begin rant

I am in Paris.

I think.

Time ceases to have any real meaning in airports, especially once you start to pass through timezones. The only real numbers that matter are the local times at endpoints and for your connecting flights. The time in between is a blur of fitful sleep, clattering beverage carts, and the occasional word to your fellow traveller.

But I stand at an endpoint.

I am in Paris.

Or at least I will be as soon as I process myself through customs, and receive the first visa stamp in my new passport. I look forward to filling it with many more, as my passports of older days once were. In the meantime, as Oscar Wilde is reputed to have once stated, "I have nothing to declare, except my genius."