Whenever I go on vacation, I like to take with me a perfumed kerchief. I know, I know. That’s SO five centuries ago. You’re probably laughing at me, just as my husband did and my brother. But they don’t laugh any more.
While passing through Charles de Gaulle airport on the way to Zurich in 2004, my travelling buddies and I were forced to deplane the old-fashioned way: lugging our luggage down a staircase that had been wheeled up to the plane’s door, then being herded onto a bus – standing room only - that drove us to the terminal.
“What is that smell?” someone asked.