Made it to Lyon

I have traveled these many vast miles, knowing not my enemy’s face, nor its intentions, nor precisely the path before me save hesitant reflection of that behind, suffering little sleep and protein — and yet one luminescence in the cave propels my corpus forward, and that is that the Vols beat Florida on Saturday. I spit on impossibility!

Anyway. I have expressed the following opinion in the past and been met with ridicule, disbelief, and no small amount of concern. I present it to you here in the interest of transparency: I like airplane food.

It’s tiny, it’s hot, there’s a lot of variety and they bring the cart around constantly on overnight flights. The forks and knives are made of wood. Water comes in a jello cup. I can’t get enough of it.

I must note that the only overnight flights I remember doing were with AirFrance, so maybe I just like their airplane food. This time around, I had chicken with vegetable puree and chickpea salad and a tasty vanilla pound cake. You even get dessert and bread with butter.

If you are an adult, wine is offered perfunctorily when flying into France, in my experience. Bonjour madame, we have water, tomato juice, a fine Merlot…

Besides all this, I just like being handed stuff, especially on airplanes. Blankets, pillows, crappy headphones, you name it. A flight attendant could offer me a dead rat and I’d probably take it. I guess I just like feeling involved.

I’m writing this on the plane. We’re up around Boston now. That sometimes confuses people, that a flight to Europe doesn’t cut across the Atlantic Ocean and instead follows the North American coastline before curling over Ireland. On a flat map it’s strange, but follow the path on a globe and you’ll quickly see which path is most efficient.

Just heard the pilot drop the landing gear. I can see the steeples in the little villages now; they are tightly clustered in oceans of farmland. There isn’t an inch of this land untouched by humans. No tree has grown up in a half dozen centuries here without a person knowing about it. The history there is fascinating, but… claustrophobic, too, I guess.

Customs was a slog, as always. I was around many Americans, mostly retiree couples on vacation. The long line was a shock and an affront to them — an hour we have waited! What is the hold up? The hold up is, of course, French red tape. Americans are used to lines that move.

One older man a meter in front of me collapsed. I saw him start to tremble all over while his family called for assistance, and he fell to the ground. Perhaps the heat, the standing for so long, perhaps something else.

I stood in line with a French chef, returning home from America for the first time in 40 years. He had plenty of tips and stories, and showed me pictures of the chanterelle he picked with his daughter. He complimented my French, but told me to lean into my American accent. “You are American, and your city has a lot of people. You do not have to be French.” I appreciated that.

Because I’m not French! I have no interest in dropping one identity for another. Rather I’d like to develop coexistence between the two; and besides, I am employed here to share my language, and therefore my culture and background.

I can’t help comparing this go-round with the first. Last time, my French was middling at best and I had never traveled alone before. This time, I recognize the terminals, the names, the accents. I can ask questions and get answers. But it’s still more nerve-wracking, because I am effectively alone out here, no maitresse picking me up from the airport and driving me, nobody on my flights or train in my situation. I am not a student protected under the banner of two universities, but a worker like anyone else.

As competence grows, support contracts.

Further metaphors: if Sisyphus was pulling the rock uphill rather than pushing it, he and I could be carbon copies, what with the 90 pounds of luggage I have tied to my wrists/strapped to my back. What can I say? I’m moving my life here. I’m proud I got everything in only three bags.

Well, that’s all I have for now. Sorry this is jumbled, it was written in sections over the course of two days.

Cordialement,

Allison