Never in my life have I felt so American, or so much like a living scene from a Marykate and Ashley movie.
At 3am east coast time, seven seventeen years olds sprint thought Paris de Gauld (exuse moi if that’s wrong) hustling to catch our flight while recieving the dirtiest dirty looks can imagine. Americans dirty looks are really not on par with the French.
But we sprint, arms flailing, backpacks bouncing, unable to contain our laughs and English words of encouragement as we push and shove from terminal to terminal helplessly saying “sorry!”
Brief sequence of events: In a panic from getting off our flight from Boston, we run up an escalator to find our flight is closing for boarding last call. So we hop on the nearest train and hope it takes us to the next terminal, which somehow it does. And we sent the best athlete to sprint ahead and assure them where coming. “Air France to Athens last call” goes on the loud speaker, and like a movie we reach, panting and sweating, the gate where a beautiful French Stewart welcomes us “bonjour! Bienvenue.” Checks our passports and sends us on. And alas, I’ve been awake over twenty four hours (it’s hard to believe I had my art exam this morning) and am currently sitting by the baggage carousel in Athens. Life works in mysterious, beautiful ways. And even though I dream of visiting Paris (like for real) my snap preview of its magic will have to hold me over.
✌️ out and safe travels from this tourist