So we'd got to Paris successfully, no hitches and were waiting for the cases.
Which were not appearing.
Gradually, every one of the 15 people who had been on our flight departed, leaving just an increasingly wound up J and me.
With some misgivings, I drew out my baggage tag to speak to the staff present and stared in understandable heartsink fashion at the tag.
It said, quite clearly, Zurich.
I hadn't looked at it when we booked in...
So several minutes later and staying very calm, J and I left the hall, our baggage undetectable (maybe Zurich, maybe back in Bristol) and set off for the hotel.
It was raining...
I outlined the plans to J- the bags would be delivered when they were found and flown out, in the meantime, we had our medication (J never goes anywhere without hers- she'll start fitting within 12 hours without it) and money and could buy thr bare essentials for overnight.
J remained relatively calm.
We set out for a walk and ended up on one of those awful bus type tour things- but at least we were dry and could get our bearings.
We ended up (via the Madeline) going to Sacre Coeur, where Vespers was going on.
We sat, listening to the nuns singing the psalms, as around us people walked in silence around the church.
In front of us, a family sat and the man knelt and made the sign of the cross.
It took me back to all my past trips with J, where we would always enter hundreds of churches.
And in each one, I would kneel and pray, light candles, go to adoration, mass....
We finished our visit and went on to eat- my first omlette of many...
Bought toothbrushes and T shirts for the night and settled down to sleep
In a strangely empty hotel room, populated only by J and me and some ants...