CDG

... Has two ATCT (air traffic control towers) and a big brand new terminal that is interminable. 

I arrive at 5:55 am after trying to sleep in the two cold too hot stuffy cabin atop the 747-  my neighbor is friendly and calm in an older professorial way.  Still just as I was truly asleep the microphone feed back that preceeded every announcement with an amazing squeek, woke me up.

Bonjour Madame et Monsieurs.....

At first the big clean terminal is refreshing, wide corridors and artistic modern bathrooms greet you, the walk toward the first information post is lengthy but well marked- head to 2D it says- there you can hop to Berlin.

A train takes you somewhere else, I follow signs (in France the down pointing arrow means 'straight ahead' ) toward a D - a 2- a 2D and hope I haven't just walked a half hour in the wrong direction- then I see the throng. There is a mass of humanity amidst the orange tape markers all trying to get somewhere beyond a passpoprt check point.  Sweet mother of God I'm only trying to get out of the country!

I squeeze in behind a mob in front of the distant 2D sign and edge my way forward, French, Spanish, German, Italian and African  voices are raised in questioning frustration, am I in the right queue? They all seem to ask-

A totally fit, competent looking man with a name tag on his rollie luggage identifying him as Bombadier Aerospace Melvin Woolman wearing all black and able to see above the crowd turns toward me long enough for me to ask if he too needs 2D - he answers in flawless French que Oui,  and proceeds to duck under the orange tape placing himself in the correct queue, I follow suit not minding at all if the grumpy crowd thinks I'm with him (ooh there's that male female thing again) as they might scold me but not him.  He wends his way throguh the line,, and I follow as tightly as I can.  Bombadier Buddy.  Ok. 

Making it through the blase boarder control I have to wallk another mile, at least, to the terminal that I immediately recognize as the one I've been to half a dozen times in the last couple of years.  Ok, coffee, pastry and a few minutes with Marion McPartland "Twighlight World" on the iPod before braving another security line.  The sound of male voices speaking French surround me, warm, husky, scoffing, intense, and I wonder about the space in my life for men. 

Like the odd harmoniously spaced notes of the jazz piano, my days float by in a melody that races and slows, hesitates and jumps to unexpected places with the sexy earthy beat of my heart following along reaching for the steadiness that love brings.

"Stanger in a Dream" -

I would I could understand how and why and what my needs are, and so go about fulfilling them, but they are to me a mystery.   And so I journey and think and write.