European Vacation '13 Part Seven - Au revoir Francais Buon Giorno Italia

Said goodbye to a rainy Paris. I could live in this city. On the one hand I'd put on a ton of weight eating all the pastries but on the other I'd work it off by walking constantly. Four days one spent going to Normandy is barely enough to scratch the surface but we dug into pretty well over the course of a fortnight in 2008. Seeing a great city for the second time is like seeing a great film again. The first time you just got to know it now you get to really appreciate it. Like a great film Paris would improve with each viewing. On the minus side Parisians aren't as obsessive about picking up their dog poop as Bay Area denizens are and many have not gotten the memo about the hazards of smoking. There is enough to outweigh the negatives many times over. The metro never kept us waiting for more than three minutes and those waits tended to be closer to 60 seconds. You can get anywhere on the metro -- it is accessible and easy (reminds me of an old girlfriend.....stop it!).  It is a great city for dining, to appreciate art, to fill out your understanding of history and to walk walk walk.

We dropped in on the Eiffel Tower which I find to be a magnificent structure. Still haven't gone to the top so I'll just have to come to Paris again. As we left it was raining and Paris is beautiful in the rain though less so when you're lugging suitcases to a taxi stand. We boarded an overnight train to Milan, I'm writing this from the train station as we await the train that will take us to La Spezia. We got to soak in more gorgeous French countryside before it got dark. We also ate in the dining card where the food was  edible as I ate it but not but that's as much as I can say for it. I'm certain we'll make up for it with some fine meals here.

I'm very tired but very happy to be in Italy and have already tried out my rudimentary Italian as we ordered coffee. The missus and I are having the time of our life.

European Vacation '13 Part Six - A Day in Three Parts

Yours truly waiting for a car to take me to the 1920s'

PART ONE - WOODY’S STEPS

Woody Allen’s Midnight in Paris -- which I watched for the 6th time the day we left Berkeley -- has steadily climbed the list of my favorite Allen films and currently ranks third. So it should come as no surprise that I had to visit “the steps.” I refer to the steps where Owen Wilson’s character Gil is picked up at midnight and taken by car to the 1920s. I know I should have been there at midnight to see if I could get a ride back to visit with the Fitzgeralds and Hemingway and Josephine Baker and Salvador Dali and Jean Cocteau and Man Ray and Pablo Picasso and T.S. Eliot. But I settled for having my picture taken there and taking a photo of the street the car drove up and realizing I was standing on hallowed ground where once stood Woody Allen himself. There were others who came to the steps in front of church of st etienne du mont. And I’m sure there will be for years to come.

From there the missus and I strolled around purposely and aimlessly at the same time. We had places to go but were in no rush to get there and a circuitous route was just as good as any other. In a foreign city I am always happy to not know exactly where I am and to just wander about. Paris is made for such meanderings. At one point we found ourselves in the Luxembourg Gardens which is a gorgeous and clean park that feels relaxed and content. I couldn’t help but notice the building there that housed Nazi headquarters during the occupation. I contemplated Nazis stomping around the area and what a horrible affrontery it had to have been to Parisians. History is everywhere.

PART TWO - VIVA LA CINEMA

Our next journey was to the Cinematheque Francais. Somehow I hadn’t thought to go during our last stay in Paris. We bought very reasonably priced tickets for the museum. For a cinemaphile this is a must visit. The French played a crucial role in the early advancement of cinema both from strictly artistic and technological standpoints. The museum pays tribute to the early pioneers of film. There are original cameras and projectors and clips from early films. There is tribute paid to early British and American cinemaphotographers as well. The collection includes more recent items too such as “mother’s” head from Hitchcock’s Psycho the robot regalia from Fritz Lang’s Metropolis  and a self portrait drawn by Charlie Chaplin. Upstairs there was an exhibition dedicated to the great French director Marcel Carne whose film Port of Shadows in a personal favorite.

PART THREE - AN INTERESTING DINNER AND SHUT OUT OF THE DORSAY

We returned home for a rest before heading out to dinner and a museum. We found a nice little restaurant over near Hemingway’s former abode. Our nearest dinner companions were studies in contrast. At one table there was an American couple and my heart bleeds for the poor husband. What a scene his wife made about the dessert. She called the waitress over to complain who then called the manager. It had no taste she insisted and went into great detail about all that was wrong with it. The manager took it away after explaining where the ingrediants came from and assuring madame that they served it daily with no complaint. The manager returned later stating politely that neither she nor the chef could find anything wrong with it. The woman was determined that she admit there was something off about it. She went on and on about the dessert to her poor husband who seemed to get smaller and smaller and quieter and quieter and more and more embarrassed by his not so darling wife. When the bill came she complained about that though her husband pointed out that the issue at hand only amounted to three euros. The woman asked for a menu probably to check the prices again. I felt like hissing her when she left.

At the other table in our vicinity sat four Finns. It looked like mom and her three grown children. They were having a great time, often laughing, once to the point of tears. I could only pick up bits and pieces of their conversation but were so proud of them in contrast to the ugly american. Mom returned from a trip to the bathroom to sympathize with the manager about the rude guest. I swelled with Finnish pride. Our people would never do such a thing. But our people are also very shy and while we will stare and watch it wouldn’t have done for me to reveal myself to the Finns. Oh it would have been okay if I’d spoken to them but as a Finn I could’t bring myself to interrupt their evening.

After our enjoyable meal (no problems with our desserts) we made for the D’Orsay Museum. It was a special night in Paris with free admission to all museums. Their website said that they would be open until 1:00 but when we got their at 11:00 they were closing. Damn! We had gotten our evening off to a late start because someone had taken a very long nap (guilty). No museum but more strolling about Paris much of it along the Seine. Then back to the Metro and home. Today we had several “long” waits for the Metro by which I mean three minutes. Three minutes as in 180 seconds. Oh Paris Metro you’ve spoiled me.

European Vacation '13 Part Four - Bargain Hunting on the Champs Elysees

From the Arc de Triomphe

Today I encountered a former student from the language school in San Francisco where I teach. He’s from Korea. We met on the top of the of the Arc De Triomphe in Paris, France. Of course. So that business about it being a small world?  Actually true. Last time I was in Paris I saw a former student from my middle school teaching days. I could go to Mars and see a former student.

I think its impossible to get a bad meal in Paris. Or so much as a bad morsel. I had a plain old ordinary omelette for breakfast. It came with a plain old salad and plain old bread. It was to die for. Breakfast had been preceded by a pilgrimage to the apartment building where Hemingway lived (Ernest. Writer. Papa.). It was followed by a pilgrimage to Shakespeare Books once owned by Sylvia Beach and frequented by Hemingway and James Joyce and Gertrude Stein and pretty much everyone else of literary note who has passed through France.

From there it is less than five minutes to Notre Dame (the original one not the Fighting Irish one). It is celebrating its 850th birthday which makes it about 500 years older than any building you’ll come across in the US and only slightly younger than your average supreme court justice (rim shot).

A long stroll -- very long -- eventually took us down the Champs Elysees where you can spend a small fortune on a ball of string. We window shopped at Cartier’s and please don’t tell the wife I bought a huge diamond ring for her. Then it was to the Arc De Triomphe which I was most impressed with my last visit. This time the better half and I decided to go to the top. This required a long long walk up up up a winding staircase. Two heart attacks later we reached the top. It was worth it. The views are c’est magnifique. And of course it is where one goes to run into a former student from Korea.

Took the metro back to the apartment. Our trip required a transfer. That meant two trains to wait for. Total combined wait time was somewhere around one minute. From my limited experience on the Paris Metro this is the norm. Years of dealing with public transit in the Bay Area has made me a bitter angry old man with suicidal homicidal tendencies prone to fits of rage (okay none of this is entirely true but...). I love you Paris Metro.

Went to a crepe restaurant for dinner and every bite was ecstasy. By the time I finished dessert my mouth had had multiple orgasms. 

Now I face the prospect of a very early wake up time next morning followed by a very long trip sans the wife to the beaches of Normandy and the site of the D Day landing. I’m in. 

THE PARIS JOURNALS FINAL THOUGHTS

When you meet someone special they seem, for a time, to be completely perfect. It’s only after the initial infatuation wears off that you realize that this person is flawed too, just like everyone else. Well I never reached the stage of finding flaws with Paris. I’d like to go back and spend enough time to see something about it not to like. Indeed, I’d like to stay until I hated the place or forever, which ever came first.

Here’s what I especially liked, in no particular order.
1) The people. Not outwardly friendly but well mannered and always polite. Rarely noisy or obnoxious, discreet with their cell phone conversations. No loud gum chewing or snapping. Well dressed and pretty.
2) Cleanliness is next to heaven, to rework a phrase. Parisians throw their litter away. The streets, the parks and Metro are tidy.
3) The food is excellent, plentiful, fresh. Yes its pricey but coming from the San Francisco Bay Area I’m well used to that. There are bakeries, cafes, produce markets, fish markets, cheese shops, butcher shops, open air markets everywhere. Whether eating out or buying food to eat at home I never had anything less than wonderful.
4) The metro. I’ve gone on and on about it. In the Bay Area long, frustrating waits for transportation are common place as are long walks from the nearest stop to your destination. No such problems in Paris.
5) Beauty. The city is gorgeous. For me much of this allure is its age, its sense of history its reverence for the past its respect for itself. As a life long student of history I like old stuff (which, I suppose, why I get on with myself so well these days). Paris, like much of Europe, is old and wise where the U.S. is young and brash. Unlike U.S. cities, Paris is hip and lively yet at ease with itself. American cities try so damn hard, there's a lot of contrivance and self absorption. Paris has more pride than ego. Having read its history I can tell you the city has seen a lot. Siege, revolution, enemy occupiers, religious killings, torture and plague. Yet the old gal is as gorgeous as ever.

Tres bien.

THE PARIS JOURNALS END OF JOURNEY December 31

Farewell to Paris. Goodbye to oldest daughter who will head back to Finland. Won’t see her again until June. A bit of the sting of leaving is taken out by getting an involuntary upgrade to first class on our British Airways flight into London.

Check into our hotel then head into town.

It’s New Year’s Eve and the streets of London are swarming with revelers, many of them quite intoxicated. We find a pub for fish and chips. We’re surrounded by friendly and chatty Brits and enjoy our meal and the warmth both figurative and literal.

Back outside its just two hours before midnight and there are tens of thousands of celebrators in the streets. We’re near the action at Trafalgar Square so we take in these most unusual sights. The missus and I haven't been out on New Year’s Eve since before the oldest was born. Youngest daughter enjoys the scene but complains about spending New Year’s Eve “with a couple of old people.” I see her point. She readily admits to wishing she could enjoy this scene with friends.

There is a strong police presence. The London cops are among the friendliest people in the planet and help direct us toward an open underground station when we tire of the revelry. I used to dance with Bacchus myself but those days are well in the rear view mirror. When it comes to parties I am as youngest says: an old geezer. I did appreciate the opportunity to be among so many happy people regardless of the circumstances of the holiday and their conditions.

We return to the hotel and face the prospect of a long flight home the next day. I know I'll be sad to be home but I'll also be all the more determined to return to Europe soon.

THE PARIS JOURNALS THIRTEENTH ENTRY December 30

I’ve been slammed full force with a cold on our last full day in Paris. Curses!

Morning errand to the Finnish Consulate for youngest and I to get Finnish passports (the kiddies and I have dual citizenship, oldest daughter already has a Finnish and therefore European passport).
Next back to the apartment for a long nap. Despite my continued need for rest I head out into the late afternoon in search of the Abbey Bookshop. Find it with ease but in turn find no books that interest me. Continue my stroll around the city. There’d been a dash of snow while I slept. It’s cold, low 30’s but I don’t mind, my illness notwithstanding. Today was the first day of our trip that there was any precipitation of note. I trudge around the city during rush hour marveling at the narrow streets, the statues and plaques everywhere, the sagacity of buildings that have been allowed to age. How beautiful are structures that have withstood so much. In Berkeley its a marvel to se a store that's been around since the 1950's. Here are buildings that have been allowed to age for centuries. I have a new favorite city and must already leave it. Like a shipboard romance. But I vow to reunite with this lover soon...

Back at the apartment we watch the French version of Wheel of Fortune (how's that for a contrast?). Their letter turner makes Vana White look like an old goat. I’ve only seen snippets of the American show but can tell the French contestants are much less animated. They don’t clap as the wheel spins saying “big money, big money” like buffoons.

The missus makes a delicious dinner featuring salmon about half as expensive and twice as good as that found in California. My stomach is going to miss this place.

THE PARIS JOURNALS TWELFTH ENTRY December 29

This is traveling: where’s my passport, where’s my ticket, where’s my camera, where’s my bag? It’s constant checking that you have everything and of course 90% of the time you do. Nine per cent of the time it’s nearby and safe. God forbid that one per cent of the time happen on your journey.
Travel is being very hungry, very full, very tired, very rushed, confused, jet lagged, lost, constipated, crowded.

I love travel because all of the above is worth the adventure, the excitement the sense of discovery.
Today oldest daughter and I went to the British Museum, saw Big Ben and Buckingham Palace, had fish and chips at a pub and hopped back aboard the Eurostar to Paris.

The London Underground is like the Paris Metro: a train is always just a few minutes a way and gets you right to within a short walk of your destination. Of course, one must always remember to "mind the gap."

Right now I mind the fact that this trip is nearing its close and so many sights are left unseen and so much already needing to be re-visited. Life is backwards. So much time given to work and so little to leisure and fun. And then we often spend so much of our vacations rushing around doing much more than we've time for.

Given a second life I might get it right.

THE PARIS JOURNALS ELEVENTH ENTRY December 28

Oldest daughter and I up at the crack of dawn to take the Eurostar into London. Talk about a smooth ride. Whatever became of clickety clack? I dozed most of the way.

Quick visit to Piccadilly Circus and Trafalgar Square, check in at hotel and then off to see my favorite football club (that’s soccer to you Yanks) Arsenal in action. My first visit to their three year old stadium, the Emirates.

Had tickets courtesy of Aidan one of the many outstanding young and old Arsenal supporters who meet regularly in cyberspace on the Arsenal World Interactive Message Board. Met him and a few of the other lads at a local pub then off to the match where we had excellent seats.

Nothing in the US compares to the atmosphere of a British football match. Especially the “singing.”
Arsenal obliged us with a 1-0 win over visiting Portsmouth. The match was nothing special but we were happy to soak in the atmosphere and see the Gunners emerge victorious. I’ve loved The Arsenal since the early 1970’s when I saw their thrilling extra time FA Cup win over Liverpool on Wide World of Sports and I adopted Arsenal's Charlie George, who scored the winning goal, as my hero. A few years later I was in London and saw George and Arsenal in action.

The love of a team you select on your own is different than love you have for teams you grew up with. Not better or worse, just special.

Later that evening found a very good Indian restaurant, then rested cozy and warm in our hotel room with Jurassic Park (1993) to entertain us until the match highlights show.
A great day, indeed.

THE PARIS JOURNALS TENTH ENTRY December 27

If you lived in Paris year round and went to the Louvre once a month you’d pretty much see everything after five or six years. Then again maybe you should make it once a week.
The missus and I skimmed the surface of the edge of the tip of the outer portion in our afternoon there today.

I did see a lot to love, admire and say “oh my” about. The Mona Lisa was not among the most impressive sites, especially given the huge crowds around it the security and the fact that that when all is said and done its just another painting. Make of it what you will. Greatest. Most famous. Most hyped. There’s simply too much else to see to bother with the masses that flock to it.

I loved the Rubens and many of the other Flemish works, Boticelli and other Italians of the early Renaissance, and most of all Napoleon's Coronation by Jacques-Louis David.

The Louvre was particularly exhausting because of the size of the place and frustrating because we could only see so much -- but what we saw!

Next back to the apartment then a trip to a French laundromat. Couldn’t figure out how to work their washers but a lovely young French woman saw me through the process. She’s probably big fan of this blog (the French love this blog, ya know).

In the evening we took youngest daughter out for her 18th birthday dinner. Walked around half of Paris and couldn’t find the restaurant we’d selected. Having given up we were happy to stumble upon an American style diner called -- get this -- The Diner. Feasted on fries and other American cuisine, a veggie burger in my case. And what was this on TV? A bowl game on ESPN? Who’d have thought such a thing possible in the heart of Paris?

From the Mona Lisa to college football in a single day.

THE PARIS JOURNALS NINTH ENTRY December 26

Took the train to the lovely city of Compiegne, 45 minutes north of Paris.

The trip was inspired by a New York Times article from their November 2 travel section. The article rhapsodized about the town and nearby forest and its links to Joan of Arc. The nearby forest was also the first meeting site of Marie Antoinette and her future hubby Louis XVI. But the particular focus of the article was the site just north of town where the Armistice to end World War I was signed in a railway car. It was also there that Hitler accepted France’s surrender in June of 1940. One of Hitler’s in-your-face moves at the beginning of the war. The more you learn and know about the bastard, the more you hate him.

The railway car (since destroyed) has been recreated as part of a museum dedicated primarily to the war to end all wars (it didn’t).

Unfortunately for yours truly I misunderstood the article and thought that the clearing and museum were a comfortable walk from town. Not so. It was an hour and a quarter trek, most of it along the highway.

Be that as it may the clearing has been nicely preserved with appropriate statues (the Europeans are real big on statues), tombs and the actual railway tracks. The museum is small but to the point. It features a little bit of everything related to WWI. Perhaps fittingly they have little on Hitler’s “visit.”
Compiegne is charming -- and ladies and gentlemen I’ve never used that word to describe a town before. The adjacent woods are quite pretty. Then again, when are forests ever not pretty?
I love train travel European style -- fast, comfy and efficient.

In the evening the kiddies and I watched the French version of Who Wants to Be a Millionaire. Between oldest daughter’s high school French, google translator and what words and names we could figure out we had fun playing along.

Another interesting day.

THE PARIS JOURNALS EIGHTH ENTRY December 25

Christmas in Paris. Understated but festive. Surprised at how few decorations I see but not disappointed.

We had our traditional yule breakfast of smoked salmon, then exchanged gifts. I’m delighted to get a box set of Edith Piaf CDs, quite appropriate for the venue. Oldest daughter gave me a Godfather T shirt that she got while in Venice. The shirt has Vito Corleone and the Italian title of the film, Il Padrone, on it. Oldest daughter was there visiting one of my nieces. My brother and his wife have four magnificent children that hold an exalted status with my young uns. Oldest niece lives in Bologna, Italy and oldest nephew is currently in Finland.

We’re all tired from a week of hub bub so take it easy. Do take a stroll to the park. In this case the Luxembourg Gardens. Massive. Beautiful. Full of gorgeous statues. The French senate building is there. The Nazis used it as their headquarters during the occupation. There are strong reminders of the occupation here. As a student of World War II for most of my years I find this fascinating. Being where Nazis actually trod makes them all the more compeling and repulsive.

The weather has been mild until today when it is appropriately Christmas cold. Joyeux Noel.

THE PARIS JOURNALS SEVENTH ENTRY December 24

Today the daughters and I took the train to Versailles. It should come as no surprise that we marked this occasion by visiting a rather sizable palace there of some renown.

Talk about ostentatious. No wonder the peasantry revolted. But politics aside this is yet another example of how Paris and its environs keep topping itself. There’s just one “oh my God” moment after another.

And people lived in this place!
Be it ever so humble...

So many rooms in Versailles and each a work of art comprised of works of arts. French royalty spared no expense -- on themselves. Fortunately the French of later years have preserved all this as a wonderful museum. Seeing the actual palace makes me appreicate Sofia Coppola's film, Marie Antoinette (2006)all the more. Will try to re-watch it soon and blog about it.

People of many tongues were in our midst yet both to and fro on the train we had Italians sitting nearby yakking away merrily the whole time.

Back to the apartment for a quiet but most enjoyable Christmas Eve. But first to the local markets for more provisions and a detour to see Ernest Hemmingway’s old apartment. Fittingly there is a bookstore below his former rooms. In the narrow street we walked to get there was a plaque honoring Benjamin Fondane a former resident who was a Jewish poet and philosopher taken to Auschwitz in 1944 where he died in the gas chambers.

Also en route was an elementary school with a plaque reminding passersby that some of its former students were also victims of the Holocaust. These plaques, which can be seen throughout Paris, blame not just the Nazis, but France’s Vichy Government for its complicity.

So they preserve history and are honest about it too.

THE PARIS JOURNALS SIXTH ENTRY December 23

The least surprising occurrence of the trip was this morning when I came upon a former student (I tell ya with over 2,000 of em there’s no avoiding one wherever I go). She happened to be one of my all time favorites. She just finished her degree at some place called Yale and is living in Paris for a year. She was also a starting forward on the school soccer team I coached. I’d have bet money I’d have run into one of my former charges.

Later in the day I saw a huge group of people just a bit too old to be former students. These were the many re-interred dead whose bones can be found in the catacombs. Most had shuffled off this mortal coil many, many centuries ago. What a long strange walk that was. Youngest daughter hated it. Wet floors, low dripping ceilings creepy bones about. You can’t please everybody.

I continue to marvel at the metro. Still haven’t waited more than six minutes for a train, usually somewhere between seconds and two minutes.

Meandered about on my own for a couple of hours and stumbled upon the Pantheon. Just another awe-inspiring Paris site.

Found a movie theater near our apartment that plays old American films. In the evening I popped in to see The Black Swan (1942) a true pirate swashbuckler featuring Tyrone Power and Maureen O’Hara and one of my faves, Thomas Mitchell. It was a nice break from all this magnificence.

THE PARIS JOURNALS FIFTH ENTRY December 22

Oldest daughter and I took in the the war museum at the Les Invalides. The site is on a former hospital for recuperating soldiers. The courtyard is immense. The French love their cannons and many are on display throughout the museum in seemingly every nook and cranny. There is every other variety of weaponry on display as well along with uniforms, armor and the like. The museum compares favorably with London’s Imperial War Museum. Napoleon’s Tomb is on sight too and again the French went all out with the tomb itself and the building that houses it. No half measures in this city.

Next met the other half of the clan on the Champs-Elysees, all lit up and stunning (the street, I mean, not them, although they looked just fine). Took a solo mission to the Arc De Triomphe, another Paris icon that far surpasses what I’d imagined. There was nightly ceremony taking place involving a flame, a flag and soldiers young and retired. One solider had the cutest derriere I’ve ever seen. It was a female if that matters to you.

Goodness, even the female cops and soldiers here are hot.

THE PARIS JOURNALS FOURTH ENTRY December 21

Went to Notre Dame during services today. How to describe this incredible building (I’m starting to run out of adjectives and we’ve only been here a few days). Construction on it started in the 1100’s and took over 200 years. Trust me folks, they worked fast to get it done in just two centuries. The ceilings seem two miles from the floor. Works of exquisite art everywhere. Just goes to show what humankind is capable of when not inventing new ways to destroy one another. My only problem was the American walking around in his Pittsburgh Steelers replica jersey. Gauche.

Went from this heart of Catholicism to the Jewish center of the city. Hard not to remember that some 65 years ago most residents here were rousted from their homes and taken away to their death in concentration camps....

But today this quarter is vibrant and happy. The missus went to a much recommended falafel place that boasted a long que -- obviously word has gotten out.

Meanwhile I stopped at a pastry shop. It seems that the French couldn't make a bad bit of food if they tried.

Virtually every street in Paris has an eatery of some sort, many with outdoor tables.

We took a boat trip on the Seine at night. This is one of those oh-so-touristy things people do that is actually a splendid idea. Do it at night. The Eiffel Tower all lit up is unforgettable. The bridges are works of art. Who does that? Who makes their bridges artistic masterpieces?

THE PARIS JOURNALS THIRD ENTRY December 20

Folks, the Eiffel Tower is one of those things that the imagination just can’t do justice to. It’s frickin’ huge. This did not end up being an obligatory visit to an iconic setting, it was a sight to behold and I did my share of beholding.

I don’t know why I love riding the Metro so much. Perhaps its because in the SF Bay Area we have the most pathetic subway system known to man, or woman. In the Paris Metro, as in the London Underground, you don’t have to wait 15 minutes if you just miss a train. For that matter you’d probably feel ill used waiting much over five minutes. Here’s another feature: it’s clean. These are not the trash cans on wheels we have back home.

We were taken on a tour by two 20 something Parisians; the missus had arranged it all online. Among our stops was a huge open air market with the most incredible array of fresh fruits and vegetables you can imagine. They also had fish stands that left me drooling.

Just watched a French telly program called Les Francause Le Plus Extraordinaire. Weird French people compete to be declared the weirdest. Least ways that’s how we read it. Everybody’s got their goofballs.

Liberté, égalité, fraternité and typical TV silliness.

Cute.

THE PARIS JOURNALS SECOND ENTRY December 19

So this is Paris.

People, and this is not exactly a surprise, speak French, wherever, whenever, however, you go. Always surprises me to hear different languages or accents when I go to a different country, don't know why it should, but there you go.

I like the way the French cross the streets, utterly fearless which is oddly in keeping with the way they drive. Aggressive yet not at all like they’re in a hurry.

Lot of people smoke, which is the one thing I find backward about the place.

All the women seem young and beautiful and without the American pretense of the smart set. It’s like they look good effortlessly and naturally.

We bought sandwiches at some random shop and they were of the Oh-my-God-this-is-the-best-sandwich-I’ve-ever-eaten variety on a delicious seeded baguette.

The city is beautiful. The architecture striking.

Went for a solo walk in search of Shakespeare and Company bookstore. The google maps directions were a dismal failure so I just wandered around until inevitably I stumbled upon the bookstore anyway.

Then went across the Seine and found the Notre Dame looming above me. Okay this is actually an appropriate use of the word “awesome” because the site fills one with awe. Will enter the ancient cathedral later with the family.

Wondered about some more and came upon the Paris Shoah Holocaust museum. I’ve read a lot about the Holocaust, seen many a film both fictional and documentary, had a graduate class on it and took a three day seminar provided by the US Holocaust Memorial Museum.

None of this quite prepares one for this kind of exhibit which includes some of the actual yellow stars that Jews were forced to wear and articles of clothing from the concentration camps. This is the type of exhibit everyone should see.

In the evening oldest daughter arrived from Finland (she’s doing her junior year of college there) and we are a family of four again.

THE PARIS JOURNALS FIRST ENTRY December 17-18

I think of it as contrived drama. It’s those scenes in a movie in which the heroes are making their dramatic getaway and the car won’t start. Or someone has to go back to the house because they forgot something. You know they'll still get away but you’ve got this extra anxiety to deal with. We had that at the outset of our trip. We’re riding BART to the airport when the missus checks the flight on her iphone and realizes that at some point the departure time has been moved up an hour. We’ll barely make the flight and the deadline to check luggage will have passed. There’s nothing we can do but hope the “rapid” transit system doesn’t suffer one of its frequent delays. Unnecessary anxiety in a contrived drama.

We make it, of course. The woman at the Virgin Atlantic check-in counter is the nicest human being on the planet and personally sees to our luggage, gets us through security and rushes us to the plane.
Whew!

The flight is just fine though sleeping in economy is economical at best. I watch Tropic Thunder (2008) on the itsy bitsy screen and find it hilarious. Robert Downey Jr. is masterful and I must admit so is Tom Cruise.

We have to change planes in London which is fine but we’ve got about three hours at Heathrow. Not enough time to take the underground into London to see a site. So we sit with exhaustion enveloping us.

We fly into Paris in a sardine can with the British Airways label on it. It is a mercifully quick flight. We get a cab for a drive that seems to be the longest leg of our journey as we are stuck in highway traffic horribly delayed by an accident.

But the drive concludes with what is seemingly a tour of Paris which almost makes it worthwhile. We drive by the Louvre! C'est Magnifique!

We’re staying at a friend’s apartment in the Latin Quarter (he lives in England) and its all ours for two weeks. We’re across the street from a park that the Romans used for aquatic sport. Cool.
A long much needed sleep follows the fun now really to begin.

THE PARIS JOURNALS

What follows is a log I kept of my family's recent trip to Paris. It’s a bit raw as all entries were written at the end of long, tiring days. I haven't done a lot editing as I wanted to maintain the freshness of those entries. All photos were taken by either me, the missus or one of my daughters.

Warning to all Parisians: I'm coming!

The countdown is about over and in approximately eight hours our flight will depart from San Francisco International Airport for points East. Specifically to Paris via London. I love flying, which would be infinitely more convenient if I had my own wings. As it is I must settle for taking passage on airplanes.

One of the things I love most about flying is that is means I'm going somewhere. Unfortunately I've spent far too much of my life in one place or another and not enough of it jet-setting around the globe to fabulous locales. But as George Bailey learned, it's a wonderful life nonetheless.

There'll be much to see in Paris and London and I'll try to record my impressions of it right here on this very blog. I'm not sure how updating the blog will work out during our stay. It may have to wait until we return on New Year's day.

I look forward to seeing the beaches of Normandy, the trip to London for the Arsenal match and umpteen sites in Paris. Of course, to me, one of the best things about going to a foreign land is not just seeing the famous sites, but just being there period. I look forward to riding the Metro, sitting in a cafe and strolling through neighborhoods.

So packing is just about done, the house is clean and secure and its off we go. Yippee!!