Travel Journal #3

Ten hours is a diabolically long time to be confined. I deplaned, then promptly got lost in DeGaulle airport. The signs make no sense to me, even though they are purely symbols. This place is crammed with people going in every direction; no matter where I am, I feel like I am in the way.

I love the flight info boards, the way they tick and clack as the numbers and letters flip over. This place is strange; the entire airport looks like it was actually a UFO at some point. The way it bulges and swells and swirls in metal and concrete. It's like being inside a kaleidoscope.

It is 5am in California. My eyes are burning, but I am determined to stay awake. My friends are all asleep. I wish I could call them, but I don't know how. It's not that important anyway.

I'm sitting in the middle of the terminal, straining to listen to people's conversations. The various languages click like a woodpecker; but sing-songish too. Soothing like the clicking boards. I'm trying to gauge if my French is getting better. I don't think it is. I can only pick out d'accord and voila and bonjour so far. Hello. Ok. There. Click. Click. Click.