The First Friend

(Sorry this post is chronologically out of order, it should come before "The First Day")

10:13 AM, Cabin 12, Seat 121, First Class TGV 5212

I met my first friend on the journey. Fran-sweez-ay. I was waiting on platform 6--train delayed 40 minutes in total (French train workers strike? Really? That happens?)--and Hotel California came on the sound system. Up she walks, sits across from me, and says "Speak English?" From the Quebec tags on both of her bags, her Maple Leaf shirt, and the Canada bracelet she wore, I was pretty certain she was a neighbor to the North. We talked about travel stories, about the States, about what we do, about why we're here. Without her, I also would have completely forgotten about validating my ticket. We shook hands and traded names at the end (her first name I have phonetically, her last name is a French brand of cognac which she reference earlier, though no relation to the liquor makers.) I almost dropped dropped Desmond's "I'll see you in another life, brother" but I could only muster "I hope we cross paths again." Fran-sweez-ay.

Also, I love the modern architecture of CDG Airport.
Also, it's strue--a lot of perfume to cover a lot of stink.