Transition

From Paris

Several weeks before I'm due to go back to Charlottesville, I remind myself of the Pushmi-pullyu from Doctor Doolittle's books. I start checking the Charlottesville weather report and reading the local paper on-line practically every day. My friends there receive more messages than usual from me and sometimes even an impromptu phone call -- often for something that could just as easily have been said by e-mail. At the same time, I'm wistfully thinking of the various events I'm going to miss in Paris while I'm gone. And I have a hard time getting ready to leave. "I still have time," I say to myself. In the end the major things that have to be done are done and my taxi is at the door.

Since I don't like routine but I do like ritual, much of what happens on departure day is the same each time. I've known my taxi driver for 12 years and I always ride in the front next to him while he tells me of interesting clients he's had recently. Airport check-in has become easier since we can do it on-line and just drop off our luggage at the airport. Yes, I still have luggage. Some clothes wait for me in Charlottesville but not enough for my seven or eight week stays. Airport security has not become easier but the personnel in Paris are more polite and laid-back than those in Washington and we don't have to take off our shoes. This trial over, I make my way to a café near the departure gate for a ritual café and croissant. And soon it's time to board.

The actual flight lost its appeal for me when they installed individual video screens. The beginning is fine -- my celebratory champagne apéritif and the still decent Air France lunch. Sometimes my seatmate even takes off his or her headphones and is willing to chat while we eat. But, soon after lunch, the cabin is darkened so several hundred people can fix their gaze on a 7 inch by 7 inch screen and zone out. I don't enjoy movies on such a small screen; I can't read because the tiny reading light isn't strong enough and I don't want to sleep. So mostly I just play ridiculous video games, watch the map of our progress and wait for it all to be over. Don't get me wrong; even after all these years I find it amazing that I can have breakfast in Paris and dinner in Charlottesville. I just wish it were more fun in between.

At last, we are in Washington. If I'm lucky, there are fewer Americans than non-Americans on my flight and Immigration goes quickly. If I am luckier still, my suitcase isn't the last one unloaded. Both were true on this flight and I was saying hello to my American taxi driver 45 minutes after landing. She's been driving me for about 5 years. During the first part of the trip, she brings me up to date on family doings. Then, we fall silent and I look for familiar landmarks and signs that show a diminishing number of miles to Charlottesville. At last we pull in the driveway and I'm home again, 16 hours after leaving home -- a confusing concept, except to those who, like me, have a double life.

to Charlottesville