself to bed.

 

By late morning, I pulled myself together, skipped the free breakfast, and headed for Air France. I introduced myself to the new regional director, Michel Rispal, whom I never had met, and had a pleasant ten minutes or so with him. Then I worked my way through the offices, finding old friends. I kept visits short, knowing that they would be overwhelmed with visitors. It was a gratifying visit.

After lunch back at my lovely four-star hotel, I returned to bed to make up for lost sleep.

The dinner party that evening was more informal than I expected. We were a group of about ten, Air France people and agents. It was relaxed and fun and the Mexican cuisine was superb. The visiting ex-regional directors, and the brass from Air France Mexico and Paris then gathered in M. Rispal’s home for what (I learned later) was a delightfully informal evening.

 

Next morning, I went out looking for an artisanías (craft shop) where I might pick up little gifts. Polanco, the colonia where the Air France office now is located, is a beautiful area of gorgeous old colonial homes and encroaching businesses, expensive boutiques, and dozens of restaurants.

The taxi driver could not find the shop to which the concierge directed us, but took me to a beautiful Taxco silver store. To my surprise, I found inexpensive gifts I was looking for.

A bus collected all of the Hotel Nikko Air France guests for the Thursday evening festivities at the French pavilion. The large outdoor inner court was jammed with guests by the time we arrived. We found ourselves clinging to each other in small groups to keep from getting lost. Surprisingly, we managed to run into old friends now and then in the mob. Wine was served.

One of the first strangers to whom I was presented was a tall, handsome middle-aged man, obviously one of the Brass from Paris. He stopped several times through the evening to say a pleasant word. During the party I was introduced to another attractive Frenchman who immediately remarked, “Oh, I know who you are. Francis Richard (former regional director) talked about you for a good thirty minutes last night when we all were at Michel Rispal’s.” (Believe me, there’s no answer to a comment like that except a light laugh.)

A delightful fashion show was spotlighted on a large stage. About six models, willowy girls with long straight hair, dark lipstick, and deadpan expressions, showed some fifty or sixty outfits. Most of them were things I would not want to see my daughter wearing. Navels were much in evidence. Chiffon tops worn without under-pinnings delighted the men guests. Later, evening styles with draped-open tops barely covering nipples added to their entertainment. Some of the outfits were too outré for me but many were gorgeous.

Eventually there were the expected speeches, fortunately brief, and visiting former directors were introduced. I was delighted to cross paths again with the three I had become fond of during my years with Air France. Everyone was gratifyingly pleased that I attended the celebrations.

The party continued with more drinks and bocas. As people left, it was easier to circulate and visit with friends.

I was ready to collapse by ll:00 pm, when our group was rounded up to meet the bus. We stood outside for thirty minutes waiting. As more time went by with the bus still not arriving, the visiting official from Paris, who had been so pleasant to me, swooped down to whisk me off to go back to the hotel with him in M. Rispal’s car. I was vastly relieved and very touched at their thoughtfulness.

 

By the time I finished last-minute packing and was ready for bed, it was about 12:30 am. I slept fitfully until my 2:45 am wake-up call. Considering my brief nighttime, I was surprisingly steady for the travel ordeal facing me. In Salvador, I walked as briskly as my battered feet permitted to the distant gate for my continuing flight to Belize. I arrived, exhausted, just as it was boarding. I was back in the house by 10:30 am.

 

As guests left the big party, each of us was given a handsome book detailing Air France in Mexico. I looked at it the day after the trip. To my astonishment, I learned from the first large picture that the tall, handsome Frenchman who had been so gracious to me was the President and Director-General of Air France. I wonder if I would have visited so comfortably with him had I known.

The trip to Mexico was exhausting, but I am very, very glad I went. Everyone made me feel that I was a valued part of the Air France family. On the other hand, I am considering giving up travel as my favorite recreation.