Breakfast was a plastic tray with a syrupy Dole fruit cup and two packages of crackers with margarine. Come on, Air France. Thanks to W. for the cryovaced muffin!
We arrived in Charles de Gaul with a 4 hour layover on a sunny Saturday, coming out of a two day blizzard in New York. Midway through the hour-long process of navigating the glistening white curves of the terminal buildings, we stopped at a little sandwich shop to fuel up. I ordered a Camembert sandwich on sesame bread and a black coffee, having forgotten how harsh and oily French coffee can be. We went outside and enjoyed our sandwiches and coffees on the curb next to the shuttle bus stop. As the sunlight warmed my puffy and sleep deprived face, I thought of all the things I wished I had packed, the letters I wanted to remember to write, and some details of the trafficking I had enlisted N. to participate in. But my eyes were too raw, and I was too far from any possible solution, so I turned my attention back to my first breakfast on French soil. The lettuce in the sandwich was surprisingly fresh and crispy, its’ tender bitterness offsetting the rich creamy Camembert. Really quite good for an airport sandwich. The aggressive coffee produced a BM almost instantly, which I had to run inside to take care of real quick. I came back outside for a moment, showed O. some of the Aichido techniques that I had been learning until some cops drifted over our way. After our brief break in the sun, we gathered ourselves up to head back through security to catch our connecting flight to Brest. Forecast; 9 days of rain.
Tomorrow, French hotel breakfast!