On Friday I came through the airport at Paris/CDG along with a large number of burly men dressed in bright blue t-shirts, kilts and what my old friend Adrian used to refer to as "shit-kicking boots." This is the uniform of the Scotland supporter. They were arriving for the Scotland vs France rugby tournament.
How good it felt to hear French again! I had told my family that moving to California, after living overseas for so long, was like falling into a warm bath, easy and familiar. But actually, coming back to CDG was familiar too. I helped a Moroccan woman with two small children to another terminal in time to make her connection, was greeted in French by the flight attendants, and sneaked around to the "secret" security gate that only the habitués know about.
There, the man who tells tourists about putting fluids into small ziplocked bags gave me one but accompanied me to the security checkpoint to argue on my behalf that I should not have to throw away my duty-free items from Los Angeles airport. Strictly speaking, they should have been tossed because I had come out of the "sterile area" in order not to miss my flight by waiting in a long line at the connecting desk. But the man argued for me in eloquent fashion and the security people first looked skeptical, then shrugged, then nodded and waved me through, for his sake, I'm sure.
I could hear the voice of the man's American counterpart in my ear: "I don't make the rules, ma'am!"
It gets so that traveling in each direction is as easy as falling off of a log...it's the staying put that gets more and more difficult. I think of your resettling issues often. Enjoy your time this side of the Atlantic.
Meilleurs voeux!!
Posted by: blueVicar | 27 March 2007 at 07:18