This is from an email I sent out after my last (hopefully) trip through CDG. This was just prior to the liquid ban. And for the record, I am an American male, 40 and at the time, had a beard.

CDG, a nightmare in itself. I try to avoid this wonder of bad signage and the occasionally collapsing terminal.

At the security checkpoint I did the usual, remove shoes, belt and empty pockets. All that and the carry on went into the x-ray and into the WTMD. After I collected my things and put my shoes on, I was guided (by the arm) to another line and repeated the whole process over, shoes, belt and pocket stuff into the bin and me through the WTMD. Made it through that one, put my shoes back on and shoved everything else into the carry on bag. Then some loud person shrieked some command at me and I was again guided to yet another WTMD. Shoes off, and with the bag through another x-ray. I went through the WTMD, picked up my shoes and bag and waited. No one showed any more interest, so I wandered off, carrying my shoes. I didn't put them on until I got the gate. Then I sat, watching travellers smoking in the general vicinity of the smoking area. I think within fifty feet of the room is OK. Room, as in walls with no ceiling.

Next, among the thousands of announcements made over the PA, only in French of course, my flight to the US had been changed from this gate to that gate. Not being a French speaker, I missed this minor detail. In fact, nearly every time I have been at CDG, the departure gate has been changed. Since my flight time was approaching, I went back up to my departure gate. An entirely different number and destination were listed. I asked the gate agent, in German, where my flight was. (Funny, the French always give me more respect when I speak German instead of English. And it is more fun!) She directed me to a nearby gate where people were going out the doorway. For whatever reason, the aircraft was not actually there. Finally time to go. I show my boarding pass to the GA and head down the jetway. About halfway down, a nasty little man (picture LeBeau from Hogan's Heroes) was waiting. He mumbled something at me, so I show him my boarding pass. He mumbled something else and pulls my carry on bag away. In all his yammering I catch the word 'Securite'. I stand there and watch as he pulls each item out of the bag and stares blankly. I offered helpful tips like, belt, book, camera, CD's, etc. My flash drive had him totally perplexed. Then he came to an unopened eight pack of AA batteries! Slowly, he turned the package over in his hands. Then he opened that, took all the batteries out and inspected each one. It made me wonder what 'Duracell' translates to in French. After long consideration, he said, "This is too many." He then took two batteries and added them to his pile of confiscated items. In the pile were a bike lock, hair dryer, nail clippers, cosmetics, various electrical cords and other things. Basically everything needed to give an AF air hostess a bad makeover. During this whole time, all the other passengers going by went unmolested. Who knows what deadly things they carried. Next he stood and motioned for me to put my arms out. I then got a very thorough feel up that left nothing to the imagination. He checked every inch of my body. When he reached my ankles, he mumbled something again. He wanted to see my shoes. So shoes off for the fourth time, and he slowly pulled back the tongue, checked the laces and then the inside. I was so glad I didn't get new Odor Eaters before I left. When he was satisfied with the shoes, he went back to my ankles, pulled back the tops of my socks and looked for prohibited items. Finally he stood, and asked for my passport and boarding pass. After yet another careful examination he handed them back and said, "You wait here". So I stood there waiting. By this point no passengers were coming down the jetway. After a while, a woman came up the stairs into the jetway and shouted something at me. I stared at her blankly, so she shouted, "Come, come". I tried to explain that the man told me to wait. She was hearing none of it and grabbed me by the arm, pulled me out the door and down the stairs. Outside she shoved me into a van and I was off to the plane with several members of the flight crew. After an eternity of driving around the airport, we got to the aircraft, I was the last passenger on. When we were airborne and the seatbelt sign was off, I tied my shoes.

Compared to this place, LHR and LGW are a cake walk. TXL is easy too, but I have never taken a trans-Atlantic flight from there.