The little dots of lights. Standing now, now moving and leaning in the small window of the plane. Icy Gradually they grow larger and morph into buildings. Suddenly - I'm in love with the magic and brightness of the city. We arrived. Some passengers are still asleep. Applause for the plane landing? Do they do this on all flights?

Time to form the queue. Oh no. The anxiety to leave is almost as suffocating as the claustrophobia our body takes. Finally fresh air. Air pollution pure, but still, pure. New. Just like the tooth of that South African child. Or that turban; the hand of the blond parents with a Russian accent; the strong tan of that girl. All seemingly different, but at that moment, they have the same looks. New. Just like those of the great orchestras, which touch on one thought "I am here, listen to me". That sound more melodic than Bach's songs.

But traveling is more to Liszt's melody. It's quiet and hectic. Contradictory: you feel that you are alive and without any theory of the crazy conspiracy that it is post-death and that we are in Nirvana. You feel your flesh, your bone and your soul. How beautiful is it to feel? As much as it is to travel. And even unintentionally, you know what this feeling is, it is inexplicable, it is that joy that sucks your ills. We're here, just here. Me, you and this world behind the exit board.Dépaysement.