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I went to bed last night at 8 PM, after flying from Washington to Iceland, where the airport looks like an IKEA, and then Iceland to Charles de Gaulle airport, where I made an idiot out of myself by going up to every help desk and asking, “Où est la douane?”–Where is customs? Apparently, if you’ve had your passport stamped somewhere else in the EU, you can just waltz right into your final destination. I’m surprised they were okay with that–they clearly couldn’t tell that I had a stolen Icelandair pillow concealed on my person.


And now it’s 6:18 AM, I’ve already had some very French cereal and milk for breakfast, and the sun has yet to rise over Gay Paree–so I’m going back to bed.