City of Light

It's 1:00 a.m. here in Paris. I went to sleep around 10:00, had a bad dream (thanks a lot Ghost Hunters) and am now sitting in the dark listening to my husband's nighttime noises ... not for the squeamish. I am trying to be vaywy, vaywy quiet so as not to awaken him. I foresee tomorrow as being a day in which he is full of energy as I plod along next to him. I hope I am wrong and the beauty of the things I will see energize me.

We have a view of the upper third of the Eifel Tower from our room. When I got up a little while ago I looked out the window and the lights on it were all twinkly. I watched until they were turned off for the night. The upper third of the tower has a decidedly phallic look. It's kind of like a giant, illuminated dildo looming over the rooftops out our window.

Customs at DeGalle was a breeze. I stepped up to the agent said "Bonjour, monsieur" to the very young man whereupon he smiled, winked and said, "Merci." The bus ride to Opera metro station took about an hour. We walked, dragging our bags around the Paris Opera to the station. The wheels on mine got stuck in a grate when I was maneuvering around another tourist taking a photo. I've got a new bag that's bigger than the one I used to have which proved a problem on the stairs in the metro -- and there were a lot of stairs. I couldn't pick the bag up high enough to clear the steps. Dan had my old bag so we tried switching but that didn't work either as his bag was much heavier. He ended up giving me his backpack and carried both bags down and when we arrived at our stop for the hotel he practically ran up the stairs with both bags. It was more a case of momemtum than excitement. (Think of Charles Durning taking Claudia's bags upstairs in "Home for the Holidays.") He had to sit on top of one for a while when we got on the street.

We found the hotel easily about three blocks from the stop thanks to our Rick Steves tourist guide. We've now seen 3 other couples carrying the same book. Coincidentally, at both of the cafes we've been to we've been seated next to Americans which here means practically at the same table ... hey, wait a minute, I don't think that's a coincidence. The French are seating us at the equivalent of the childrens' table. Fine, whatever.

Our room is great, tiny, but great. It is one of the recently updated rooms and ultra modern. When we were allowed to check in at 2:00, we were told the water was off until 5:00. That messed up my plans to get a bath, change, and do some more sightseeing. I was so exhausted after walking around for two hours ... we walked up and down Rue Cler and over to the Eifel Tower and got lost coming back ... that I layed down and went to sleep until the water was turned back on at 6:00. While at dinner, my husband was lamenting the fact that we didn't stick to the plan and stay awake until bedtime. My response was a petulant, "I couldn't help it. There was no water." He looked at me like he does when he knows he's got to somehow figure out the connection between my response and his comment.

Want to hear my embarrassing story about the flight over? Of course you do. After dinner, I put on my earphones, donned my inflatable horse collar pillow, closed my eyes and tried to go to sleep. I soon realized I had gas. I'm talking bubbling going on from ass to sternum. It had to go somewhere and clench as I might, I became the human equivalent of a motorboat. I was mortified until I realized there was no odor -- know how that happens sometimes -- and miraculously, no sound. So I just relaxed and thought how lucky I was and relieved that I wouldn't have to endure painful bloating. I was just happy as a clam, tooting up a storm until I suddenly realized I had my earphones in. Dear God. I cracked open one eye just long enough to catch a glimpse of the guy across the aisle staring open-mouthed at me.