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Thursday June 3, 1999
"To live means to leave traces." Walter Benjamin, Paris, Capital of the Nineteenth Century
simply get to Bayeux
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flying off to France alone I must confess that I like that feeling of packing up your stuff in a couple of bags and taking off for a week or so to simply be a tourist, taking touring and recording it with camera and word as one's avocation. On the way to the airport, I see a woman walking down 45th street with tattoos spilling down her thigh. Massive tattooing seems to be in. I saw a woman at the Four Seasons bar the other night with a simple black dress on and tattoos covering most of her upper arm. This is my first departure from the new airport. It takes about twenty-five minutes to get to the airport from our house this day. I am way early and so I try the new Admiral's club. There are windows overlooking the terminal. I read their newspapers and magazines and drink their coffee. I have brought along (in addition to my backpack and small Eagle Creek suitcase) a plastic bag of reading material including some old newspapers, primarily art and living sections, which I'll discard as I go along, maybe working a crossword or two. I decide a walk around the new terminal is in order. They have three newspaper machines side-by-side (Dallas, Houston and Austin papers), each showing a differnt photo of the Little Rock airplane crash. I glance around at the crowd but the irony seems to be for me alone. There is a TravelFest store. I decide that little German and French 'cheat sheets' are a good thing to buy. I have an electronic translator along, but this seems to be a nice quick reference to have. Having said that, I will probably not think to whip them out before I try to converse and end up in English anyway. The good news is that they are small. I've only brought along a backpack and a smallish suitcase (excepting the plastic bag of reading material, but that includes things I'll discard along the way). The muzak in the terminal is Austin stuff and I recognize Marcia Ball's voice (no relation). Forrest and I went to see Marcia on our first date. Finally, I'm on my flight. I am in coach. In planning this trip, my friend LG decided that we should use airline miles and use a provision they have allowing one internal flight as well as North America to Europe round trip. This would allow a side trip to Berlin as well as the Normandy and Paris we've planned. Since this is expensive to buy, she has booked it with her miles. I'm grateful and it's a good deal. Having said that, it's usually my preference to go in Business class. Using miles for an upgrade, of course. However, the flights are torture anyway. Coach is only slightly more, really. The trip to Chicago to is uneventful. One doesn't leave Austin for Europe without stopping in a hub city first. In Chicago, I go to the Admiral's club. I ask the gal manning the front desk to mail a batch of get well cards to my sister and have a drink. "Relax," I think. You'll need to sleep. Finally, I'm off to Paris. I look around at my fellow passengers. I'm in the pair of seats next to a window with, so far, no companion. A man eats McDonald's food and a woman who looks French sits with a blanket over her head. I distract myself with the old newspapers and the jazz channel on the earphones. Having a pair of seats has greatly enhanced my journey. I think of the meeting I had with my colleagues yesterday, attempting to turn over some design ideas for programming. I think it went well, but I wish I'd given them more detailed code. I wonder why I've been so lucky as to not have a seatmate. Traveling alone, of course, increases your chances because you don't automatically book the seat yourself. It is Thursday. There have recently been some strikes. Surely, the plane isn't less crowded because of the recent crash? Anyway, it's quite pleasant. A man comes down the aisle from the lavatory with sweatpants on, carrying his jeans and belt. The woman who looks French has removed the blanket from her head and is reading Fortune magazine. I'm drinking a Courvosier brandy and some black coffee. (I know, if you want to go to sleep...don't drink coffee.) I gave away my chocoloate from the dinner and got an extra bottle of water from another passenger who didn't want it. Drink lots of water. (Especially if you drink coffee and alcohol.) I take some Echinecea and an Advil for a creeping headache I'm beginning to have. I feel relaxed. Maybe I'll sleep. I read some of the newspaper stash and discard them in the seat pocket, lightening my load a little. Sleep doesn't seem to want to come. A movie, "Civil Action" plays soundlessly while I continue to listen to jazz. Suddenly there is a pretty bumpy ride, strange at cruising altitude. There are high school kids and a teacher in the seats around me from Monroe, Alabama. Finally, I doze. Breakfast...and Paris!
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