I started writing this post in 2020, when I thought I would be writing approximately one year after rejoining the North American workforce. Before I left Germany, I had three blogs in my queue. Now, approaching four years later, my queue [from my expat assignment] still stands at three. Weathering upended social norms and my fading memory of my years as an expat, my photos — as much as ever — give me now two senses of nostalgia: one of general pre-pandemic life, and the second of what a younger me felt when traveling.

In the summer of 2019, I attended my fourteen-year “returniversary” to the Paris Air Show. The first time I went, I clicked away in exuberant glee toward the static display of the Boeing 777-200LR, consuming in two days practically all the film I brought with me on my eight-week study abroad program. This time, I’d tie up a 64 GB SD card, thought hardly any of it on Boeing metal with the 737MAX grounded.

A colleague from Charleston and I arrived in Paris mid-week after taking the TGV in from Germany, initially setting out on exploring Paris prior to the first public day of the show. We ended up walking something around 20,000 steps that afternoon alone, stopping to observe the steeple-less Notre Dame and then circling it, as if in incredulity that from no angle would it reappear.

We made our way west toward the Eiffel Tower and found the fencing at Trocadéro had finally been removed, granting a nicer view of the tower than when I had visited on a business trip three years prior. After walking along the Seine to the Fifth Arrondissement for dinner, we headed back to the Airbnb to get an early start on our second day.

Going off my previous experience with Versailles crowds, we left Paris early the second morning to avoid the long lines that form by mid-morning and remain through the rest of the day. By the time we left just after lunch, tourists were snaked around the square outside the gates. Part of me wonders how the pandemic has affected and will change areas so formerly willingly dependent on tourism revenue.

As a homeowner, I now appreciate the extensive planning, patience, and investment in maintaining these gardens. By any interpretation the place is simply immaculate, and the water bills in 2019 to keep it looking that verdant must have been extraordinary. On our visit we lucked out without rain and missed the heat wave that just days after returning to Germany shattered records. Missing the actual heat wave did not make the sun any less intense, however, so we headed back to Paris after a few hours of roaming the grounds.

Seeking to out-step our previous day’s distance, we set off exploring the area around Montmartre, earning us some less-common glimpses at the Eiffel Tower and the church itself. Part of the charm in wandering touristic hotspots is coming across views that aren’t already everywhere on social media channels; the default compositions look nice but are straightforward to reproduce. Perhaps there is a good reason that the unconventional viewpoints aren’t popular, but that doesn’t mean the thrill of finding one is any more abated.

Although Paris is one of my favorite cities to visit, as in 2005 the main draw this trip was the air show. Differing from 2005, however, I actually also walked through the exhibition halls. On my first visit the only star of the show for me was the 777, but this time without a Boeing aircraft I had more time to glance at what technologies were being showcased.

Stepping back outside into the bright sunlight, there was a not-unimposing crowd that was parting the not-unimposing visitor crowd. At the center of the mass of suits was a face I didn’t recognize. Given that the majority of his security detail was not particularly French-looking, and that he had just come from the direction of the Qatar Airways A350 display, I initially thought he was perhaps an emissary of the Qatari government. It was inwardly embarrassing when I heard him speak formal French; I knew neither what country this guy was from nor who he was and later that afternoon searched for “French government officials” to find out he was the French prime minister. Not that anyone noticed at the time at my lack of awareness, but I considered this my personal example of American unfamiliarity with global politics — I mean I was within a couple of body lengths of France’s second-highest government official and wouldn’t have been able to address him by name or title.

Once the dignitary traffic redirected, we could continue toward the actual airshow, which I had skipped in 2005 to keep my budget in line. In one of the few situations where playing photographer arguably detracted from the actual experience, I probably missed out on some of the overall experience because I couldn’t let my camera away from my eye; constantly trying to nail focus and exposure meant I certainly couldn’t pay attention to which plane was preparing for takeoff while watching the acrobatics above and the exposure meter in my viewfinder.

It was a warm afternoon, and passing clouds made for welcome relief from unrelenting heat but challenging lighting. As planes darted between blue sky and white cloud, I found myself pushing and pulling exposure to keep scenes in check. Life was a little easier with slower-moving craft.

Apart from the constant announcements prior to and during each flight, the airshow also featured random military demonstrations, which was kind of cool. I’ve never really watched helicopters at air shows before, either, and their prowess inside a very generous flight envelope was eye-opening.

The Canon 6D I use was not made for fast action, and despite a rather plodding burst speed I still ended up with over a thousand photos that afternoon. Fighter jets, like the Dassault Systemes Raphael, didn’t do my memory card space any favors.

As I baked in the sun, I was reminded of my Faroese birding experience of my occasional need for a longer lens. The nimble planes became dots as they darted spaceward. I was relieved when commercial jets ambled onto the runway — despite not necessarily seeming big to the passenger, they more than filled my viewfinder and also allowed for much easier focus tracking throughout their demo.

In my flying experience, I’ve only been on an Airbus A380 one time. While the 747 objectively ushered in a new age of commercial flight, there’s no doubt that the A380 is an unrequited technical marvel. Perhaps most striking to me on that warm, sunny June afternoon some miles outside of Paris was just how silent the giant of a jet was.

Most of the crowd probably found these flights boring, as they did no rolls or sharp climbs. I’m sure if commercial pilots flew the A330neo and A380 in regular flight the way they did here, however, they’d have their licenses pulled — their size belied grace as they circled overhead.

Not all planes that were easier to photograph were large passenger jets. Defense arms also use bulbous transports, and Airbus builds its A400M, rivaling the successful Lockheed C130.

The sense of European aviation pride seemed strong with the flying displays and was perhaps topped with the French equivalent of the United States Navy’s Blue Angels. The Patrouille de France is the aerobatic arm of the French air force, and in the summer months put on performances at the Bastille Day celebration and, every two years, at le Bourget.

The precision of the movements was impressive, so much so that I was left speechless. French attendees at the air show were far more vocal supporting their pilots. Aeronautics often give me goosebumps, and even the heat of the afternoon couldn’t fend them off this time. Seeing the images again, even years later, triggered bumpy skin and tingly sensations anew. The various demonstration squadrons (USN — Blue Angels; USAF — Thunderbirds) are all based on US fighter jets, and seeing these Dassault Alphas was another indicator of how global the defense market has become.

The spectacle continued that afternoon with a tribute to the P-51 Mustang. Loud, smoky, and a daunting presence, its supercharger was still audible despite soaring theatrically high above us.

Continued patriotism was the reason for tolerating the relentless afternoon sun. Soon after the P-51D made its appearance, a Belgian F-16 took to the skies. If I thought the twirling maneuvers of the earlier Patrouille Alpha Jets were impressive, seeing the F-16 nearly brought tears to my eyes. Commercial jets are at this point quotidian, but the F-16 has been in a league of its own for combat superiority.

To the non-pilot, it’s hard to imagine how the next generation fighters will improve on the airframe. Afterburners aglow, the wunderkind delighted as it darted aggressively about the airspace above Le Bourget, today without an enemy combatant.

Though the F-16 is a somewhat frequent presence in Charleston’s skies, seeing and hearing it this close was humbling and reassuring: first, in knowing that such a powerhouse was designed in a time where brainpower rather than neural computation mattered; and second, in trusting the protection of our airspace to this strand of mechanical sinew.

Military might aside, the airshow also appeased those who find commercial transport too mainstream. As a US-native, I’m more familiar with Gulfstreams, but in Europe Dassault’s Falcon family is still a familiar sight in private fleets. That said, private jet life doesn’t seem like a particularly attainable endeavor and lacks the impression fighter jets leave, so it’s probably the corner of the aviation market with which I’ll remain least familiar.

With this being my first time visiting seeing the aerial displays at Le Bourget, I was impressed by the proximity to action. Usually there is a substantial buffer between machine and spectator at US airshows, but in this case the runway seemed just a few car lengths away. The commentary was also different, with the announcer commenting during nearly the entire routine about the plane or its origins and its pilot. To some degree, simply appreciating the marvel of flight would have been nice, but for those who use such events as a unique source of information and entertainment I can understand the desire to include technical detail.

On the second day of the show, we wandered around some of the exhibits, walking through the static Boeing hall to check out its Saturn rocket.

With the exhibitions and flying display digested, we retired back to the city for a beer and prepared to head back to Germany. We stopped at the Musée de l’Orangerie to check out the Water Lilies, where — as was my recollection of my first visit — the hubbub in the viewing room was nearly muted by the peaceful transcendance of the work.

The museum also housed Alex Katz’s Homage to Monet as a “contemporary counterpoint.” As it’s been so long since I set foot in the museum, I’ve long forgotten the immediate sensation I felt when seeing Katz’s work. Lapse of memory aside, perhaps the bigger punctuation of this forgetfulness is a reminder of how seldom the pandemic era and intense work has permitted deliberate decelerations — of art, culture, community — into my daily habits that were just four years ago so very prevalent.

Mirroring our first day, we ended up walking a ton. After the museums and air shows and lunch, we ended up having beers across from a park and talking for the entire evening. As dusk drew down, we headed back to the airbnb on foot — it was a gorgeous June evening, and the air was fresh. As if by fate, our path back took us across Les Jardins de Tuileries and the Musée de l’Orangerie. Channeling an inner Dan Brown, I turned right — away from the airbnb — to marvel at the Pyramide du Louvre one last time, this time gleaming under a still-light sky. I had packed light; I had no tripod as I knew the airshow would be too crowded to get any real use out of it. I had gotten quite good at balancing the camera while still finding the horizon, so for one last time I set the shot and tripped the shutter.

It’s been over four years since that June, and most of the specific thoughts and wonders have long since dissipated. What I do recall: joy, in having spent time with a now-distant friend; wonder, at the marvel of flight; and appreciation, as my time in Europe came to a close. In retrospect I don’t know that any consecutive four years trumps those: a playground unlike any other, with unfettered access to all the world, it seemed. Sure, through work and the beginnings of a real connection to the community I felt a sense of purpose then, but more important, when I close my eyes I think back to an incredible chaotic calm only recalled vividly through the eyes of a child.