September 19th - September 25th 2001

Early on the 19th Bob and I leave for Denver. We take our dog with us as Bob plans to stay in Denver overnight instead of driving back the same day. I really do not want to go, a feeling that hits me whenever I am about to do any traveling. Traveling is moving. When I was a kid we moved around a lot and now; I seem to relive the anxiety of having to meet new people. Being the new kid is stressful. You are an actor, with no written part, stepping into a play where everyone else knows what their roles are. You have to prove to these other actors that you belong in the play. You have to fit in seamlessly and swiftly or you're dead. You have to be charming and a quick study. I dreaded the whole experience. This feeling of not wanting to go always disappears after I am out of the house and on my way. This day is no different.

About three hours later we are at the airport and I am saying goodbye. I give my husband a kiss and a hug, my dog a pat and grab my bags and head in. I carry my backpack with everything I need on the walk in it, a small bag with "regular"stuff for a week trip, and a large suitcase packed with things my sister wanted me to bring her from the States. The airport is crawling with people and the lines at the United ticket counter snake all the way back to the escalators that go down to the trains. I get into line and then remember my "Getting into Lines Rule", which is never to get into a line until you know what the line is for. I ask a United employee and he tells me the line is for people traveling on domestic flights. For the international flights ticket counter I should go back to the front of the building and turn right. I walk back and see a line that does not even extend past the entrance to the line maze. Right in front of me is a couple with backpacks and bike luggage. They tell me they are also on their way to Spain to walk the Camino but instead of going through London they are going to Madrid - small world.

The flight to Newark is uneventful until we are over the city and I see a fighter jet off the right side of the aircraft. I am glad I am not on the side of the plane that can view Manhattan because I do not want to see the hole in the skyline where the World Trade Center use to be. The flight to London turns out to be a real treat. I was planning on sleeping the whole way but I am picked to move up to business class so I enjoy all the extras; wine, food served on china, real forks and spoons (knives are now plastic), my own private screen with my choice of a movie, and a seat that actually lets you lie down almost completely if you want to sleep.

In London there is a change in plans. All passengers continuing to another destination where supposed to go through Customs without their luggage but now everyone has to pick it up and check it through themselves. When I get to Customs the place is a zoo. To the left, hundreds of people slowly making their way through a line maze. Straight ahead passengers with British passports are being sent through without delay. To the right, another line that seems to be for first class or VIP passengers. There is a young woman standing next to the VIP line checking tickets and passing out red cards. I say, "I'm not going to make my connecting flight, am I"? She asks me the time of my flight and I tell her. She hesitates and then hands me a red card and lets me through. I am grateful and thank her. I'm out of Customs in 20 minutes. This does not keep me from missing my flight to Brussels but I am glad not to be stuck in Customs for a couple of hours.

After I leave Customs I catch a bus that takes me to the terminal where my flight to Brussels is leaving from. I check my bags and get rebooked on a later flight. I stand in line waiting to get my passport checked and stamped by another Customs agent and watch the people in front of me slowly make their way through. Everyone is being past through without a problem until a Middle Eastern woman covered in black cloth from head to toe reaches the agent, and the line stops for several minutes. I understand why she is being examined so thoroughly, but her behavior is upsetting to me. She does not look at the agent and stands there in a posture of tense stillness, like a baby bird that senses danger and knows that any movement will attract unwanted attention. She is suspect just because of her style of dress and ethnic background. The agent lets her pass.

I finally get to Brussels and make it through Customs. I am worried that my sister might not be able to find me because I could not call and let her know what flight I was going to be on. She lives far enough away from the airport that by the time I landed in London she was already driving to Brussels to pick me up. I go through the doors that separate Customs from the rest of the terminal and walk into a sea of faces, all standing behind a waist high barrier. I am so tired at this point that all these people are a sensory overload and I want to turn around and go back to the relatively quiet of the Customs area. Just then I hear my sister call my name and when I turn my head I am looking straight at her and my brother-in-law. I have never been so relieved to to find anyone so quickly.

The next few days are great. It is wonderful to spend time with my sister and to get to know my brother-in-law better. He is a sweet man and I am glad my sister and he found one another. Most days my sister and I drive around checking out the sights. We visit a windmill that is near her town, we drive into Germany for a cup of hot chocolate, we take walks around the fields near her home, and we drive to small towns in her area and visit the churches. We enjoy examining old churches and we always light a candle for our mother. We find churches by driving until we see a church tower and then heading toward it. One church we tour has an alcove that is dedicated to St. James and the pilgrimage to Santiago, centuries ago it was a starting point for local pilgrims.

On the 25th we drive to Paris where I will catch the train for Bayonne and then go on to St. Jean-Pied-De-Port, the starting point for my walk. We stop at the train station where my brother-in-law helps me buy my train ticket for tomorrow's journey. We then drive on to our hotel on Rue Monge in the Latin Quarter, not far from Notre Dame. The rest of the day is spent doing a very quick walking tour of some Paris sites. We go to Notre Dame and light candles, we stand by the river Seine and gaze at the Eiffel Tower in the distance, we walk passed the Louvre, we stop at one of my sister's favorite restaurants and have a hot chocolate that is so rich and thick you would not be able to sip it through a straw, we walk down the Champs-Elysees to the Arc De Triomphe, we walk back alone the Seine and then stop on a bridge crossing the river and wave at the tourist on the cruise boats, some wave back. At eight o'clock the lights on all the bridges and streets are supposed to turn on but that time passes with nothing happening, so we catch a cab and go to dinner.

Funny, I have never been in Paris before but thanks to the movies I feel like I've been here many times. I've floated down the Seine on one of those cruse boats with Cary Grant and Audrey Hepburn in Charade. I've been to the top of the Eiffel Tower with Alex Guinness in The Lavender Hill Mob. I've lived on the Left Bank with Gene Kelly in An American In Paris. And I've visited jazz clubs with Diahann Carroll, Sidney Poitier, Paul Newman, and Joanne Woodward in Paris Blues. You know, I have got to stop watching so many movies, it's affecting my real life.

After dinner at a nice little bistro we head back to the hotel and up to our rooms. As I stand at my window (French doors, of course) overlooking the street, something clicks and I am here, here in Paris completely. Since I landed in Brussels I've been like a "See 10 European Cities in 5 Days!" tourist. Someone who is moving so fast she doesn't have time to absorb where she is right this minute, but that click puts me right here and totally present. It is a thrilling feeling.