What Happened in France~ Part 3

  The pressure in my chest, combined with the tilting cabin in my limited field of view, signaled the reality of my journey's end. "Good morning Ladies and Gentleman! This is your Captain speaking. Please fasten your seat belts as we begin our decent..." the sharply pitched masculine voice continued over the loudspeaker system (and headset), "The time at your destination of Charles de Gaulle International Airport in Paris is now 04:30 am...". The subsequent remarks and instructions faded into the background as my heartbeat increased its rhythm, despite my very groggy, sleep-deprived state. This is it! I actually made it here. I can't believe this has actually happened... What do I do now? This loss of direction was simply due the the fact that we had not been given any specific instructions by our program director about where to go once we got in-country, or how to maneuver the many terminals, border security checkpoints, and transportation to the train station that would take us to our ultimate destination: Tours.

   Moments later Sharron and I were disembarking into a very large airport reception area, carry-on bags in hand and a swiveled head for the luggage pick-up terminal. "Looks like we're going to have to go through security first." Sharron deduced. We were both so tired that we almost didn't notice Mark joining us, "Best if we stick together, don't y'all think?" Together we searched the overhead signs for the correct security checkpoint to have our passports stamped. "It looks like non-European passengers need to take this one here!" I said, moving in the indicated direction with all possible speed. The sooner we got in line, the shorter the wait to get past this hurdle and into some semblance of a restful state. "Look at how short the line is for French citizens..." I remarked with both envy and disgust at the rapidly shrinking line adjacent to us. The European citizens' group was also moving faster than we were. I checked the clock- 05:25. The air was close and warm, not in a "let's-keep-this-place-cozy" sort of way, but a "there's-no-air-conditioning-and-it's-summer-in-a-crowded-space" sort of way. I looked around at my fellow queue members. There was a tall, thin middle aged man with thick black hair cut in a timeless style, talking with a much older, balded man in an energetic tone I could only hope to have in my current state, in a language I did not understand. Since all persons needed to have their passports and baggage claim checks in hand during this process, I stole a glimpse of his maroon colored booklet. The golden insignia stated that, unlike my royal blue U.S. passport, his was from Greece. I thought Greece was a country in the European Union... I mused. My years of studying for my international degree, specializing in the European regions, could not have been mistaken in such a simple fact. Maybe he's traveling with the man he's talking to who might be from somewhere else, I reasoned with myself.

  I turned my attention to the group of several overweight African women, unmistakably dressed in Islamic attire.  I bet they're going to have a much more difficult time entering than the rest of us, I thought as I reflected on the current state of emergency that had recently been declared in France due to the very real threat of terrorist attacks. A younger woman, also dressed in elaborately printed Muslim drapery approached our location with several small children in tow. Nearly an hour passed without any significant observations until the queue moved forward enough for the twisting bends in the roped-off waiting area to separate the group of Muslim women into single file. An obese older member turned around, and pressed the hand of the younger woman behind her in her hands and quietly, but audibly said the infamous words, "Allah 'akbar!" (or 'God is great' in Arabic). Well, this would certainly freak-out an American crowd, I observed in surprising calmness. As the words were not said in any loud, martyr-like manner, and no sudden or violent movements were made, the line moved forward without incident. I soon realized that the older woman was most likely trying to encourage her fellow devotee in whatever ordeal they were about to face. As American a concept as it may seem, I respected their right to religion (so long as it be harmless to others) even though I chose to believe differently myself.

  "There's three or four different terminal booths to get into...look!" Sharron's words broke my reverie. Looking ahead at the nearing junction in the queue, one could indeed see that the single line split into four possible mini-lines for the corresponding border agent booth. I directed her attention to a sign nearby as I observed this. "It says we need to have our boarding passes from our recent flight out too." "Great!" Sharron said sarcastically as she started rifling through her carry-on, "It's in here somewhere." I repeated this information to Mark, who I'd casually been chatting with during our wait, then added, "I only have the digital version on my cell phone, but the other sign over the booth says you are not allowed to have your cell phone out during this process. What am I going to do?" "I'd wait an' see wut happens", Mark advised. Sharron's eyes lit up with an sudden idea, "The smaller lines all look to be moving at about the same speed. Why don't we each choose a different booth, and then wait on the other side of them for the other two people? Does that sound good?" We agreed it was worth a try, and split into our subsequent lanes soon after.

  After what must have been minutes, but felt like hours, my turn at the glass-fronted booth arrived. As the space in front of me cleared, I gripped my carry-on bag, ready to brandish the file of documentation that I had previously painstakingly assembled for this moment of entry. With no small amount of trepidation, I approached an exhausted looking man in a pale blue uniform sitting behind the glass partition. "Le passporte!", he demanded and held out his hand. I quickly passed my American passport through the circular opening in the (presumed to be) bullet-proof glass, opened to the ID page. He scrutinized the document, comparing it carefully with my face as he did so. Did I look different somehow? Granted, I must not have been looking my best after my tiresome journey, but it couldn't have been that bad...right? I started to have a friendly smile, and then stopped, awkwardly unsure of just what expression to have on my face. Is a smile really appropriate for right now? But maybe a serious look would look suspicious? I continued my overthinking until he looked up and requested to see my boarding pass. "Il est sur mon telephone portable", I hesitatingly informed him, unsure if I might be an exception to the "no cell phones allowed in use" rule that was blatantly stated on a sign just above my head. "Just let me see it!", he declared in a thick accent, gesturing impatiently as he did so. I quickly unlocked the screen on my phone and passed through the screenshot of my digital boarding pass. Once again he carefully scrutinized the information presented to him, this time comparing it with my passport that he was still holding. Suddenly, the border agent turned to the booth on his right, twisted his head away from me, and then quietly said something (in French of course) to the man next to him. What is happening? Is something wrong? What if I end up being held and questioned, or have to have my papers (now safely in my file) verified by the embassy like Lucita (another girl in our university group) had endured yesterday? Eventually he turned back around to me with a rather blasé expression and roughly stamped my passport saying, "Bienvenue à France!". "Merci, monsieur!" I replied as I retrieved my items before passing through the now opened terminal. As the metal gate closed behind me, I looked down at the passport booklet. My very first international stamp was now clearly visible on a previously blank page; through the Mount Rushmore watermark, I read the still damp letters in blue and red ink "....PARIS". Yes, I was finally and officially here in the City of Light. Excitement warmed my heart as I stepped out into the lobby to wait for the others. Look out world, because here I come!

What Happened in France~ Part 2

 I shifted uncomfortably in my confining airline seat as the steady drone of the jet engines hummed through my very being. SWOOSH! Another startlingly loud flush of the overused toilets behind me ruptured the monotony. A stewardess, struggling to roll an unruly cart down the crowded isle, moved towards my row of seats, "Water, coffee, coke, or wine?" she asked. "Wine please," I responded. "White or red?", she interjected."White, thanks", I specified before awkwardly reaching over an impressively tall and thin African Francophone male to my left who appeared to be just as uncomfortable in his aisle seat as I was in my middle one. "Pardonnez moi," I apologized, "Je suis désolée." I felt as though these were the only words that we had exchanged on this flight. Whenever I had the need to use the facilities behind me, or make any movement really, I had to say these words while trying to do so. My fellow passenger to the right was in no condition to move out of the way for me either. He was a very overweight Swahili/African man of middle age, and therefore could barely fit in his seat. This made it so that every time he moved, I was jabbed in one area of my person or another.

 Only a few moments before, the seat belt light was turned off (for about the fifth time on our turbulent journey), which I promptly took advantage of and walked up the rows of seats to where Sharron was watching a movie with her headset and asked her about the sleeping pills that we had both brought. "We have about 4-5 hours before they bring us breakfast, so let's try and grab some sleep while we can, okay?", I reasoned with her. "It's only 6 o'clock in the afternoon back home. I'm not even tired", she complained, "and I forgot to unpack my sleeping pills before we sent off our luggage...so can you just bring me some of yours?" "I guess so, sure!" I said as I turned to go, "Just let me go back there and take down my carry-on." On my way back with the medication, I passed a somewhat familiar face in line for the restrooms. "Hi!", I quietly greeted Mark with a wave. He flashed another smile before turning away to look at another passenger.

  I was now desperately trying to get some sleep in this unrelenting environment.  I slowly finished the Dixie cup of generic wine from the stewardess before curling myself as far down in my upright seat as I could, while leaning hard against the toilet station wall behind me, as if trying to gain just one more inch of recline. I put on the provided sleeping mask, turned on the meditation music station through my headphones, and tried to force myself into a dreamlike state. I could feel the men to my sides turn and shift restlessly in their seats, unavoidably nudging me as they did so. At least I'm not the only person suffering at this moment, I thought through my medically-induced drowsiness. I drifted off and began to see visions of places now far away when suddenly...SWOOSH! I was jolted awake by another passengers' bodily fluids being loudly disposed of. I am never going to get any sleep at this rate...what are they..6 hours ahead of us in France? That means I'm going to go a very long time without any sleep doesn't it? My tortured thoughts voiced their despair in my head. This would indeed be a very long, cramp inducing, and groggily-maneuvered flight before we reached our destination.

What Happened In France~ Part 1

 The metallic clattering of the train car coincided with the jostling speed of the subway on it's way to the International Terminal at the ATL Hartsfield-Jackson airport. The light suddenly flickered and I was in momentary darkness, closed-in by strangers in the crowded place, with my only friend in the world next to me as we sat on the brink of this incredible journey. The last few days had seen a hectic pace of travel that was only the precursor of what I was about to embark upon. Our anxiety and excitement was palpable in the relative silence around us, and as the flashing light revealed glimpses of my bleak surroundings, I reflected on how I had come this far.

 Only two days prior, I was sitting in a lecture hall at my Alma Mater hundreds of miles away, desperately trying to keep my intellectual juices flowing just long enough to stay focused on my back-to-back environmental biology finals, before closing my rented duplex for the next 5 weeks and driving my luggage-packed car 5-6 hours upstate to my friend Sharron's family home. They were kind and very hospitable to me upon arrival, which was merciful considering that my level of exhaustion had turned me into less than my typically sociable self. After a rather late evening meal and a few blissful hours of sleep on their luxurious guest room bed, I joined the ladies of the house the next morning on an all-day shopping spree at a large Atlanta mall for last minute luggage essentials, clothing items, and a pampering pedicure. An evening at the house visiting with Sharron's siblings and helping her pack (with her mother) finished our last day in the USA. Her father's early morning drive to see us well on our way had gotten us to where we were at this moment: about to board our first non-stop flight out of the country...

 "Hey!" Sharron's voice abruptly snapped me out of my momentary reverie. "Isn't that the guy who we saw earlier?" Her gesturing hand indicated the location of a long-haired, unshaven young man sitting across from us several feet away. He was slumped over in a worn T-shirt that at one time may have been red, his loosely fitted khaki cargo pants and a single backpack hanging carelessly by his side completed the disheveled look. "I think it is.." I hesitatingly replied. He looked up as he gathered his unkept hair into a ponytail, and I saw a kind face smile shyly to the both of us during another flash of light through the gritty window to our right. "This is our stop." Sharron remarked and began to stand up as the train slowed next to a well-lit station. The florescent lighting hurt my squinting eyes as we exited the subway.

 We planned our next move on our way up the escalator, "Let's find our boarding terminal first, and then see what we can find close by to grab for lunch, okay?" "Sounds good to me", she said. Several minutes of following overhead signs, and double then triple checking our boarding passes and tickets went by before we only had a few more hallway turns left to go. I looked over my shoulder and saw the mysterious figure appear some distance behind us. "Look! There he is again!" I quietly exclaimed to Sharron. We began keeping our focus behind, as well as in front of our route, and suddenly he was halfway up the escalator in front of us. "How the heck did that happen?!" Sharron muttered as a sudden uneasiness swept over our already anxious minds. Was this man following us? Impossible...surely he's just on his way somewhere like everybody else and this is just a coincidence...right? I tried to reason with myself. Living practically alone in a college city had made me over-conscience of my surroundings, even if it was to the point of being irrational. I stuffed these thoughts back in my head and focused on matching the right number and letter combination to an imminently visible overhead sign in the copious waiting area, sectioned off by that annoying seat-belt like rope used at events and (of course) airports, in which we now were. "There's hardly anyone here yet, and we still have around 45 minutes before they even start to board." I remarked to Sharron. "Yeah, but I still want to be right in front so I can be the first to board with the express pass that Dad bought me yesterday. You're coming with me as my 'traveling companion', so I need you to stick with me, okay?" she declared. "Fine! But I'm buying some water and something to eat. It's a 10 hour flight minimum, and I'm already hungry and thirsty. Want to come?", I replied. "Make it quick!", she ordered and briskly began walking in the direction of the non-distinct food odors.

 Several minutes later, we returned to the spot of our last discussion with take-away deli wraps, a few snacks, and an extra large bottle of water. I promptly sat down and began munching on my lunch while she called her parents to let them know what was going on. I jumped when I suddenly heard my name called over the intercom above us, "Please go to your terminal at once with your passport", it instructed in a booming voice. My stomach sank like a pebble in a still pond. What happened? I couldn't possibly be in any trouble... After all, I'd already gone through TSA security and everything. I went to the awaiting uniformed employee behind the podium at the boarding gate; with no small amount of trepidation in my voice, I identified myself and subsequently handed my passport into his open hand. After what felt like a long time, he simply handed it back with a tight smile, after typing something into his computer while inspecting my documentation. Whew! Why do I feel like I just dodged a bullet?, I wondered as I returned to my seat and quickly finished my meal before calling my mom for one last goodbye before my leap into the great unknown through that gate.

 Only a few moments before they called for the first boarders, another name was called to have their passport checked, and who should show up to our gate and answer the call but the mysterious stranger from the subway! "Go say hi", urged Sharron. "I can't do that!", I gasped "What would I say to the guy? 'Hey! We've been noticing you following us all this time and thought we should at least say hello?!' " "Whatever! He noticed us looking at him and is coming this way now", she said as her eyes faced the general direction behind me. Before I could say another word, the all too comfortably dressed traveler sat by us and proceeded to introduce himself. "Hi! I'm Mark. I saw y'all a lot earlier and it looks like we're on the same flight outta here," his thick southeastern drawl continued, "sorta looks like we're goin' to the same place now don't it?" Before I could stop her, Sharron (not used to having to be cautious around strangers) blurted out, "We're on our way to France for a study abroad trip in Tours!", and commenced the introductions. "That's cool," the now identified man commented, "I'm doin' the same thang myself." You have got to be kidding me! This kind of person is going abroad for intellectual purposes? I sat in disbelief while our flight was called to board. At least we won't be sitting together. 

  "Boarding pass, Miss!", demanded an overly stressed flight attendant. I showed her my seat number; a full class behind Sharron's, even though I had boarded as her companion. The woman sniffed and then sputtered through ill-concealed disdain, "That will be way back there to the partition and then to the left." I meekly followed her instructions. It wasn't my fault that the airline had forgotten my seat assignment and had to assign me a new one only a day or so ago. I approached where my next 10-12 hours would be spent. Oh my gosh...This is really bad! I thought as I regarded my situation with dismay, not only was I in the "sandwich seating", I was directly in front of the jet-powered toilet stations. On an overnight flight to a foreign destination, I was already having a nightmare.