ACROSS THE POND

I know I know this is supposed to be a blog about climbing. Technically I shall be climbing in France in a couple of weeks for a couple of days so, the journey to get there is part of the…journey.
Traveling across the “pond” is a bit like toying with time without the fun (really). The day starts, the light comes, and goes and comes. It feels like it is the same LOOOOONNNNNNG day but it is not; it is the future really. Where did those seven hours go. Some sort of time warp, black hole.... Jetlag….confusion….fatigue and people speaking my native tongue. Finally! Traveling long distance is also a great occasion for people watching, doing a bit of what Malcom Gladwell calls “thin slicing” in his book Blink, which has been my transatlantic read. Those very few first impressions when you lay eyes on someone and the idea behind them. In a steel tube for 8 hours there is material. Quite entertaining to read Gladwell theories surrounded by so many “subjects”.
Now I am seating at a café in the airport, indulging in my “coming home” ritual: an espresso and a croissant.
5 more hours on my butt, waiting for my train which will take me across France to my native land in the South West. Funny to think I still have a whole day of traveling. Not sure funny is the right word though.
….
2 espressos later
….
Charles de Gaulle airport is not a welcome place for a tired body. Simply, my butt hurts. I have not found one seat offering any cushion and the bones of my behind are in pain in spite of any natural cushion I have in that very location. Here there is wood everywhere. Pretty but not comfy. Achhh I love my country and its sense of aesthetics. The airport employees look like fashion models. Actually if I am not mistaken their uniform was designed by a fashion designer (Jean-Paul Gauttier himself I believe). You got to love my people!

Want to sleep….cannot….

I am sipping on yet another espresso and 3 hours to go till I get into the train for…5 1/2 hours.

Want to sleep….cannot…. shouldn’t.

The espresso is not kicking in anymore.
Back to walking around. The only way to make sure I won’t end up with my eyes closed.
So I “thin slice” again sitting at the bottom of an automatic stair which does not work (he he the repairman is probably on strike! This is France after all!). The reactions are quite entertaining. Some stare at the defunct “machine”, as if they do not know how it works. I want to shout:
“It is still a staircase, you know… with steps on which you walk up….”
Nooo it is much funnier to watch them puzzled, sometimes turning around, sometimes gingerly stepping on as if the “evil machine” was going to swallow them.
Then one of the blue fashion boys comes by and in one turn of a key puts an end to my airport entertainment. The Machine sqeeks again, carrying a load of smily French faces.

Time to move on to a new location.

After yet another espresso....

The train. I am in the TGV (French High speed train) in a "wagon silence" (silent wagon). I love it. The SNCF trying to create the perfect environment. No cell phone rings allowed. silence. Right. If only the train was not full of ....French! He He. My people really do not like to be told what to do. Would you have guessed? And of course it goes on for 5 hours +. Cell phones ringing here and there, and people answering carrying long conversations to which I really do not want to listen. One woman close to me is totally contortioned, wrapped up around her phone, telling her correspondent she is trying not to speak too loud because "she is not supposed to talk on her phone in the wagon" Oh gee at least she knows. Comforting....
:)
Yes I love my people.... grrrrrrrrrrr.
I think I'll have another espresso.

Sophie