Back to JFK, and of course the sun came out as the A train rambled through Brooklyn and Queens. At least I had managed to fill the layover time with that little trip into town and with writing, and some catnaps. Getting past TSA security was a bit tougher for an international flight. Everywhere one looked, there were warnings posted about Ebola. Those TSA guys who do the pat downs were doubling up on gloves. Hell they probably had a supply order in for hazmat suits. All the other travelers around me had their passports in hand. I got mine out as well. It had not a mark on it.

Once past the TSA the international terminal is quite a party. There are all kinds of stores, very high end, and all trying to squeeze those last few dollars out of international voyagers before the go to the currency exchange I got a spot sitting next to one of those charging stations and juiced up my phone and IPad. Take my tip fellow travelers, never pass up an opportunity to charge up your tech stuff.

A very pretty blonde woman asked, is attractively accented English, to sit next to me. There was a catch though, she wanted to drape a power cord across me so she could charge her laptop at the charging station. I, of course agreed and even helped her with her power adapter. We then spent the next 90 mins or so typing into our respective devices and saying nothing. She did remove her patent leather flats as she typed. Her pedicure was flawless. I alternately dozed and typed.

Madame pedicure was back in her flats and on her feet reaching across me to unplug her charger. No fragrance at all, interesting. I got my courage up and spoke.

“Did you finish your novel?”

She flashed a crinkly and slightly gap toothed smile at me that made me smile back reflexively. She nodded and said those magic words,

“Yes, have a good day”

And she was off. I dozed a bit more, awoke suddenly and noticed that my 7pm flight was approaching and that I was surrounded by fellow tech dependent travelers looking to get their charge on. I decided to unplug, have a martini and think about what I had done so far. There was a sign a few gates away than read “Martini Bar” I headed for it. A brief exchange with the tough looking bartender earned me another crinkly smile and a Bombay martini, up with three olives. The dark, grizzled traveller next to me smiled approvingly as the cocktail was served. I smiled back and leaned forward to take a first, no hands sip from The icy, brimming glass.

“You don’t want to waste a drop of that”

said the dark traveller in his version of accented English. I couldn’t place the accent.

“That is true”,

I smacked my lips and took another no hands sip. Then I asked,

“Where are you heading today?”

“Gestapo”

I started to speak, stopped, started again, stopped again and finally said,

“I’m sorry, where?”

“Istanbul”

“Ahhh, nice place?”

“The most beautiful city in the world”

I raised my glass and we toasted to Istanbul.

By the time my glass was empty it was time to get on the plane. I paid the bill ($14, sheesh) and headed for gate 5. Boarding was underway I got on line, got past the gate agent and was on the boarding ramp among the crowd of shuffling travelers when I finally realized that I was flying to Europe. This was no longer an abstract, an ideal, a dream, a fantasy, or something to muse about over dinner. This was really happening! I thought of my high school French teacher Madame Demattei, and wondered how she would feel about my taking this trip. With that thought my eyes started brimming. She was probably long gone by now. I got to the hatch of the Airbus A380, a big freakin airplane, and a very lovely Air France flight attendant with tightly coiffed ginger locks and an air of relaxed professionalism smiled and said something that had not been said to me since high school,

“Bonsoir Monsieur”

Madame Demattei elbowed me in the side of my memory and I replied,

“Bonsoir”

And got on the plane.