The airport reminds me of Key West. Small, a bit dirty - the sort of dirty you get when it's warm enough to leave the doors open year-round. The terminal building is a 50's retro throwback, only a storey high. A few tired palm trees, bored of winter, line the outside. You walk straight in from the plane, no gates or such. Passport check, arrivals lounge and baggage claim are all one room.
I barely mumble bonjour and merci when the man casts a glance at my passport. Too shy to enunciate.
It's not warm, but it's not cold either. My scarf feels pointless. I could be in a t-shirt, but only for a minute or two. The air smells good, and feels good. There's warmth in it, and a touch of the sea. You can almost taste it. The sky's low, the clouds dark, but it's still mild.
I feel elsewhere.
Somewhere different, somewhere new.