En Route

Why is it that each time I find myself in the Paris airport, it looks completely different?  I remember once being in a modern terminal with arching wooden ceilings, and another time emerging from my gate into a white tunnel and slanted walkways.  This time, my particular section of this expansive traveling place is equal parts 70's and space age.  After using some French to wiggle my way through yet another round of security, I'm now reclining on a chaise that looks like it may have been shared by the Brady and Jetson families at one point in time.  Somewhere behind me, there's some sort of strangely repetitive zen music, which I guess is meant to relax me.  Still, although it's nearly 2 AM in Atlanta right now, I can't stop reviewing all that will happen in the next 24 hours, so rest is difficult.

My resting place of choice in Paris

Fortunately, I had an uneventful flight to Paris.  After making my way through Atlanta's beautiful new international terminal, only to discover that my flight was actually in the old terminal, I hugged mom and dad goodbye (some tissues involved) and hopped on the plane.  The guy next to me was a former Wofford basketball player who had competed against Stephen Curry in his prime.  We got along.  With any luck, my next flight to Amman will be just as smooth.

For now, I have about 6 more hours to kill before takeoff.  Knowing that I would be here a while, I rented The Business of Being Born, which I know will please Gracie, along with Breakfast at Tiffany's and Under the Tuscan Sun.  I've got my journal and my collection of Flannery O'Connor short stories in my bag and, of course, some study material if all else fails.  Maybe I'll even go on a hunt for a good croque madame when I get hungry--yum!

Ready to go!