How I learned to stop worrying and love the train

If you avoid the tolls, it takes 48 minutes to drive from Paris Charles de Gaulle airport to the small in-law unit where I was staying in Herblay, France. At the risk of sounding melodramatic, those 48 minutes felt like a scene at the beginning of "48 Hours."

I was in an Uber that I ordered from the airport. And for a moment, en route to the destination, I wondered if I'd actually get to Herblay.

Call it hyperbole. Chalk it up to jet-lag fueled paranoia. Or maybe it was a real threat. Who knows at this point.

The ride started like most do. The driver hopped out of the car, verified my name was the one on the app, then put my luggage in the back. We were off.

What a difference five years makes. The first time I wrote about a weird ride from Charles de Gaulle, it was in a taxi. This time around, I ordered an Uber. For whatever reason, my rides from the airport are always insane enough to warrant an entire post. Back in the 2013, the guy pulled over mid-drive so he could pee. 

No pit stops this time around. Speeding down the highway, my driver made conversation. 

He didn't speak English. I kind of speak French. He asked me if he was taking me to my house.  I said I was going to visit a friend.

He later asked me a second time if I lived there, maybe a third. Why, pray tell, do you need to know if I live there? I just kept saying I was visiting a friend. 

At some point during the ride, he went onto Google translate on his other phone and said to the dictation microphone, "T'es mariée?"

I already knew what he was asking, but within seconds the automated English voice responded on his phone, "Are you married?" 

I deflected answering the question.

Still, I was unphased at this point. I hadn't panicked until his next question, which, on the surface, might seem harmless. He asked if I had called anyone to tell them I was on my way.

My interpretation: does anyone know where you are right now? Would anyone be missing you?

That's when the warning signs came on. I have taken many an Uber before, and I did not think this series of questions added up. Well, they did add up, but not to something I wanted any part with. 

"Il m'attends à 17 heures."  He's expecting me at 5 p.m., I said.

The ride turned uncomfortably silent after that. I'm quietly mumbling all the applicable Psalms I know while I stared straight ahead at his phone, looking at his GPS for one wrong turn and knowing I probably couldn't tell the difference, anyway. He on the other hand, picked up the speed and sometimes looked back to see me stonily staring ahead at the map.

But I made it to my destination, thank God.

Call me paranoid, and I'd say there's a great Kid Cudi feature on the remix of that track. 

Call me paranoid a second time, and I'd tell you that international cities are hubs for human traffickers and what if...

TL; DR: Next time, I'm taking the train.