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!
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