Bonjour mes amis! Nous sommes arrives!! What was it Toot and Puddle said when they found each other in France? I whispered in French to Will as we pulled into Charles De Gaul airport, and he said, “Whatever. Sounds good!” Anyhow, we made it safely after a very smooth flight, which was only marred by Rick busting into his seatmate, some poor woman from Laurelhurst in Portland, while she was perched in the lavatory. They didn’t speak for hours afterwards.

Other than that, it was a smooth flight. Will slept a few hours en route. Alex did great despite misgivings about motion sickness and having been up until 3 a.m. the night before finishing a last-minute project. And Mitchell is his usual cheerful travel self, sampling first the pain au chocolat and then the very French Club Sandwich, pronounced “Sand-weech.”

While we waited to check-in, we wandered the literary area of St. Germaine-des-Pres, the former haunt of Hemingway, Sartre, Camus, Picasso and even our old buddy Ben Franklin. We walked through the Luxemburg Gardens, saw the gothic St. Surplice church featured in the “Da Vinci Code,” and saw the building where the treaty ending the U.S. Revolutionary War was signed by Franklin, John Jay and John Adams. That was all before lunch — and a nap. We dined at the Cafe Deux Magot, where Hemingway liked to drink coffee, and then staggered back to the hotel for a nap. Croques Madames and Croque Provencales all around, except for Will’s salami and baguette sandwich, plain the way he likes it and can’t get it in the U.S., along with cornichons. Will declared, “I like the French,” as he tucked into his sandwich.
We then staggered back to our hotel for a rest. Our dear friend Eric insisted we only nap 2.5 hours, no more, much to Rick’s chagrin, but we are trusting Eric’s knowledge of Parisian jet lag, so we’re up and at em again. He, his wife Chrystele and their baby boy Luka are headed over to meet us in a few minutes. We send amour to tout le monde and we’ll post some photos later. Bisous!