Originally Posted by spainflyer

There are few airports in the developed world as depressing as CDG. It starts when you have to go through the Gare du Nord or Chatelet on the RER, a crowded, smelly, graffiti-ridden excuse for a train.

The exposed concrete of Terminal 1, the attempt at modernity that are the plastic tubes you walk through on your way to the gate that only succeed in looking like a parody of a 1950’s space comic book, and especially the retro-look white hexagonal tiles on the floor that are brown and stained with age and grotty through and through.

What a nice surprise, then, offered by the professional, thorough and very courteous service by the French version of the TSA.

Satellite 7, 2 pm today. Staffed by three people. No shouting MOVE down!, MOVE down! No “Take your laptops out of their bags!!” or worse, being addressed as “You people.”

Act 1, Scene 1 – a young mother is struggling with carryon, baby and collapsible stroller. Agent (not sure what they are called in France) tries to collapse the stroller for her, but he just can’t find the right button. So he takes the baby in his arms while Mum collapses the stroller, then hands baby back and puts the stroller on the belt. Smiles all around.

Act 1, Scene 2 – I have my gels, liquids and creams out in their bag (Monsieur Kippy bag?) and I go through the metal detector. Agent on the other side says quietly and politely: “Is this bag yours sir?” “Yes” I say. “May I look in it?” she asks (I kid you not). “Of course,” I answer and, after she carefully moves a few of the contents around, then puts them back, she says “Thank you very much.” Off I go.

Now I’m sure that the TSA believe they have nothing to learn from the French, but I would very much like to see Guido, the one on steroids, with the shaved head at EWR Terminal C, sign up for La Securite 101. I think it would do him good.