Recently I was at the airport to pick up a group of American ladies coming to France. I had a good location in front of the doors at customs, leaning on the railing along with a row of other chauffeurs. All of us were holding our little signs, waiting for our people to come out. It is a great chance to observe people and let one's mind drift.
It is easy to pick out the frequent travellers and business men. They have almost no luggage and walk out the sliding doors talking on their cell phones. They have no need to look around or check signs. They stride with purpose off to the next important thing, impatiently pushing passed the confused, lost and waiting masses.
Then there are the long separated lovers. On our side of the doors there are usually two or three people pacing back and forth anxiously, sometimes holding flowers, craning their necks to see who is coming out next. It is a beautiful moment when The One walks out. The recognition and joy on both faces makes everyone smile as they embrace and kiss and go off with arms tightly holding the other.
Most of the travellers seem to be couples on vacation. When the doors slide open they have to make a choice. Left or Right. I believe that how a couple navigates this first decision predicts how the rest of the trip will go. (It really doesn't matter which direction you go, but you do need to go or you block everyone behind you trying to get out.) Most people just follow the flow of the group in front of them. For a while everyone goes left. Then there is a break and everyone goes right. Some couples choose this moment to start the first fight of the trip. Each one stubbornly clings to their belief that right or left is the correct direction to turn. It can get ugly.
I make at least 50 trips to the airport every year. There are lots of very strong moments in my life associated with this particular terminal of this airport. I remember arriving in Paris as a little girl with my parents, sleeping in the terminal with little Will on our way home from Africa, arriving ten years ago when moving to France, rushing home to Kansas to say goodbye to Dad before he died, sending my first-born off to college, meeting new people, saying goodbye, going on my own adventures, travelling alone, with the family, with a group. My mind is drifting everywhere. Where was I? What? Oh, those ladies are pointing at my little sign and smiling. Introductions are made and luggage carts are pushed to the elevators and to the van. Mission accomplished.
