Driving in Paris

  There is so much to see here in Paris!  There are so many things to do here!  It may sound sentimental but there are moments here that actually my eyes leak a little.
  Yesterday we picked up my niece and her boyfriend and did a road trip outside of the city.  (Lucky kids are doing work study here in Paris.)
  We went on a drive to Reims, the city of Joan of Arc.  (I'm used to the English spelling of "Reims" as "Rheims", but when you are in France, I'll side with the natives.)
  We had a leisurely lunch (2 1/2 hours) then split up.  I spent all my time in the church-Notre Dame du Reims.  I took a lot of photos and tried to sketch a stained glass panel I admired.  It's mind boggling to think that some kind of place of worship stood here since the 400's A.D.  (Yes, that's 400 HUNDRED A.D.  Without a "1" in front of that "4".)
  My favorite things were the sculptures on the exterior of the church.  And the gargoyles and waterspouts were whimsical and scary too.
 The day ended with a drive around the Arc de Triomphe.  I'd tell you what that looked like but I was busy praying with my eyes closed.
  Twelve roads feed into 7 lanes around the Arc.  "Lanes" is a subjective term.
  You better know what you are doing or you will be going around and around the Arc until you've made a groove in the pavement or run out of petrol.  I wouldn't know as I am never going to drive in Paris.
 

Best Intentions

  I really thought I could blog about our life in Paris on a daily basis.  Truthfully, that requires more discipline than I have.  I've been exploring our neighborhood by foot (the best way to see it) and eating my way through 400 plus varieties of cheese (purely research).
  I am on a daily adventure the minute I step outside our ornate and heavy doors.  I love my life here and I'm so grateful for this opportunity.

 
    A few steps from our apartment, we can take the Metro and be anywhere in Paris in a few minutes.  While it's convenient, once you get the hang of it, you're underground.  Granted, some of the stops are pretty amazing but all the action is above ground.
  Today we drove ("we" meaning "my husband") to the huge British book store, W.H. Smith.  We opted to do this just to see how bad traffic and parking could be on a Saturday in Paris.  Many people are on holiday and away from the city now.
  I've seen worse when it comes to traffic while in Boston or LA.  As for parking, Mark found a spot just around the corner from the bookstore.
  What a visual feast to see the monuments!  I was chattering away like a mynah bird as my husband was trying to concentrate on his driving.
  We have a lot more exploring to do, whether it's by car, bus or by walking.  We'll wait until the temperatures aren't in the 90's to do so.

The Paths of Paris

  There are two ways to walk down to the Seine from our apartment.  The first one-all you have to do is follow the crowds of tourists to the Trocadero.  Walk past Displays of Public Affection (yes, they make out a lot here in Paris), bouncing baby carriages (see previous comment) and end up in photos where someone from Milan is going to ask someday "Who is that person?"
  The second option is the path my husband showed me the other well-lit evening.  Apparently it's only known to the locals.  Follow that path and your only companions are birds.

  The rails are made to resemble curved tree branches and trunks.  The path is mossy and green.  I feel compelled to slow down and take it all in.
  What a contrast the scenery here is, compared to the desert.
  I am enchanted by this path and use it every day.

Vignettes

  Today I went exploring.  I decided to have lunch at Le Wilson.  Here is a photo of the "Shepherdess Salad".

  Enough for me and three of my best shepherdess friends.

  Cafe creme:  the best coffee I've had so far since I've been here:
 

  I don't intend to make this a food blog but it's not easy to write about Paris and not talk about food too.  Paris really is a moveable feast.

Surprise! Surprise!

  Life here is full of surprises.  I tell myself to just go with it.  Say "Oui oui" a lot and hope you just didn't agree to give a stranger the title to your car.
 
  I slept in until almost noon this morning.  Parisians stay out late and sleep in and I'm just doing what the locals do.
  I lie.  I am jet lagged.  Jet laaaaagggggggged.
 
  It's noon and I'm still in my sleep shirt.  I hear the door open and wonder why my husband is home mid day?
  He's not.  There's a woman I don't know, and she has cleaning supplies.  Apparently we have a cleaning lady.  Apparently the woman in charge of overseeing the care of our apartment (I don't know what to call her anything but "my Angel") sent her.
  Or I just let a broom and mop armed serial killer into our apartment.
  She doesn't speak English. My French?  Brought to you today by the Letter O.
  Dammit.  Even the cleaning women here are chic and Size Nonexistent!  She's blonde, built like a ballerina, with sculpted arms and beautiful beaded sandals.
  And here I am-a non-fashionable, lucky to have something on, American woman.
  I am not doing anything to advance our cause, American ladies!
  I have an excuse.  I am jet lagged.  Jet laaaaaaggged.
  Righto.

Lafayette, I am ici!

  Pardon, madames et monsieurs, my "franglais", but I am happy to be here in Paris. I'm getting settled in slowly.
 Being in Paris-- I have been put through the wringer since June, and I believe this is my reward

 For the record:  ( I am so far behind on posts)

• June consisted of a horrendous move to Colorado Springs that took days longer than it should have
• Mark had to return to Paris 3 days after we were in Colorado 
• that left all the unpacking to me, which included wrestling heavy objects around and not killing myself or the dogs in the process
• someone tried to use my debit card in New York City, so I had to cancel it and get it replaced
• called a plumber, dripping faucet
• called an electrician after the circuits popped.  Outlets replaced
• my dear Lola got seriously ill unexpectedly
• Mark came home for just 4 days
• we had to put Lola to sleep.  Stunned and very sad
• Mark had to go back to Paris

  I was so tired and very sad after Lola's passing that I would have put off my trip.  But M's company had arranged for this and paid for my ticket so postponing wasn't possible.  Yes, it's PARIS, but I had a heavy heart.  I just felt banged up from everything.

  June 19th

  My flight from Colorado Springs to Dallas Fort Worth was uneventful.  It was the trip from there to Paris that things got hairy.  I noticed that we seemed to be flying in one big circle when our pilot finally announced that the airport "is closed"---no further explanation.  Then he announces that we have to fly to Oklahoma City to refuel because they only had enough fuel to fly from Colorado Springs to Dallas!
  Oklahoma City-on the ground for an hour.  Passengers whose final destination was Oklahoma City are wondering why they can't disembark there?  Flurry of activity, final result:  "Well, sure, but your luggage will still be in Dallas".  No takers there.
  Back to Dallas, land safely.  I know our technology can be irritating sometimes but I was glad I could look up the American Airlines application on my iPhone.  It gave me the current information that when I landed I would be several gates from where my flight to Paris was taking off.  Of course!
  Run to the airport train.  Ride several stops.  Get off at the right gate.  Be relieved that the lobby is full of passengers.  Panic when I realize that they are waiting to board for a flight to Peoria, NOT Paris.  Nice man tells me to go to the front of the line, to wait for the agent.  Other man tells me that the line forms behind him.  I tell him I was told to go there.  He says "the other man is waiting to be helped first."  Agent comes and announces "Passengers in the lobby waiting to board flight to Paris, please come forward."  Other man looks sheepish as he steps aside for his flight to Peoria.  I'm too harried and too nice to shoot him a dead look.
 No time to upgrade, as I hoped.  No room anyway. I am the last person to board the flight to Paris.
  Seat 41, as close to the latrines as you can get without actually sitting on them.  I hate sitting back there because the airplane's tail shudders side to side almost the entire time of the flight.  I've flown many times but this is the first time that I think I may actually get airsick.  So I cranked the "fresh air" flow on and settle in for a 10 hour flight.  

Parlez vous?

DH:  "By the time I leave Paris, I'll be fluent in French enough to be able to talk with a three year old."
Me:  "See if they have Sesame Street in French."