June 26, 2007. Spent the day in the Barri Gotic (Gothic Quarter). The Santa Maria del Mar is an amazing building. So awe inspiring that I contemplate converting to Catholicism. This would be huge for me since I don't really believe that Mary was a virgin. Anyway, I have all day to kill, so I stop at the Aquarium and then the IMAX theater next door. Boring $hit. Both places show me nothing that I haven't already seen before.
Afterward, I settle in at a cool bar with pizza slices on display. I drink Coronitas while a sultry Spanish lady sings on a CD playing in the background. First time all week that I've felt welcome to hang out at a bar/tavern/restaurant type space. I don't know if it is because I am American, or if it is because I don't speak the Catalan version of Spanish...or any Spanish for that matter, or if it is just the fact that the European culture isn't as friendly toward consumers in the retail world. But this little pizza slice bar is different. The staff are all enjoying the music, reading portions of the newspaper, and smoking cigarettes with a nice breeze blowing through the open front door. Cool dudes. And they made me feel cool, too.
I head to the train station on foot and board a 9pm train to Paris. Very easy and accommodating. Sleep well in a reclining chair. Wake up at dawn and watch the French countryside pass me by. Huge modern windmills dot the landscape.
We arrive in Paris around 9am. It is cold and rainy. Maybe 50 degrees. I walk towards the posted cab station. There is a brief delay when I was stopped by a couple of police officers dressed in street clothes. They want me to put my messenger bag down and hang out for a couple of minutes while their drug dog sniffs my bag. Along with a couple of other bags belonging to men that look similar to me; young, poor, and tired. I freak out for a moment while I remember all those movies I've seen where the innocent patsy watches a policeman pull out a brick of some illegal substance and then gets hauled off to prison while he screams, "thats not mine! thats not mine!" but then I calm down when I remember that I am not in a movie, and there is no way someone would be able to fit a large brick of illegal drugs into my messenger bag. It is way to full to begin with.
I watch the drug dog work with mild amusement and take the opportunity to chat with one of the police officers about taxi prices and subway alternatives. He says I should definitely take a taxi because there is no way I'd make it to the airport in time for my noon flight on the subway.
My bag passes inspection by the drug dog and I'm off to Charles De Gaulle Airport. 40 Euro cab ride, but well worth it as I just barely make my flight. Had to endure a 5 minute psychological profile before I was awarded a boarding pass. It was a little intrusive and strange, but the psychologist was French, so that might have just been his normal demeanor. And speaking with a psychological profiler seemed like a helluva lot better way for the airports to try to stop terrorism than simply asking me to take my shoes off and throw away my toothpaste. So no harm done.
I pass the test and receive my boarding pass and speed walk to my gate. (No luggage to check because it turns out that airline I used to get from Athens to Barcelona did in fact send my duffel/backpack to Nepal or Kathmandu.)
9 hour flight from Paris to Chicago. I made it back to America! So glad to be home. Can't quite explain it, but it has something to do with seeing five or six different restaurants to eat at just in the airport, and each place offering ten to fifteen different dishes for my enjoyment. Lots of food and lots of options and friendly accommodating staff. God Bless America!
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