p.m. Thursday, I’m at Charles de Gaulle airport in Paris, waiting for the
flight to Montpellier. I had a long holdover here, so as soon as I’d walked for
40 minutes through this vast airport, from Air Canada arrivals to Air France
departures and checked my bag, I found a bathroom, wrestled off some of my
winter clothes and went to sit outside, lapping up the hot sun like a starving
the flight from Toronto started, I was crammed into the
tiny seat beside my young seatmate (going from Wyoming to Paris to visit her mother, a long story) dreading the long night. But the plane was
not full, and very late, after watching the documentary “When Jews were funny”
– which is funny – I noticed that the entire centre back row of our cabin was empty.
The stewardess said Go for it, so I moved and spent the rest of the flight
stretched out over four seats – paradise!
I did not sleep, of course. This
brain never sleeps in strange situations. DANGER! she shrieked.
THE BED IS MOVING! REMAIN ALERT! But my body was happy, not squashed into an econo seat but
at ease, my head on the four pillows I found in the row. Now, that’s luck.
here I am having had no sleep – it’s 7.30 a.m. really. The first thing I have
to report about France is that the toilets are remarkably clean, and there’s
paper. Anyone who has travelled here in the past can’t help but remark on that.
And how grateful I am to my father, yet again, for making sure I speak this
language. What a gift.