Soaring Over Paris
Trip Start
Sep 07, 2008
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8
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Trip End
Dec 09, 2008
It's now seven hours into the flight. We had closed the window sashes and dimmed the lights after dinner so people could sleep (not me, too many coursing brain chemicals to sleep) during the trek across the Atlantic. I draw up my window sash, and my doG, I'm looking at Paris. It's a huge patchwork of orange lights, with first a band of brown, bleeding into yellow, then an ever-rising expanse of blue on the horizon as the plane hurls itself toward the sun. This is difficult to explain, and it will seem ridiculous to those who have been abroad before, but there is something quite jarring about looking out the window to see the same lights and sky I see every time I fly, but my brain cannot quite accept the notion that I'm LOOKING AT A DIFFERENT CONTINENT.

