Getting there....part 2
...so off I went with a hangover and a spotty memory from the night before. My Air France flight Atlanta to Paris was one of the worst flights of my life. I had a bulkhead seat, but sitting next to two very large men, so I had zero space. I literally ate standing up in the galley because eating next to Andre the Giant's long lost cousin was impossible.
There was also a heating unit under my seat running constantly and blowing hot air on my legs. It also warmed the seat itself and made my ass feel like it was being slowly burned by lava. And being located on the aisle and in the bulkhead meant that I was always being (a) hit by someone walking down the aisle, (b) stepped on by someone waiting for the bathroom or (c) about knocked unconscious from the smells coming from the bathroom. All of my hopes of plane sleep to get through my hangover were dashed. I was dead tired.
I spent most of the flight standing in the back of the plane where the refrigerators were to escape my seat and the broad shouldered Czech man leaning on me. I chatted up the crew and remembered how much I love the French people and language. It made me ever more excited to be spending 2 weeks in France in April. I fell asleep
standing up at one point.
Best Love Story Ever...
If you'd have told me I'd hear the most romantic story ever in the back of a Boeing 777, I wouldn't have believed it. But it was at the back of the plane by the refrigerators I met a very attractive man named Jose from Valencia, Spain. Truth be told, I'd seen him in the gate area in Atlanta while waiting to board. Jose is 32 and very attractive. He has that effortless European style...jeans that hang off his hips perfectly, a button down shirt, brown suede boots and the perfect 5 o'clock shadow. Even his hair was perfectly tousled and he was wearing glasses which read "Porsche" on the side. (My gawd, you guys...Porsche makes glasses??) He reeked of coolness. I, on the other hands, was wearing pajamas and reeked of whisky and guilt, both coming out of my pores from the night before.
So as I sat chilling my ass on the refrigerators, Jose suddenly appeared and we started talking. We ended up talking for nearly 2 hours in the back of that plane and the time starts passing quickly. His smile is so dazzling it seems fake and he smiles often.
We had that easy, effortless conversation that happens so much traveling. You start by comparing current travel plans (he's returning home to Valencia, Spain via Paris) and places you've been (he's been everywhere and gives me recommendations as we chat). We talk about our jobs, our families, our dating lives. We talk about places we want to visit and I have a list as long as my arm. I want to see the world, I tell him, and this trip is just the tip of the iceberg! This will be my most romantic trip, I assure him, as I describe some of the romantic cities I'll be visiting - Paris, Prague, Budapest, Florence, the Amalfi coastline. We disagree on what romance is and Jose tells me he dreams of riding a Harley through the Grand Canyon and Route 66. That's romance to him, he says. A pair of jeans in a backpack and nothing more. I believe him.
We talk about finding love and romance on the road. Suddenly, he is telling me the sweetest love story. 8 years prior, Jose met a Mexican woman during his travels. His eyes met hers type of story. They have a wonderful romance and fall in love. They agree to keep in touch and for a long time, they do. One day, she simply stops returning his emails. He checks everyday, waiting for her reply. It never comes.
As we stand there on the plane, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out his passport. He opens it and perfume tester strip falls out into his hand. He holds it to his nose and his eyes close as he breathes it in. He holds it out for me and I inhale. It's an amazing scent...vanilla and something I can't quite put my finger on. I love it immediately. He tells me it's her perfume, Dior Hypnotic Poison. For the last 8 years, whenever he travels in the West, he looks for his lost love. He searches the crowd for her face in Canada, the USA and Mexico. And he passes through each duty-free shop, Jose always sprays her perfume on a test strip and into his passport so he can be reminded of her.
He has a new girlfriend whom he loves and they're very happy together. He would never tell his current girlfriend about the Mexican woman and it occurs to me that his search for her will never stop because the old wound hasn't healed. If she'd only written to say she was moving on, things would be different for Jose. He would have closure and could move on knowing instead of wondering. But as it is, one of the great loves of his life is out there in the world and he is constantly searching a sea of faces for her.
The story is so romantic it makes my chest feel tight. It's sad, yes, but mostly, I'm struck by how beautiful the story is. We are beginning our decent into Paris and they ask us to take our seats. We exchange contact information and I head back to my seat. As I do, I realize that no one has ever loved me the way Jose loves the Mexican woman. I feel a different sort of tightness in my chest and shake my head to erase that sad thought from my brain.
In the Paris airport, Jose waves to me as we go into the restrooms and I tell him I'll meet him after customs, but I lost him in the shuffle. I try to find him at his gate in Charles de Galle to say a proper goodbye, but I can't find him and have to abandon the hunt to make my connecting flight.
But Jose knows my blog address and perhaps one day he'll read these words. I board my flight to Venice and it's blissfully quiet on this plane. I have space and a non-heated seat. I am drop-dead tired. I fall asleep before we even takeoff but before I do, I imagine Jose going home, tucking his vanilla scented passport into a drawer and trying to forget about the Mexican woman. As the wheels liftoff the ground, I imagine him kissing his girlfriend and I wonder if he's happy to embrace what's real or if he will dream of his long lost love tonight...
