Au revoir, ma belle France!

I hadn't been back to the insane asylum known as De Gaulle Airport since the morning I first arrived in France. (I flew through Orly when I went to Morocco last year, and all my other comings and goings in Paris were by ground transport.) So it definitely appeals to the storyteller in me that this particular story ended with my one and only return to the scene where it began a year and a half ago.

A year and a half...it feels funny to type that. It seems a lot longer ago than that, and yet it doesn't seem like it's been any time at all. My wonderfully poetic and introspective response to that seeming paradox is, it's both. It really is. I'm not feeling up to expanding on that just now, but I figure anyone who's been on an adventure like moving overseas knows what I mean.

In any case, it was with equal parts joy and sorrow that I arose one last time in my rustic prewar flat in Paris (April in Paris, no less, but I didn't take notice of any chestnuts in blossom) and headed up the block to the Metro to make my way out to the airport. It's endlessly fascinating to me the way so many different stories run together for those few extremely busy and crowded moments on a city sidewalk or a subway train...most of us are just going about or daily routine, a few of us are tourists heading off to the usual fun and/or educational spots, and one or two of every crowd is embarking on a major change like moving to a different continent.

For reasons I prefer not to discuss at this point, there is a slight chance I'll be going back to Paris in the not-too-distant future. While going to Paris is always a good thing on some level, if that does happen this time it'll be for a rather unpleasant reason. That tempered my joy at getting on with my life, especially at first as I dragged all my bags down the block to the Metro in the very gray morning light. I really had hoped my departure would be a trimphant one, and it probably will turn out that way in the end - but it wasn't something I knew for sure on that last train ride that mirrored my very first train ride in France almost exactly.

Still, I'd lost most of my blues by the time the RER got out into the northern suburbs, which I hadn't seen since that first ride back from de Gaulle. The sun was breaking through, the scenery was about as un-romantic as you can get in France, and the worst of the heavy lifting of my suitcases was over. This was not a time to feel sorry for myself! The trip, of course, was quite a bit shorter than the one on my arrival had been, since I was only coming in from Paris rather than from Jouy.

Given the amount of international flying I do and the state of airport security these days, it seems inevitable that I will one day have some kind of horror story to share about getting through immigration or security. Thankfully, my number was not up yesterday. I got my newly renewed passport stamped for the very first time, no questions asked, sort of an odd ending to my European saga really - just that one little stamp on the first page. Getting everything back in my pockets at security took a while, but I didn't even have to take my shoes off like you usually do back in the States these days. I was left with the pleasant problem of having two hours to kill in the terminal.

Singapore Airlines is great. I'd never flown with them before, but I'd heard only good things, and the good things were true. The food was actually good, not just edible, and there were lots of movies available on the monitor. Of course, even for a guy who loves to travel, twelve hours on a plane just isn't much fun. At least it was more bearable than it could have been, I'll give them that. I highly recommend them, and will definitely be joining their frequent flier club now that I'm in the neighborhood. But the big move blues did set in soon enough.

Maybe you've never experienced the big move blues...they come hand in hand with extremely long airplane rides and jetlag and big life changes. No matter how happy you are about the new adventure you're embarking on, there comes a point when you've been sitting in that seat for hours and there are still hours to go and you haven't seen the sun in forever and oh my God, what have you gotten yourself into? I remember getting a bad case of them on the first trip to Taiwan, and I knew enough to expect it this time around too. Sure enough, they reared their ugly head in the form of a minor panic attack about that last exam (still haven't heard anything, but I do think I passed, really) and borderline terror about trying to find work in Singapore, even though I already have work for the next several months and generally wishing I'd settled down years ago in some small town back in the States like so many of my friends from college did. Even if I wouldn't have been very happy with my life, think of how much more secure it would be!

But then came the sunrise and the landing, this time in an airport I actually knew and a city I knew well enough to head for the subway instead of an overpriced taxi. On the way there, I got a good look out the window at the palm trees and the hazy sunshine that was definitely warning of a torrential rainstorm. A few minutes' walk found me on the subway where I was in the familiar position of being the only white guy, and sure enough, the rain came soon and hard - but not for too long.

And then there were the 7-11s everywhere and the crazy traffic and the smell of sweet popcorn at the movie theater across the street from the hotel and the heat and humidity and the open storefronts crammed with radios or toiletries or clothes on racks spilling out onto the sidewalks...yep, back in Asia at last. Has it really been three years?

Not quite, actually, but close. For now anyway, the blues are back under a rock where they belong!