After our first visit to Paris in November 2023, Ron and I vowed to return — the city is that magical — but we also wanted to explore beyond it by train. This follow-up trip had another goal: attending the French Open at Roland-Garros. As a tennis fan, attending all four Grand Slam tournaments has long been a dream. After the U.S. Open in 2018 and Wimbledon in 2026, I was halfway to my personal “Grand Slam.”
The French Open uses a lottery system, so tickets were a matter of luck. I created an account on the official Roland-Garros website last fall, then waited for confirmation that I had been selected and for my purchase window: 10:00 a.m. CET on Wednesday, March 18. Ron and I decided that Monday or Tuesday of the tournament’s first week would be best, and we hoped for one of the three main courts.
Luck was on my side — sort of. I woke before 4:00 a.m. CT on March 18 and got online to await my random queue assignment. When the queue opened, more than 77,000 people were ahead of me, and my heart sank. Would we get tickets?
I settled in and watched the number slowly drop. Then a pop-up announced that all day sessions on the three main courts had sold out for both weeks. I assumed we could still get day passes and see multiple matches. Wrong again. By the time I entered the queue, day passes for the entire tournament were gone, and I panicked a little while texting Ron updates.
I cycled through the queue three times, frantically searching for tickets. On my third try, a “package option” button caught my eye. Success! I secured two of the last tickets to Philippe-Chatrier, the main court, for the Monday, May 25, night match — along with four tickets to a September padel ball tournament. We weren’t going back for that, and the night match wasn’t my first choice, but we had tickets!
Friday, May 22
After an uneventful overnight flight, we landed at CDG, cleared customs, retrieved our luggage, and found Ely (pronounced “eely”), our Transfeero driver. He didn’t speak much English, but Ron had brushed up on his French, so they carried on a steady conversation to our hotel.
Traffic was heavy, even at 10:30 a.m. on a Friday, so it took a while to reach Hôtel Jacques de Molay in the Marais. We like the Marais because it is central, walkable, close to several Métro stations, and full of good shopping. We considered returning to our first Paris hotel, but it lacked air conditioning — a must. The Jacques had air conditioning, a lift, several nearby cafés and markets, a gelato and sorbet shop, a small green space, and three Métro stations within a short walk.
After dropping off our luggage, we loaded our Métro cards and headed to the 14th arrondissement, south of the Seine, to visit the Musée de la Libération. The museum tells the story of Paris’s liberation in August 1944, focusing on General Philippe Leclerc de Hauteclocque and Jean Moulin. Though they never met, both were instrumental in the fight against Nazi rule — Leclerc as a liberator and Moulin as a leader of the French Resistance.
The small, well-curated museum presented brief biographies of these men and other leaders who helped liberate Paris, including British and American personnel. It also featured an exhibit on Robert Capa, the Hungarian-born photographer who was the only photographer allowed to record both D-Day and the liberation of Paris. A short documentary and Capa’s stark black-and-white photos captured both historic events beautifully.
We then walked across the street to the Paris Catacombs. Located in the former limestone quarries that built much of medieval Paris, the Catacombs are an underground ossuary holding the remains of more than 6 million people. They were created in the late 1700s to relieve the city’s overflowing cemeteries.
With audio guides in hand, we descended a narrow circular stone staircase to 20 meters below street level. Thankfully, I had a half-zip — it was chilly. The first half of the tour followed a passage just wide enough for one person and barely tall enough for me; I had to duck several times, so you can imagine how Ron managed!
After about 20 minutes, we entered the ossuary, surrounded by columns of neatly stacked bones and skulls. The stacks appeared to reach the catacomb walls and were often eight to 10 rows high and 15 columns wide. The audio guide explained that the longest bones — femurs and tibias — formed the stacks. It was fascinating and creepy. No bonding agent held them together, only ingenuity and hard work.
After 20 minutes in the ossuary, we climbed another stone staircase and re-emerged into warm sunshine. The shift was abrupt: from a chilly, damp, timeless place to the bustle of a warm Parisian Friday afternoon.
Saturday, May 23
I had been looking forward to today’s first activity: a guided tour of Notre-Dame on Île de la Cité. During our first visit, the cathedral was still under reconstruction, so we could only walk around the site, read about the restoration plan, sit in the temporary bleachers, and view the exterior.
We met our guide, Julie, near the cathedral. A young Frenchwoman of Asian descent with a master’s degree in art history, she was warm, friendly, and very knowledgeable. Our group had only five people: Ron and me, a couple from Kansas City, and a young Frenchwoman visiting for the long holiday weekend. As we walked to the plaza, Julie pointed out that road distances from Paris are measured from a bronze compass marker embedded in the cobblestones in front of the cathedral.
When we purchased our tickets, Get Your Guide noted that Notre-Dame is a house of worship and requires modest dress: skirts and shorts must cover the knee, and tank tops and sleeveless tops are not allowed. We saw a group be turned away because someone didn’t follow the dress code — a reminder to read the rules!
Before our trip, my Catholic friend Clayton said some people were upset that the reconstruction had scrubbed away the cathedral’s “character.” His response: “Of course it’s gonna look different. How can you re-create a thousand years’ worth of candle soot?” Indeed, the interior was brighter and lighter than expected — and very welcome.
Because the forest used for the original timbers no longer exists, replacement wood came from a 700-year-old forest near Paris. Additionally, since the limestone beneath Paris had already been quarried to build the city, similar limestone was sourced from other regions of France.
To give the cathedral a slightly updated feel, the design team added a few modern elements, mostly artwork in the chapels and a stunning rounded bronze altar. Some traditional elements survived the fire, including both stained-glass windows at either end of the transept and the rooster that topped the original spire. Damaged but intact, the rooster was found in the rubble and displayed in a glass case in one chapel.
After the tour, we browsed the bouquinistes — the open-air booksellers whose dark green stalls line the Seine — picked up lunch, ate near the Sculpture Park, and wandered around Île Saint-Louis before our next activity: a wine and cheese pairing workshop at Musée Vivant du Fromage, literally a cheese museum and shop on the island.
As a cheese lover, I found the shop fascinating: so many varieties lined up in a glass case, begging to be sampled. In the workshop, we tasted seven cheeses paired with three wines — white, red, and a sweet wine I can’t remember, which worked because it was paired with the right cheese.
Galina, our guide, led us to the cellar, where we had bread, plenty of water, and a table full of cheese. She was smart, funny, self-deprecating, and deeply knowledgeable. Her safest pairing advice was to match opposite but complementary flavors — for example, sweet wine with savory cheese — but she also said we could throw out the rulebook and serve whatever we liked. The point is to enjoy the food and the company.
The cheeses came from goat, sheep, and cow milk, ranging from soft Sainte-Maure de Touraine to a firm, crumbly, and strong Roquefort. I’ve always loved Brie, but my favorite was the 12-month-old Comté, with its sharp, tangy flavor. The only cheese I didn’t like was Maroilles; no amount of white or red wine could change my mind.
Sunday, May 24
The day’s main activity was Ron’s choice: Marché aux Puces, the fabled Parisian flea market in Saint-Ouen, north of Paris. Its website helped us navigate the 10 distinct markets, each with its own style and specialties. Make no mistake: this is a “flea market,” but not just junk or discards. Marché aux Puces is also home to breathtaking antiques and high-end vintage finds. We even passed a Louis Vuitton luggage shop with what appeared to be vintage steamer trunks — I didn’t have the nerve to check the prices.
Marché aux Puces is huge and could be overwhelming, so we used the website to decide what we wanted to see and which markets were most likely to have it. I’m not much of a browser, but I was looking forward to soaking up the atmosphere. Still, there was no way I wanted to visit all 10 markets, especially on a scorching day!
The markets opened at 10:00 a.m., and we spent a couple of hours wandering through Biron, Dauphine, Paul Bert Serpette, and Vernaison, ogling treasures: high-end and low-end vintage jewelry and clothing, serious antiques, modern furniture, books, artwork, and vinyl. Dauphine alone had more record stalls than I could count.
We had planned to spend three hours at the markets, but with the day being extremely hot, we cut it to two hours and took the Métro back to the Jacques to rest before our evening event: dinner and contemporary jazz at Le Son de la Terre, a two-level restaurant and bar on a houseboat in the Seine near Notre-Dame.
We arrived early and had cocktails on the upper deck, out of the late-afternoon sun. It was wonderful to sit, rest our feet, gently bob on the river, and take in the surroundings. I had to turn to see the cathedral, but ahead was a billboard honoring the professionals who restored Notre-Dame.
After cocktails, we were seated on the lower level in front of a long, narrow stage backed by a window. Food and wine began to flow, and at 7:00 p.m. the band started: a saxophonist, guitarist, upright bass player, and drummer, joined by a trumpet player for the second half. The music was modern and experimental; for 2½ hours, I couldn’t find an even beat. The musicians, however, were clearly having a blast — especially the guitarist. The crowd applauded warmly, and the saxophonist later came to our table to thank us for attending. What a great evening!
Monday, May 25
Most people know that Ron and I plan our vacations to the nth degree; however, we’ll rearrange a day when needed, and Monday was that day. The original plan was to visit Fondation Louis Vuitton at the north end of the Bois de Boulogne for the Alexander Calder exhibit, wander the Bois in the afternoon, and then head to Roland-Garros at the southern end of the Bois for the French Open.
But temperatures were high again, and we had no desire to be outside all day. Instead, we did laundry that morning at a laundromat about 100 meters from the Jacques, walked around the Marais for shopping, and then headed to the Fondation that afternoon to see whether they would honor our timed tickets.
I planned to visit the Swatch store for another Paris destination watch, but our first stop was Coton Doux. We had passed a small storefront on Saturday on our way to Notre-Dame, and the patterns on their polos and button-up shirts caught my eye.
Fortunately, Coton Doux had a larger store about 10 minutes from our hotel. The manager didn’t speak much English, but Ron interpreted while I found three great button-up shirts: a motorcycle print, a floral print, and a collage of album covers from artists such as the Beatles, the Police, Bob Marley, AC/DC, and Nina Simone. They were long-sleeved, so I hesitated. No problem: the in-store seamstress measured me and converted them to short-sleeved shirts at no extra charge. Voilà.
We then headed to the Swatch store, where I bought my first Paris destination watch — and my first destination watch overall. I wasn’t sure they would have another version, but they did. This one features the Eiffel Tower, the Arc de Triomphe, a French streetlamp, a stiletto, a dressmaker’s dummy, and a windmill for Moulin Rouge, with a clear face that shows the inner mechanisms. Luck was on my side again: they had only one left, so I snapped it up. What a great conversation starter!
After resting at the Jacques, we took a taxi to the Fondation, an ultra-modern building by Frank Gehry. They honored our earlier timed entry, so we walked into a cool space — literally and figuratively. The Fondation had devoted almost the entire building to Calder’s work, commemorating the 100th anniversary of his first trip to France and the 50th anniversary of his death. I knew his mobiles but wasn’t prepared for their airiness and delicacy; they would be very expensive to hang over a crib.
In addition to mobiles and outdoor sculptures, the exhibit featured paintings and drawings Calder owned by other artists. My favorite display was about 50 pieces of fantastic metal jewelry. Over his lifetime, Calder created about 2,000 pieces from brass, steel, ceramic, wood, and glass. Most were gifts for friends or designs for his wife, Louisa, who wore them daily. One grandchild said rummaging through her jewelry collection was a feast for the senses.
After a couple of hours at the Fondation, we took a taxi to Roland-Garros. We couldn’t enter until 6:30 p.m., but we arrived early to queue. Fortunately, all three day matches were straightforward, so the lone evening match would start on time at 8:15 p.m.
The match featured two Frenchmen: Gaël Monfils, a 39-year-old playing his final French Open before retiring at year-end, and Hugo Gaston, whom I knew little about. Monfils, a highly ranked junior player who won 13 ATP tournaments, is incredibly athletic and a great shotmaker, but inconsistency and injuries plagued his career.
We had great seats at Philippe-Chatrier — a few rows from the top but nearly even with the net, giving us an excellent view. We also sat next to a friendly young Portuguese woman from Lisbon who had flown in for the weekend to meet friends and watch tennis. She had been there all day and said the heat was brutal.
Gaston, a lefty who doesn’t bounce the ball before serving, won the first two sets easily, 6-3, 6-2. Monfils showed flashes of brilliance, but Gaston was too steady. In the third set, Monfils improved and Gaston’s form dipped, so Monfils took the set 6-3 and built a 3-0 lead in the fourth.
At that point, Ron said, “It’s 11:00 p.m., and we have a long day tomorrow.” He read my mind. The match looked headed for a fifth set, and we had early-ish train tickets to Bayeux, so we left and grabbed a cab back to the hotel. On the way, I saw that Monfils had won the fourth set 6-3 but lost the fifth 6-0. The match probably ended around midnight, and Monfils simply ran out of gas.
Wimbledon will always be my favorite tournament, but I enjoyed Roland-Garros for several reasons: entering the complex was simpler, the grounds were easier to navigate, the night session meant fewer people, the heat eased after sunset, and concession and bathroom lines were shorter. The fan shop was also over the top — two huge levels — so of course we bought merch: hoodies, T-shirts, tea towels, and keychains. All in all, a great day!
Tuesday, May 26
We packed two overnight bags and took the Métro to Paris Saint-Lazare for our train to Bayeux. I was a little nervous about the French train system; trains in England and Scotland had been easy, but it helped that we spoke the language. Not to worry — the French train was fine, the signage was easy to decipher, and we confirmed the platform with a representative before boarding.
I didn’t know what to expect. I had researched Bayeux and knew it had about 15,000 people, and we had planned our afternoon and evening, but I still tried to picture what we would see as the train crossed the French countryside.
Bayeux, like Edinburgh, felt like a movie set: a medieval village with narrow streets, original construction, tourist-friendly charm, and easy navigation. We arrived at the Gare, walked to our hotel on the edge of town, dropped off our bags, and headed to the high street for lunch.
We felt we had to eat at a restaurant in France named Selma Alabama. Fortunately, it had good reviews, so we ventured into the small, charming space and ate. Ron had a chicken burger, while I had vegetarian bruschetta topped with mozzarella, cherry tomatoes, and other delicious bits.
Naturally, we asked our server where the name came from. He said the owners appreciate Dr. Martin Luther King’s civil rights struggle in the Alabama city. What he didn’t mention was that one owner is named Selma, giving the restaurant a personal connection as well. The restroom held a fun surprise: walls lined with vintage photos, drawings, paintings, and stickers. Charming!
After lunch, we wandered the shops, had glace, and headed to Bayeux Cathedral. What a stunning sight! I took exterior photos on the way to lunch and interior photos later. The interior was light, bright, and cool — welcome on another scorching day. While there, I learned that all 86 cathedrals in France are state-owned and maintained by the Ministry of Culture. Quite the task!
Later that afternoon, we visited the Musée Mémorial de la Bataille de Normandie before our tour. We learned about the events leading up to D-Day, but we cut our visit short because the museum was warm and stuffy. The uncomfortable environment made it hard to concentrate on the excellent exhibits, so we returned to the hotel to rest for the next day.
Wednesday, May 27
When Ron and I choose guided tours, we research carefully: we read reviews, including the low ones, and look for small groups. That’s how we chose Gold Beach Company for Normandy. We wanted a one-day tour that returned to Gare de Bayeux in time for our train to Paris, focused on the U.S. beaches, kept the group small, and had room in the van for our overnight bags. Check, check, check, and check.
We arrived at Place de Québec, a small plaza and prime tour pickup point. Our guide, Mathieu, arrived in his passenger van, and we climbed aboard. A couple from Tampa and two solo travelers, one from New York and one from Maine, were already there when Ron and I took the back row and waited for the final tour members — Sherry and Brooke, a mother/daughter pair from Spokane — to arrive by train from Paris.
Our first stops were Sainte-Mère-Église and Utah Beach, at the northern end of the invasion. A charming Normandy village with a large plaza dominated by a Catholic church, Sainte-Mère-Église was one of the first places in France liberated by D-Day troops. It was remarkably well preserved and a perfect way to start the day.
We then headed to Pointe du Hoc, where the Germans had built bunkers and machine-gun posts. The point rises about 35 meters above the beach, so U.S. Army Rangers had to scale the cliffs to attack and capture it. Exploring the remaining bunkers was fascinating and eerie. We also visited the Utah Beach Landing Museum, located right on the beach. Built around a German bunker, it recounts the day’s events well and includes a full-size B-29 bomber.
Our final stop, the Normandy American Cemetery, was the most impactful part of the day for me. Operated by the American Battle Monuments Commission, the cemetery contains the remains of more than 9,300 American men and women. The simple white crosses, much like those at Arlington National Cemetery, line up horizontally and diagonally, creating a somber tribute. The cemetery also features the Garden of the Missing, honoring more than 1,500 American soldiers whose bodies were never recovered; their names, service branches, ranks, and home states are engraved on a gently curved stone wall.
Our group could explore the cemetery on our own. I photographed Spirit of the American Youth Rising from the Waves, a large bronze statue near the center of the site. It represents the young American soldiers who sacrificed their lives and stands within a semicircular colonnade inscribed with military maps and narratives.
I then made my way to the Garden of the Missing, where I found Sherry and Brooke. Sherry stood nearby while Brooke knelt in front of the wall and FaceTimed. I asked Sherry what they were doing. They had found the name of Sherry’s uncle Joe — a 17-year-old Italian American from New York who died during the invasion and whose body was never recovered — and were showing Sherry’s 94-year-old mother in Spokane. Sherry had contacted the cemetery prior to their trip; the cemetery than emailed her a photo of his name on the wall.
I was thunderstruck. More than 80 years after one of history’s most iconic battles, I witnessed a long-held dream for a family I didn’t know. I gasped quietly, felt tears welling up, muttered, “That’s crazy,” and slipped away so the family could enjoy a moment of solitude and reflection.
Thursday, May 28
Another day, another train — this time from Gare de Lyon to Reims, about 45 minutes from Paris. We added Reims as a day trip because it offered another World War II museum, another cathedral, and a champagne cellar — all wins in my book!
Musée de la Reddition is a small, well-curated museum founded in 1985 to commemorate the 40th anniversary of Germany’s surrender in World War II. It covers life in Reims before the surrender, how the city fared during the war, the events of the signing day — including the remarkably preserved room where it occurred — and how France and Germany moved forward after the war.
We then took a cab to Vranken Pommery, a champagne house founded in 1858 and brought to prominence by Louise Pommery, widow of the founder. The limestone cavern tour was excellent. We descended about 130 stone steps to the cellar floor. Outside temperatures were in the 80s, but the cellar was closer to the 50s — all natural, no AC — and I wished I had brought a half-zip.
In addition to being a champagne cellar, the space serves as an art gallery, with hand-chiseled bas-reliefs and a few modern sculptures scattered throughout. At our lowest point, we were about 30 meters underground, with exterior light filtering through cone-shaped chutes above.
We had reservations at Restaurant Le Réfectoire, the elegant dining space on the Pommery grounds, where we enjoyed an excellent three-course meal on the tree-shaded terrace, each course paired with a different champagne. Not a bad way to spend the afternoon!
We figured out the transit system in Reims, hopped on a bus, and headed to Reims Cathedral, site of many coronations. The cathedral is spectacular — larger than Notre-Dame. It was heavily damaged during World War I and rebuilt in Gothic glory over the next 20 years, just in time to survive World War II largely unscathed.
At some point, the cathedrals start to look similar — the architecture, transepts, stained-glass windows, and chapels begin to blend together. However, I still enjoy visiting them to appreciate the architecture and the incredible labor and craftsmanship that went into their construction.
Friday, May 29
We took the Métro to Paris Saint-Lazare again for a 45-minute train ride to Giverny — essentially the center of the Impressionist movement — to visit the Musée des Impressionnismes and Monet’s House and Gardens. We had heard so much about both and were looking forward to the visit. The Impressionists — Monet, Degas, Renoir, Pissarro, Morisot, Cassatt, and Manet — are my favorites; the gentle colors and simple scenes of nature, family life, and architecture speak to me.
The train stopped in Vernon, about 10 minutes from Giverny. We found the shuttle system a little confusing online, but the path to the charter buses was short and well-marked, so we hopped on, purchased our round-trip tickets, and headed to Giverny.
Our first stop was the Musée des Impressionnismes, a small, bi-level, strikingly modern yet discreet building about a 10-minute walk from Monet’s house. We walked through a beautifully arched, leafy tunnel to the entrance. The museum is light and bright, designed to follow the contours of the gently sloping terrain and blend with its surroundings. Monet’s paintings were the icing on the cake.
One bonus was that the museum usually exhibits works by many Impressionists. However, since 2026 is the centennial of Monet’s death and he is considered the father of Impressionism, the entire museum focused on works he painted during his first years in Giverny (1883–1890).
After a delicious lunch at a small sandwich shop, we made our way to the meeting point for our tour of the house and gardens. The heat was a little stifling, but our guide Marine arrived promptly at 1:00 p.m. to lead the way for our 10-person group.
Marine had a great solution: instead of guiding us through the hot, crowded house and garden, she walked us a short distance down Rue Claude Monet to a shaded spot, gave her overview, then led us back to the private group entrance so we could explore the house and gardens on our own.
We found ourselves in a shaded breezeway attached to Restaurant Baudy — formerly Hôtel Baudy, which hosted many French and American Impressionist painters, including Cézanne and Renoir. Marine’s presentation covered Monet’s professional and personal lives and included images of his works before she led us to an artist’s studio where Monet and other Impressionists gathered to drink, socialize, and debate. The studio remains much as it was in its heyday.
Marine then escorted us to the house and gardens, handed us our tickets, and invited us to explore the grounds at our own pace. She told us that the house and gardens had been inherited and inhabited by various Monet family members before eventually being bequeathed to the Académie des Beaux-Arts. The house and garden were neglected for about 30 years before Gérald Van der Kemp, curator at Château de Versailles, and his wife helped raised money to revitalize them.
Armed with that knowledge, Ron and I meandered through the lush garden before entering the house, where we toured the salon, three bedrooms, the dining room, and the kitchen. The last two rooms really caught my eye. The dining room is pale yellow, while the kitchen has classic French blue-and-white tiles. A staff member said the woodwork and tilework in both rooms are original and have been restored to their current splendor — a fitting tribute to their famous resident!
Saturday, May 30
Lyon — the final day trip! We were up at the crack of dawn because our train departed Gare de l’Est at 7:00 a.m. for the two-hour trip. We decided to grab a taxi instead of taking the Métro, as I’m not sure we were totally awake. The train ride was uneventful — again, it was nice to let someone else do the driving so we could relax.
Once we arrived in Lyon, we tried to figure out the bus system to Vieux Lyon, or Old Lyon — one of Europe’s largest intact Renaissance districts and a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We identified the bus number but couldn’t tell which stop to use; two were directly across the street from each other. Ron asked a fellow bystander in French, who politely pointed us to the opposite side of the street.
Our first activity in Vieux Lyon was the Musée Cinéma et Miniature, a beautiful villa holding more than 10,000 original costumes, props, sets, and miniatures from popular films and television shows, including Star Wars, Harry Potter, The Matrix, Beetlejuice, Marvel, and Batman. The bus adventure shortened our visit from one hour to about 45 minutes, but we enjoyed wandering through three floors of movie history.
We then proceeded to the plaza in front of Cathédrale Saint-Jean-Baptiste for our food tour. We had been instructed to meet by the fountain, which sounded simple. However, when we arrived, a Renaissance fair had taken over the plaza, and multiple booths blocked the fountain. I called the tour company, which said our guide, Marie-Klara, would meet us and would be wearing an orange lanyard. I was doubtful!
We stood on the cathedral steps and scanned the crowd for any hint of orange. About two minutes later, I received a text from Marie-Klara saying she was wearing a flowered dress with her lanyard — and there she was, about 15 feet away. Mission accomplished!
Another small tour — three people. The third member was Judy, an empty-nester from suburban Maryland. Her husband was in Lyon for a leadership and professional development program for nuclear energy personnel, so she joined him for some European fun while he worked.
Our first stop was Le Sirop de la Rue, a gourmet delicatessen in Old Town that specializes in Lyonnaise products. Frédérique, the store owner, described in French the delicacies lining his shelves while Marie-Klara translated. Afterward, he escorted us to the cellar, where our first bite of the tour was a delicious charcuterie board with several types of meat, cheese, and bread — accompanied by small glasses of wine, of course, plus water to cleanse our palates.
Our next stop was a locally owned restaurant to sample quenelle, a classic French dish made from creamed fish, usually pike, combined with breadcrumbs and egg, shaped into a gnocchi-like dough, poached, and served hot in a sauce such as crawfish. I’m not big on seafood, so Marie-Klara offered to request another protein, but I declined — a big part of travel is trying local food. I was pleasantly surprised — it was delicious, with no strong fish or crawfish taste and an exceptional texture.
After a couple of additional food-tour stops, Ron and I headed to the Lyon tourist office for our two-hour guided walking tour. These tours are customized; before we left, we were asked to share our interests, so we offered a few suggestions and said we would also rely on our guide to show us what interested him. Our guide, Jörg, arrived on time, and we were off. A native of Germany, he has lived in Lyon for many years and works full time in healthcare, giving tours on weekends to show off his adopted home.
We spent the next two hours walking Old Town while Jörg shared stories about Lyon. My favorite part was our funicular ride to the Roman amphitheaters, where concerts are still held, and Notre-Dame de Fourvière, the magnificent basilica on a hill overlooking the city.
Like the other European houses of worship we’ve visited, the interior was stunning. Although crowded on a Saturday afternoon, it offered welcome relief from the oppressive heat. Afterward, we went outside to the terrace café, stocked up on water, chatted, and enjoyed the view.
Our tour ended with a walk through a traboule — a secret passageway that winds through courtyards and connects the streets in Old Town. Jörg said the residents who live in apartments above those courtyards had to give permission to keep the traboules open; however, each traboule is locked at a set time every night, and only residents have the entry code.
We returned to the tourist office, thanked Jörg for his tour — he was an absolute delight with a dry sense of humor — and taxied to the train station for our trip to Paris. It’s about 290 miles from Paris to Lyon, which made for a long day even on a high-speed train. However, we agreed that the trip was worth it and that we should consider returning to Lyon for a longer stay; the city has the charm of Paris but a slower pace, a fantastic food scene, and good access for visits to places such as Marseille, Nice, and Geneva.
Our train to Paris was a little late leaving Lyon, but the trip was uneventful. When we debarked at the Gare in Paris, we made our way to the Metro to return to the Jacques. As we walked through the tunnels to the Metro line, we were accompanied by about 20 young Frenchmen decked out in football (soccer) gear — laughing, cavorting, singing, and having a great time. We were puzzled but didn’t think anything about it.
As luck would have it, they boarded our train and continued their merriment. A group of young people to our left joined in the fun — then they ALL continued singing and began jumping up and down with such force that the train was rocking! Ron started laughing with glee, then took out his phone and started capturing the celebration on video.
I asked a young man what the hell was going on. Since we had been out of the city all day and had not seen any news, we didn’t know that Paris Saint-Germain had captured the UEFA Champions League for the second consecutive year, defeating Arsenal in the final. Such a cause for celebration — and ironic that my company is the official IT partner for UEFA. It was a great experience being in the middle of such a celebration!
Sunday, May 31
Another day, another museum — this time the Musée d’Orsay, the former train station renovated into a museum that houses one of the world’s best collections of 19th-century and Impressionist art. Overall, I can’t get enough of museums. I love the art, of course, but I also appreciate the light, the airy feeling, and the solitude one can often enjoy while appreciating culture.
The musée was the only repeat activity from our first trip because I wanted to revisit the Impressionist gallery and see the Renoir exhibit. Neither disappointed. The museum was crowded, and reading the artwork descriptions was challenging, but I enjoyed both galleries. It was great to see works by Monet, Renoir, Cézanne, and Cassatt, as well as pieces by Van Gogh and Gauguin. I especially loved Monet’s series of paintings of Rouen Cathedral, capturing the façade at different times of day and in different light. He created more than 30 canvases and selected his favorite 20; five are now on permanent display at d’Orsay. I also enjoyed the fifth-floor terrace, which offers a sweeping view of Sacré-Cœur.
We left the museum and made our way to La Grande Épicerie, a spectacular market in the 7th arrondissement. The ground floor offers a huge variety of food items — premade takeaway options, made-to-order meals, and plenty of products to purchase and prepare at home. It also includes a marketplace with fresh fruits and vegetables, a cheesemonger, a butcher, a fishmonger, a pâtisserie, and a wine cellar, plus entire floors devoted to women’s and men’s clothing, tableware, kitchen goods, and personal items such as skincare. I’ve never seen anything like it — basically, a U.S.-style department store with a fantastic food market.
After grabbing snacks for takeaway and enjoying them in a small green space a block away — and after I returned to the épicerie for ice cream — we headed to Jardin du Luxembourg. The Jardin, a large park in the 6th arrondissement, was fantastic. The heat wave had subsided that morning and temperatures were near normal, so people were out in droves. We passed the water feature in the middle of the Jardin, where young and old alike rented miniature sailboats and set them afloat, waiting for the wind to return them to the edge; then we stopped by the bandstand for a brief musical interlude and continued to the Medici Fountain, an ornate fountain on the northeast side of the Jardin.
We made our way back to the Marais and stopped at Coton Doux to retrieve the shirts I purchased. The same manager was there, along with another salesperson who spoke excellent English, so we picked up my shirts — and I purchased three pairs of fun socks to bring home. All in all, not a bad way to spend a lovely Sunday in Paris!
Monday, June 1
The day arrived that we alternately dreaded and were glad to see: our last full day in Paris. The end of a vacation is usually bittersweet; I alternate between wanting more time away and being ready to return to a normal routine. You can’t stay on vacation forever!
After another breakfast on the go, we headed to Belleville, on the north side of Paris, for a street art tour. We appreciate and respect the creativity behind it and try to either take a street art tour in every city we visit or search for it on our own. This time, we opted for a well-reviewed organized tour we found on Get Your Guide.
We arrived at our appointed meeting place early and waited for the tour group. I made a quick dash to a nearby café for a bio break; when I returned, Ron was chatting with a single woman, an older couple, and a young woman. We found our people! The single woman was Olga, our Russian-born guide; the others were James, Nancy, and granddaughter Olivia, who live in the Dallas area.
One of our first stops wasn’t a piece of street art; we visited the home of legendary French singer Édith Piaf, who was born in Belleville. Piaf’s life was filled with tragedy; she died in 1963 at only 47 and was buried in Père Lachaise. Since we visited her grave on our previous trip, it was only fitting that we also visit where she grew up.
We spent the morning wandering Belleville, admiring street art and learning from Olga. For example, some street art is protected by law because it’s commissioned, and altering or defacing it can result in a fine. We also learned that protected street art cannot exceed three meters — about 10 feet — above street level.
One of my favorite stops was a passageway whose walls were covered with vibrant mosaics created by residents of a nearby apartment building under the supervision of local artists. The residents had adorned the walls with tiles topped with deeply personal images: fathers and daughters, mothers and daughters, best friends or relatives, family gatherings, historical family photos, and Nelson Mandela. There was also a fantastic colorful mosaic of an African woman balancing a basket on her head.
I find street art incredibly appealing and enjoy seeking it out on our trips; the creativity and personal nature of the work are compelling. As someone who can’t draw a straight line with a ruler, I think any type of art is cause for celebration and enjoyment.
Next stop: lunch! We found a burger joint in Belleville with great reviews, so we decided to go. When we arrived, we discovered it was only take-away. We looked at each other, agreed that we were fine with that, and ordered burgers and fries, then found a wide step on the sidewalk and began to chow down. Definitely not your standard restaurant experience, but a great burger nonetheless!
After lunch, Ron suggested we hike to Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, a hilltop park in Belleville and one of the highest points in the city. I agreed that we needed more green space, so off we went. Not gonna lie — it was quite a haul up a steep grade. However, we were rewarded at the top with sloping terrain, verdant fields, and a great view of La Défense, the business district outside Paris.
We returned to the Jacques to rest and clean up for dinner. Ron does a great job finding places to eat, and Envie le Banquet — a block from the Jacques — was excellent. It offers an upscale, farm-to-table buffet with separate stations for cheese, charcuterie, bread, wine, side dishes, main courses, and pâtisserie. Diners can visit each station as often as they wish but are encouraged to take small portions — only what they can finish — to minimize waste. The main course station is the only one where the staff decides the portion size.
Ron ordered a cocktail, and I ordered a glass of wine. Our server brought our drinks and small plates, and off we went. My first stop was the cheese station; after our wine and cheese pairing, I couldn’t wait to sample — and I found Brie and Comté, my favorites from the tasting. I also visited the chilled side station for small portions of puréed carrots, with the consistency of hummus, and a grated carrot salad. After those small bites and a return trip to the cheese station, I chose gnocchi from the main course line. The soft, pillowy pasta and sauce were excellent.
My final stop was the pastry station. Since losing weight, I’ve worked to keep my sweet tooth at bay, but this was vacation, so I enjoyed several modestly-sized treats: silky chocolate mousse, a small slice of Basque cheesecake, and a small slice of lemon cake. A perfect way to end a great trip!
Friday, May 22
We made it to Paris easily enough.
After all those months of learning how to sleep just about anywhere, the flight didn’t worry me much. I had a feeling Kirk would spend the night catching up on one show or another while I happily disappeared into a few hours of sleep, waking just as morning found us over France.
The drive into the city was smooth until it wasn’t. The closer we came to our hotel, the slower we moved, and before long our driver was weaving through one side street after another. He finally laughed and explained that a weekend market had taken over Rue de Bretagne. We had reached the closest point possible unless we wanted to spend another 30 minutes touring the neighborhood by car.
Ah bon.
It’s one of the first French expressions I ever learned, and it has become surprisingly useful. It doesn’t really mean “that’s great,” nor does it mean “that’s terrible.” It’s simply a graceful way of accepting that life has chosen a different plan than the one you had in mind. Fair enough. I understand.
So we climbed out, grabbed our bags, and began the slow procession toward the hotel.
The wheels of our suitcases announced our arrival long before we did, clacking across the uneven sidewalks as we zigzagged between café tables, market stalls overflowing with every imaginable trinket, and what felt like half the population of Paris. Everywhere we looked people lingered over coffee, browsed baskets of fruit and flowers, or wandered without any particular destination. It was impossible to be annoyed by the crowds because they were responding to the same invitation we were. The weather was perfect — one of those days that quietly insists you spend every possible minute outside.
We dropped our bags in the lobby of Hotel Jacques de Molay, ducked into their surprisingly well-equipped little fitness room to change clothes, and were back on the street within minutes. We must have looked like two kids let loose on the first day of summer vacation, eager to see what waited around the next corner.
Knowing ourselves well enough by now, we agreed that every good day starts with food. Just down the street we found a small family-run sandwich shop.
It was absolute chaos.
Market shoppers squeezed past tourists, conversations bounced off the walls, and there seemed to be twice as many customers as the little shop had room for. For a moment it felt like more excitement than either of us had bargained for. But we reminded ourselves that we weren’t keeping anyone’s schedule but our own.
Eventually a small corner table opened up. I settled in where I could watch the steady rhythm of people coming and going, while Kirk happily disappeared into a little catching up of his own. It felt like the perfect place to begin discovering Paris — not by rushing from landmark to landmark, but by simply sitting still long enough to let the city introduce itself.
Following our snack, on our way to the Paris Catacombs, we made an unexpected stop at the Museum of the Liberation of Paris. Kirk had seen there was a special exhibition featuring the work of Robert Capa — the renowned war photographer—and, well…you know me. I’m always happy to tag along.
I can’t speak for Kirk, but I was immediately struck by the building itself. Knowing that this former wartime shelter had been transformed into a museum of remembrance and education caught me so completely off guard that I nearly forgot to pull out my phone. I did manage to take one photograph, though, and it perfectly captured the tone of the visit for me. It was one of the first interpretive panels, accompanying an image of Hitler posing triumphantly before the Eiffel Tower.
Throughout the remainder of our visit, I found myself returning to that haunting photograph. It lingered in my thoughts long after I had walked on, serving as a quiet reminder of just how close history can feel when it’s presented with such honesty.
I’m grateful we took the time to visit — not only to experience Capa’s extraordinary photographs, but also to see the care with which this former command post has been transformed into a place of reflection, remembrance, and learning. It’s difficult to leave without carrying at least a little of its message with you.
As the afternoon gave way to evening, Kirk — knowing my fondness for a good ghost story—quickly agreed that, if the opportunity presented itself, we should visit the Paris Catacombs during our stay. Fortunately, while keeping our first day’s itinerary intentionally light, we were able to secure tickets in advance. Given how popular the catacombs are, it felt like a bit of good fortune.
Slipping on the audio headset, I stood quietly in the half-light, waiting for the narration to begin. As we descended deeper beneath the streets of Paris, I counted the steps until somewhere around 125, when a single drop of water landed squarely on my bare head, sending an involuntary shiver down my spine.
Beyond that brief interruption, silence became our companion. The stillness was broken only occasionally by the hushed whispers of fellow visitors, each seemingly aware that this was not merely another attraction, but a place deserving of quiet respect.
We were underground for only about an hour, but it felt exactly right. Long enough to pause, reflect, and pay our respects to the millions whose remains now rest beneath one of the world’s busiest cities. It offered a rare moment of stillness before we found ourselves completely over our heads — not beneath the streets of Paris, but in the unforgettable whirlwind that the next several days had in store.
Saturday, May 23
With as much excitement as I could muster for breakfast on our first full day, we practically tripped over ourselves on the way to Le Ju’. Every photo I had looked at online had me looking forward to those first bites. The colorful umbrellas whimsically dancing overhead only added to the charming streetside atmosphere.
Unfortunately, we were told they would be opening a bit later than expected.
“Ah bon!”
“Pas de problème.”
Having grown used to the need to be flexible with our plans, it only took us a couple of minutes to find a great bite nearby. That’s one of the things I love about Paris — we’re never too far away from good food.
The Boulangerie du Marais, with its enormous selection and wonderfully charming employees, was more than happy to help us navigate the display case. They were also gracious enough to let us parlez un peu français avec eux!
As we were leaving, Kirk immediately trotted over to a burgeoning pop-up market that was still putting on its finishing touches. The young woman running one of the vegetable stands patiently endured a quick round of pantomime, punctuated with the occasional “Merci!” tossed in for good measure. Kirk wandered away looking immensely satisfied… proudly sporting one massive banana.
So effing cute.
Today is going to be très amusant! I can just tell.
From the very beginning, our plans had always included a tour of Notre-Dame Cathedral. These days, it’s almost an automatic stop for anyone visiting Paris.
Having heard a handful of opinions about the reconstruction, I politely nodded and tried not to carry those thoughts with me. All that mattered was that Kirk enjoyed the experience — and that I managed to leave without accidentally causing another catastrophe.
As we stood off to the side waiting for our guide to gather us up, we watched small herds of tourists march away with their own groups. Thankfully, ours ended up being delightfully small. The young woman leading us was exceptionally knowledgeable and happily answered the steady stream of questions coming from our little crew.
As we slowly approached Notre-Dame, she pointed out something that really resonated with me. The sculptures and carvings surrounding the entrances were created during a time when many people couldn’t read. Like the pages of an elaborate picture book, each portal tells its own story through astonishing detail. I wish I had the vocabulary to do them justice, but instead I’ll simply encourage you to see them for yourself someday.
Inside, I experienced the cathedral in my own way: as a people watcher.
Some visitors entered as though it were simply part of their daily routine. A blessing here. A quiet prayer there. Every so often, the gentle chiming of a bell would accompany a hushed reminder that this was still a place of worship. The reverent silence would swell for only a moment before the whispers and footsteps gradually returned. It was easy to understand why people struggled to contain their excitement.
Within our quietly connected little group, we learned about the history and significance of the stained glass windows. Designed to educate as much as inspire, every pane reflected incredible purpose and craftsmanship. The vivid colors, the immense sanctuary, and the way the morning light filtered through the glass combined to create something genuinely magical.
By the end of the tour, everyone walked away a little more informed — and perhaps even a little blessed.
Ready for something requiring considerably less contemplation, Kirk agreed to accompany me on a visit to a rather specialized bookstore.
Please don’t ask why.
For reasons known mostly to me, “comic books” had been sitting near the top of my list of things to look for in Paris. During my internet rabbit holes, I kept stumbling across Aapoum Bapoum. Described as one of the city’s top destinations for comic book enthusiasts, it stubbornly remained on our itinerary until I finally found a place to squeeze it in.
As we wandered along the Quai on our way to visit the bouquinistes, I realized we were only a short detour away. Before long, we were stepping through the front door.
I honestly didn’t know what to expect.
Within minutes I found myself happily adrift among towering stacks of graphic novels and beautifully illustrated manga.
The young man behind the counter was incredibly kind. After patiently deciphering my broken, tangled, and thoroughly mangled French, he explained that he wasn’t aware of any stores specializing specifically in vintage French comics. Instead, he enthusiastically pointed me toward a few of his favorite vintage comic shops elsewhere in the city.
Following one final round of charades, he introduced me to several of his favorite French graphic artists that were available in the store. Naturally, this required another leisurely round of artistic peekaboo through the shelves.
Eventually I settled on a couple of intriguing books to enjoy later.
All the while, I kept one eye on Kirk, whose retreating figure seemed to edge closer and closer to the front door every time I blinked.
Our next destination required nothing more strenuous than continuing our stroll along the Seine.
Nestled beside the river are the iconic dark green wooden boxes of the bouquinistes. By day, they swing open to reveal books, prints, postcards, and every imaginable curiosity. I remembered seeing them during our last visit but never taking the time to truly browse.
Perhaps I secretly hoped Kirk would fall hopelessly in love with dusty secondhand books or an old vintage postcard.
Within moments I realized he was never going to buy a book written entirely in French — not even a gorgeous collector’s edition coffee table book.
Still, he happily browsed. Every now and then he’d pick up some interesting little thingamabob, inspect it thoughtfully, return it to its place, and continue his leisurely wandering.
It was not to be.
I’m glad we spent time with the bouquinistes, if for no other reason than experiencing a tradition that’s more than four centuries old and so quintessentially Parisian that it has earned UNESCO World Heritage recognition.
Now if they’d only stock a few calendars featuring kittens, they might really make some money…
With our backpacks slowly accumulating picnic supplies for later in the day, we were also looking for excuses to spend as much time outdoors as possible. Google Maps showed an “Outdoor Sculpture Museum” only a short walk away, so naturally we headed off in search of culture.
Instead, we found a cluster of outdoor fitness equipment.
After retracing our steps — and laughing at ourselves for a solid minute — we claimed a generous patch of shade nearby and enjoyed a light snack while watching a collection of enthusiastic sun worshippers stretched out along the opposite bank of the Seine.
Later, as we crossed over to Île Saint-Louis on our way to our cheese discovery workshop, we gave our sunbathing neighbors one final wave while making a concerted effort not to make too much eye contact.
Knowing our afternoon was destined to become a decidedly cheesy affair, we figured whatever samples they served would double nicely as dinner.
Arriving nearly an hour early, we happily poked and prodded our way through the museum, fromagerie, and little shop like proper tourists. Just before the workshop began, an entire herd of fellow Americans appeared at the entrance.
Downstairs, a long table awaited us.
Once everyone had settled in, our host encouraged us to forget whatever rules we’d heard about pairing cheeses with wines.
“Don’t let anyone tell you what goes with what,” we were told. “Decide for yourselves.”
What followed was almost too Gouda to be true.
Kirk absolutely loved every minute of it, becoming more familiar with the folks across the table with each passing sample.
Meanwhile, I sat there wondering just how much better the whole experience might have been with a sleeve of Ritz crackers… and a Diet Mountain Dew.
Stuffed with more cheese than either of us cared to admit, we wandered back through the Paris evening feeling pleasantly overfed and wonderfully unhurried. Tomorrow would bring an entirely different adventure, but for one more night we were content to simply let Paris be Paris.
Sunday, May 24
This morning, walking just across the street and down to the corner, we sat alongside the open street-facing window for a quiet breakfast at Le Sancerre.
I couldn’t tell you what I ordered for breakfast that morning. I was too excited about spending the day rummaging through Parisian flea markets.
What I do remember is the conversation.
Somehow, between bites of whatever it was we were eating and the last few sips of coffee, Kirk and I found ourselves doing what we’ve done so many times over the years — planning our next adventure before we’d even finished the one we were on.
Twenty years together deserved something special. By the time we stood up from the table, Italy had quietly claimed the honor.
Plucking our belongings from our chairs, we shoved the remainder of a baguette into Kirk’s backpack and headed out for another rendezvous with adventure here in Paris!
I’m constantly preoccupied by a peculiar longing to browse through stacks of oddities, the way I’ve done so many times with my sister Shelia and her husband Stan out in the antique malls around Joplin. Picking through tchotchkes and a sea of bric-a-brac, we always found something to bring home as a reminder of our time together. The small green plastic airplane desk lamp she bought me is one such treasure that still lights up our little loft in the evening after all these years!
Fortunately Kirk shared my excitement about today’s adventure at the Marche aux Puces!
There is just something so irresistible about boxes filled with things that once mattered deeply to someone else. Old photographs. Tarnished silver. Handwritten postcards. Keys that no longer unlock anything. Somewhere among the forgotten objects is a story waiting for someone curious enough to imagine it.
Before our little escapade began, I developed an offbeat treasure hunt list. Because who doesn’t love a well-planned, organized, day of leisure controlled by a heavy handed itinerary!?! (Remember, I’m the one with the control issues right?)
Kirk played along for the most part and was rewarded with a couple of pictures in front of some insanely priced statues that he cautiously crept away from after almost toppling one over mid pose! We LOLed and made a run for it!
My itinerary was quickly scrapped. Not because we couldn’t make it work. We just agreed to “go with it” after a while and found ourselves swept away through the stalls!
It turns out that “winging it” has its advantages. Not only did we eventually see everything we had hoped for, as a bonus we found lots of little things to bring home as souvenirs!
With so many things to gawk at, we almost forgot the vintage postcards Kirk had written atop his treasure map. Fortunately the store “Presents and Passés” practically fell into our laps and we found ourselves swept away finally treasures!
Following a quick snack and a jolting ride back to our little neck of the woods, we relaxed briefly before heading out for an evening of jazz on the river.
Aware of the popularity of jazz in France, we wanted to find a local venue where we could enjoy an evening of good music along with a morsel to nibble on.
At Le Son de la Terre, a barge anchored along the Seine, we were taken below deck to a small, very intimately staged area where we enjoyed a wonderfully relaxing meal. We spent the evening among other sun-kissed vacationers being thoroughly charmed by Michel El Malem and his entourage of bandmates. The music was easy to enjoy, and each member of the ensemble was great about getting into the swing of the evening.
As we sat together, enjoying the delicious meal and amazing music, I caught Kirk occasionally bopping his head side to side to the beat of the music as he leaned in, listening. I forget he is a fellow band nerd, like me! Très mignon, no!?!
Monday, May 25
This morning we ran downstairs with our luggage bursting at the zipper and smelling faintly of mildew, travel, and yesterday’s sweat, making a mad dash to the laundromat down the street!
Sorting through our plans for the day as we bounced back and forth between the humming machines, the morning passed surprisingly effortlessly. By the time the wash was folded, we had both agreed that easy access to laundry facilities would become a permanent addition to our hotel search criteria.
The only thing missing was an ice cold bottle of Coca Cola with peanuts dropped in* for a bit of “Je ne sais quoi.”
*Maybe this is a “Southern” thing but as a kid, my family spent many a Saturday morning at the Pruitt City Laundromat enjoying that particular treat as kids.
Considering the next side adventure was completely Kirk’s idea, I keenly tagged along to see what was what. I’m sure a part of the reason he wanted to explore the Louis Vuitton Fondation was the architecture. As we approached the museum, I noticed how it seemed to undulate slowly in the beaming afternoon sun. Having seen a few pictures online, I wasn’t prepared for how beautiful the futuristic-looking marvel would be in person!
Entering the building, we dove in among the throng of museum goers as we were quickly introduced to the work of Alexander Calder.
Although I had no familiarity with the artist, it took very little time to get caught up in his wonderfully creative world. Like a kid, I kept stopping at different pieces. Frozen in place, I occasionally lost track of time (and Kirk as well)! After a while, I realized why I kept gravitating to the wire sculptures. Oddly, it didn’t matter the size, big or small, they seemed to all share the same almost “alive” quality, especially within the space containing The Cirque!
Admittedly I loved the exhibit and while I’m sure there is a perfectly reasonable explanation for all the movement I didn’t need it, just the magical moment it provided!
Good call, honey!
After months of handwringing and apprehension, we were finally standing on the grounds of Roland-Garros. Like two happy hound dogs, we dashed around the grounds taking in all the sights, sounds, and smells.
Everything was super-easy to locate, especially the massive fan shop — mainly because there was a line a mile long for us and all our eager companions to navigate in the hopes of finding something “just right” to bring back home with us.
Seriously, though. There was so much to look inside the gift store at that I almost felt compelled to tie a piece of string around Kirk’s wrist so I wouldn’t lose him in the chaos!
After a little express shopping and a plundered snack, we made it to our sun-soaked seats in Court Philippe-Chatrier only minutes before our match. Kirk, making himself comfortable in his usual fashion, quickly became very chummy with a young lady seated to his left. She had gotten tickets for the earlier matches that day as well and while now sporting a lovely deepening shade of red across her face, neck, and shoulders, she seemed to be having the time of her life! Oh to be young again!
Throughout the contest both players were well-supported by the enthusiastic fandom. The match itself was well played and although both competitors were French, one in particular, Gael Monfils, quickly garnered the most support from the boisterous crowd. Having announced his pending retirement following his final match at this year’s tournament, it seemed everyone wanted him to know they appreciated his hard work and tenacity!
The game played on into the night as we clapped and cheered the match away.
Every now and then I found myself looking over to my left. Instead of watching the court, I was watching Kirk experience his third Grand Slam in person. The smile on his face never really disappeared.
This match was the main reason for this trip and I am so happy we were able to make it happen for him!
Following a short walk after exiting Roland-Garros, we looked for a ride back to the hotel and found a small group of taxis in a small island of green glowing taxi lights. Swarming the drivers along with a bevy of other tennis fans, I greeted the first, admittedly stern-faced gentleman in my best happy traveler voice saying, “Bon soir monsieur”.
Before I knew it, the driver and I were stumbling through a conversation about where we were headed while Kirk happily supplied just enough corrections to make sure we didn’t end up in Timbuktu.
Our ride was filled with a stammering mix of French and English punctuated with laughter and only the occasional moment of silence while I tripped over my tongue for the next question I wanted to ask. By the end of the ride, our new friend commented that he would like to visit the U.S. Explaining that his interests were much more hedonistic, we laughed along and agreed he would have a blast along the glowing neon shores of Miami!
Understanding his vacation interests, it all made sense! I mentioned it wasn’t a place where my husband and I were interested in going but I could appreciate his passion and assured him he would absolutely have a fun adventure!
We laughed our way through the rest of the ride. As we climbed out of the cab, he handed me a rose — a completely unexpected gesture that somehow felt perfectly fitting after such an enjoyable conversation.
Happiest of adventures, Zizou!
Tuesday, May 26
There’s always a “moment” when we’re doing something new for the first time (like taking the train today from Paris to Bayeux).
Glancing around as we shambled toward the last car, the departure time mercilessly ticking away, we struggled to find the carriage matching our reservation. After nervously whispering questions to equally puzzled passengers, we simply began hopping on and off each coach, fingers crossed, hoping to stumble onto our seats.
Eventually, pausing beside one of the cars to gather our wits, we noticed a tiny red LED display glowing just inside the doorway.
Et, voilà!
It didn’t take long to find our seats after that.
Settling in quickly, Kirk spent the morning enjoying the scenery of the passing cities, lush farm lands, and amazing beauty of the landscape.
I pressed play on Spotify, and Blue Lines by Massive Attack became the soundtrack for my own journey.
While preparing for our beach tour of Normandy, we had decided it could be even a bit more interesting if we spent the night before in one of the local towns.
The departure point for our tour was the city of Bayeux, so our choice was fairly simple. To be sure, we glanced at a couple of other cities winking at us from behind their well-manicured and sumptuously decorated stock photos, but the allure of this smaller, medieval town absolutely piqued our interest the most!
The more we peeled back the online articles, the more inviting options we uncovered.
Arriving in Bayeux, one of the things that struck us was how little it seemed to have been touched by World War II. Asking around, we were told Bayeux escaped much of the destruction because it held comparatively little strategic value once the landings began. Unlike so many neighboring towns, it was largely bypassed as military attention shifted elsewhere.
The city itself gave us a very lively and carefree vibe!
As we plan our trips, we always look for good places to land, lunch, and lay. We may not travel with Tinkerbell but we strategize well enough to feel at home wherever we go.
Finding “Selma Alabama” in Bayeux, France was both startling and exciting. WHY? is there such a restaurant here. WHAT? is on the menu. WHEN? are we going to go???
Stepping inside, it looked like a tiny, almost ordinary café. A distinct “coffeehouse” vibe greeted us and we thought we had misunderstood the concept.
Momentarily retreating, we scratched our combined heads and Googled. Yep, we were at the right place. Re-Googling, we walked inside and stumbled through enough French and universally recognized gestures for “hungry” when the young man at the counter, serving all smiles and understanding, escorted us to a comfy pair of seats tucked away in a much larger dining space than we noticed from the doorway.
We giggled and snapped pictures throughout our meal while chatting with the servers about the restaurant. The inspiration for the bistro was the owner’s homage to the civil rights movement in Selma, Alabama.
The music selection accompanying our brief stay ranged from Aretha Franklin’s “Respect” to Marvin Gaye’s “What’s Going On,” and it drifted along with me as I took advantage of a few minutes of alone time, shutter-bugging my way around the café!
I’m sure I didn’t look like a tourist AT ALL!
Lunch was simple but delicious. The perfect combo for our continued efforts of cobblestone cruising…..
As we were walking off our lunchtime bite, we noticed the amazing selection of hats at Les Chapeaux d’Angèle!
Having kept an eye on the weather forecast, we could tell more sunny skies were on our horizon so I wanted to check out their selection more closely!
I’ve always known I can be a bit of a “difficult” fit so I wasn’t expecting much.
Entering the shop, however, we were greeted by the lovely and very statuesque owner as she was opening for the day. During the conversation that followed, I attempted to use all the basic language skills I had to offer. Politely, she smiled back, recommending this or that hat, pointing me towards any one of a number of mirrors resting nearby.
As we spoke, I realized to my embarrassment that I must have said something out of turn.
Having mentioned my excitement for our upcoming Normandy tour the following morning, I saw her face very briefly grimace. It evaporated quickly as she smiled and corrected me, “But sir, you are already here! This is Normandy!”
Her accent melted away any hint of annoyance as I stood there slightly rose cheeked and mildly flustered.
She and I laughed over my geographical faux pas while Kirk stood idly by, grinning like an otter enjoying the sight of the bear realizing he’d just sat on a hornet’s nest.
I started downloading “Normandy for Dummies” before we hit the next corner!
Because we have a tendency to be early, not because either of us have “issues”. Let’s call it a “quirk” shall we? I always keep an eye out for small side adventures nearby that might help while away the extra time. As a happy accident, we found enough time to visit the Museum of the Battle of Normandy before checking into our hotel.
The trek to get us there was definitely on the odd side. Yes. I complicated things « un peu » but the small museum was well worth the extra steps!
Hoping for a light mental amuse bouche before tomorrow’s main course of exploration, Kirk and I marched inside.
Yes, it was warm inside, but we both found plenty to appreciate. More importantly, we left feeling better prepared to understand the magnitude of what we would experience the following day.
For dinner, we had seen what appeared to be a pop-up spot with a nice selection of drink and light bites.
The patio/dining space was très mignon and surprisingly had very few patrons. As we nibbled and plucked away at the bites the young ladies brought to our table, the restaurant began to fill.
Music playing in the background among plush greenery neatly landscaped in boxes scattered around the patio, which filled up pretty quickly as the sun began to dip below the buildings nearby. The crowd that gathered was noticeably younger. A fun, hip (if it’s still okay to use that word) crowd of bouncy 20somethings had trickled in and taken roost! Greeting one another with kisses on the cheeks and the occasional shriek of excitement, it was great to see the next generation having such a good time!
Bayeux has made quite an impression on this grouchy old guy. What began as a convenient place to spend the night before our Normandy tour became one of the unexpected highlights of our trip. We both agreed we’d happily return one day to explore Gold, Juno, and Sword Beaches more slowly and pay our respects to the British and Canadian soldiers whose stories deserve every bit as much remembrance.
For now, though, tomorrow was waiting.
Neither of us had any idea just how much it would stay with us. We were just excited for our to go on our next adventure!
Wednesday, May 27
It bears saying that we prepare ahead. Sometimes two — or no, three days ahead.
Today as I’m packing my bags of bits and bites, I have yet again dropped a can of tuna, beans, and bell peppers into my bag. I have ma serviette, ma fourchette, et un couteax just in case, but I just don’t have the nerve to open that particular can in the van!
I’m almost willing to bet it will come back on the plane avec moi!
My feelings for today were already très compliquées. I wasn’t quite sure what to expect. Part of me was anxious, driven by my ignorance of so much of the history. Part of me wondered how I’d react to stories I suspected would be more graphic than I usually handle. And another part of me was simply excited for whatever the day might bring.
Grateful that our visit to the beaches of Normandy was going to be a small group experience, we piled into the backseat of our tour van with the rest of our cohorts!
Mathieu, our driver and tour guide for the day, with his charming accent and pleasant demeanor, shared his knowledge and insights about the area as we rode along to our first destination, Sainte-Mère-Eglise.
As we parked, I immediately noticed the 82nd Airborne Museum off to the side of the parking lot. Realizing we wouldn’t have time for a visit inside, I was determined to get close enough to take a pic and hopefully add another mental keepsake to the growing collection I’ll carry back home.
Shepherding us further into the small town, Matthieu told us a handful of stories about the impact of the 82nd Airborne unit on the town’s history. Pointing to the effigy of a paratrooper hanging from the Church of Notre-Dame, he explained its existence.
Taking advantage of the opportunity to visit the sanctuary of the church, I was shocked by the striking stained glass War Memorial resting just above our heads. Designed by Paul Renaud, the commemorative panels were unlike any church windows I’d ever seen.
Both panels were very humbling to see in person and a very welcome experience to share with Kirk!
Since coming home I’ve read a wonderful article titled “Sainte-Mère-Eglise — Where Faith and the 82nd Airborne Met”. If this little church captures your imagination the way it did mine, it’s well worth reading.
We didn’t spend a huge amount of time in town, but we agreed it was easily well worth our time.
Realizing our day had only just begun, I scooched in by Kirk and Kevin (our newly acquainted bus buddy from New York) continuing our historic adventure.
Utah Beach
Stripping off my hat as we entered Utah Beach, I was able to catch a quick pic with Kirk before being given a very thorough and yet brief recount of the heroic events that began on June 6, 1944.
Standing there beside the remnants of a bunker as the breeze whispered through the sea lyme grass, I found it quietly calming even among the hundreds of other wandering tourists passing me by.
Given the opportunity to explore for a bit before hopping back into the van, Kirk and I went on our own adventures. As I navigated briefly around the outskirts of the Musée du Debarquement de Utah Beach, I noticed a large green sculpture off to the side of an abandoned bunker and couldn’t resist nosing about. The Trees of Freedom sculpture captured my curiosity, so I snapped a few pics as a reminder for later.
Returning early to our van, I went looking for more information about the project and couldn’t find much to suggest the program is still active. That almost made me happier I’d stopped to notice it. Even if the program has faded, the sculpture and its message clearly haven’t.
Circqueville en Bessin
On our way to Omaha Beach, we stopped at what felt like an odd fork in the road. It was easy to see we wouldn’t be alone so, owing to everyone’s willingness to “follow the leader,” we marched along to what was once a heavily fortified German clifftop artillery battery.
Bearing in mind the mission for the U.S. Rangers on June 6, 1944, their success was absolutely amazing.
This area, now an open-air museum where you can experience so much of its history, has been so well-preserved that I couldn’t help but feel somehow altered by the experience.
Along the way, I did catch an unexpected photo op with Kirk and Kevin! As I had already disappeared down the concrete steps into the bunker, I quietly called out to them from my hiding place. Huge grins greeted me as I already had my phone out, camera on, as they contorted themselves to find me lurking in the darkness!
I will be happy to have these pics to look back on when I’m old(er) and grey(er)!
Omaha Beach
By the time we pulled onto Omaha Beach, my head was reeling. With his comforting voice, Mathieu began reminding us of the history of this beach, the difficult battle, and the bravery of the soldiers who fought for the freedom of his country.
Later in the day, when Mathieu and I had a moment of privacy, I asked him what was his favorite part of his job. He said it was when he meets the grandchildren of the soldiers in his stories. Sharing a laugh and listening to their stories makes retelling their grandfather’s stories all the more enjoyable.
He added that he also loves historical research, spending his off days revisiting news archives from the region in search of new morsels of information to share.
During most of our time on Omaha Beach, I kept noticing people enjoying themselves on the beach and along the coastline. Having just enough time to catch a horse trainer out for a trot, I snapped a pic, slid my phone back into my pocket, and enjoyed watching everyone enjoying themselves!
Colleville-sur-Mer/Normandy American Cemetery and Memorial
Our final tour stop was unexpected.
Driving into the parking lot, I realized we were at the American Cemetery and Memorial, but I think our timing was almost too perfectly scripted.
Mathieu had gotten us to the cemetery in time to share some incredible stories of the fallen soldiers who were resting here. Mentioning a pair of cousins, an uncle and nephew, along with 45 pairs of brothers, and a father and his son who were interred side by side, we were encouraged to walk through the cemetery and memorial garden to pay our respects.
I had only just stepped down into the rose garden to take one quick photo when I heard the request for a moment of silence.
Everyone paused the next few moments as “Taps” drifted across the cemetery. Watching the flags being slowly lowered into the waiting arms of the soldiers below, I found it impossible to stop the tears from falling.
With a huge amount of gratitude, I will always appreciate the day we had been gifted — the perfect ending to our incredible day of reflection and adventure. Riding back to Bayeux, I was happy to have spent the day with Kirk strolling through history while creating a little of our own together.
Thursday, May 28
Every evening, before heading to the main train station the following morning, we packed snacks into our sacks. By now it had become something of a ritual. We’d arrive at the station with far too many tempting choices staring back at us from the corridor shops and, like kids turned loose in Kroger, we’d pluck this and that from the shelves, stuffing our packs like Labyrinth’s Trash People.
Today we continue the tradition! At least we’re well supplied in case the train breaks down!
*Before leaving the hotel I’d even copied a little emergency French into my itinerary: Il nous faut aller à la Vranken Pommery.
**Mercifully, we never had to test my pronunciation.
During our online explorations we found an interesting opportunity lying in wait upon our arrival in Reims. Le Musée de La Reddition (Museum of the Surrender) rests within an easy walking distance from the train depot. Realizing we would have enough time for a brief visit, Kirk and I took off in that direction as soon as we had gotten our bearings.
The location isn’t anything grand to look at from the outside. In fact, we weren’t sure we had arrived at the right place when, as we were waiting for the doors to open, we noticed a growing number of unperturbed teenagers clustering along the sidewalk nearby. Nervously unsure of which door we were meant to enter, I asked one of the young men closest to us for directions. He very kindly returned the greeting, mentioning that the museum we were going to was (in fact) part of their high school. I remember finding that mini-factoid especially interesting.
Recognizing not every high school shares the same space as one of the most historic moments in the world, we stepped inside the building where Nazi Germany signed their unconditional surrender on May 7, 1945.
Once again, I found myself trying to reconcile the ordinary building around me with the extraordinary events that had unfolded inside its walls. The deeper I walked into the museum, the more impossible that became.
Somehow, the final reconciliatory exhibit stayed with me as much as the surrender room itself.
Ending a war is one thing.
Learning to forgive afterward may be the greater miracle.
With that last glance, we departed for the Pommery, both of us wishing we could spend more time at the musée.
Pommery Tour
I’ve been known to buy a book based on the artwork on the cover, so I doubt that Kirk was surprised when I sent him the link to the Vranken Pommery with a note attached begging to go. The pics of the cellar alone had me hungry for more. The thought of tossing in a “culinary” experience was ganache on the gateau!
We arrived with plenty of time, which meant we happily flitted around the enormous reception hall, snapping pictures until our tour began.
After a colorful descent into the surprisingly brisk cellars of the house, our tour group rambled through a variety of chambers, each housing either stacks of champagne or large artwork installations which caused me to stop for a minute or two before remembering I needed to stick with the group!
There were also very large and elaborate carvings along the walls of certain caves. Huge and very intricate, the artwork was stunning. The story of Gustave Navlet (the artist) was also quite interesting. According to the stories, he spent two years alone sculpting the limestone walls with only candlelight to use for illumination. Whether entirely fact or fan fiction, the story claims he eventually lost his eyesight from years of carving by candlelight. Looking around those remarkable sculptures, it felt like an astonishing price to have paid.
Aside from the artwork, which ranged from whimsical to abstract and once fairly bizarre….you really should judge for yourself which is which….the information about the management of the property as well as the champagne manufacturing process was interesting to hear.
Learning of the effort and care required for each bottle, I found myself licking my lips at the thought of sampling a bit later.
Culinary Experience
Something to keep in mind is that I really rarely drink. No. For real! Today, though, I’ve slurred the typing of this note into my phone (so much) it’s borderline embarrassing! With auto-correct, switching from text to emojis at practically every other word, (it) seems on the verge of needing a separate vacation in order to avoid the barrage I’m dropping on its wee keyboard!
So as the salmon tartare landed in front of me with the first pairing of champagne, I steadied myself…and took a very satisfying first bite.
When our enthusiastic server dropped the pot of Traditional Lamb Navarin “en Cocotte,” you deserve to know that I didn’t have a clue what I was diving into.
He smiled encouragingly, “Bon appétit!”
The lamb stew, disappearing all too swiftly, was incredibly hearty!
Honestly, what I wasn’t prepared for was how much I loved it. Literally every bite of tender lamb swimming in the broth was intensely rich and satisfying. Yes, there were the traditional veggies that had soaked up the delectable sauce, each tender to the bite, offering slight hints of sweetness to complement the hearty meat….the only thing missing was a little something to sop it up with. Mentioning that thought to Kirk, we laughed about it being a “country boy” thing as I dove back in for another bite!
Regardless of my momentary lightheadedness from the beverages, lunch was worth every penny.
Daddy would’ve loved the lamb.
Momma would’ve asked for the recipe.
I’d have been standing in the kitchen, licking the spoon clean.
By the end I had tried to act with restraint.
I had failed.
Every bite we were served at the Vranken Pommery domain was equal parts deliciously tempting and irresistible to my knife, my fork, and at times even my fingers. Even after the last bite had disappeared, phantom flavors lingered on my fingertips. It was one of those meals that refuses to end simply because the plate is empty.
Et voila! Le déjeuner est complet!
As fate would have it, our original plans for a fantastically quirky, offbeat show in Paris that evening disappeared a couple of weeks before our trip. We adjusted pretty easily by dipping into the stash of alternatives I keep at the bottom of our itinerary for such situations.
That evening, following a rambling stampede along a twisted route that was obviously planned by Citimapper in an attempt to see just how long two dummies would follow their trail of crumbs, we finally admitted defeat, recalculated, and eventually located the Metro entrance.
Popping up a few stops later, we practically stumbled through the entrance to Théâtre du Lido!
“The Young Girls of Rochefort” turned out to be exactly what we’d hoped for. Bright, energetic, delightfully ridiculous, and so engaging that we eventually forgot every line was in French. The story simply carried us along.
Sometimes Plan B really is better than Plan A.
Our evening with “the girls” turned out to be exactly the sort of joyful absurdity we’d been hoping to find.
Friday, May29
We had a note in our itinerary.
Actually, several notes.
Apparently, Giverny requires extra preparation.
It seemed as if every well-intentioned traveler who had been to Giverny before us had offered the same piece of advice: “When you get off the train, don’t dawdle. Find the shuttle immediately.”
With that in mind, we made our way to the shuttles, riding the sightseeing tsunami that ensued as everyone looked for a way into town.
That said, settling aboard one of the last shuttles only to discover there was another shuttle behind ours.
And another.
And another.
The cost for the ride was negligible and everyone on board shared some common goals: visit an amazing museum, tour a beautiful garden and historic home, and learn more about an extraordinary artist.
Any stress we’d carried from the train station evaporated the moment we stepped off the shuttle.
“Onwards and upwards,” we declared….mostly because “Let’s panic less” lacked the same inspirational quality.
As I’ve gotten older, I have adopted the “get there when I can” strategy of leisurely strolling along, occasionally finding myself trailing behind Kirk as we traverse a sidewalk. We’ve both made adjustments along the way so neither of us are left behind. As for our navigational skills, Kirk primarily gets by on common sense, optimism, and a spirit of pluckiness.
Pluckiness has never once gotten me anywhere except lost.
Anticipating our visit to the Musee des Impressionnismes, we were excited to easily find it as we fell in behind other Giverny explorers. Kirk, pulling up along the gate, seemed happy to wait for the doors to open as I kept looking for shade to duck under. It wasn’t too difficult to find lots of shade. The abundance of lovely greenery was amazing!
Once inside the small museum, I was amazed with the entire experience! The museum is very thoughtfully arranged, helping provide insight into Claude Monet’s creative influences as well as his connection to the lovely village of Giverny.
Museums can overwhelm me.
Too many rooms.
Too many people.
Too many things I feel I should appreciate more than I apparently do.
I am happy to say, though, that the spacious rooms allowed everyone to admire the artwork with minimal amounts of jostling back and forth.
BEFORE visiting the Musée des Impressionnism we had planned to grab a bite. Although on vacation, I try to plan for snacks and meals, sometimes neither of us are hungry…sometimes.
By the time I had finished staring at the trinkets in the museum gift shop, I realized I was getting hungry. Surfing the area on my phone I found a couple of interesting spots for us to consider, making a few notes in my phone. I had no sooner finished dotting the last when Kirk came around the corner, having just scrutinized the final piece of artwork. Confessing that he, too, was a might peckish, I mentioned my list. We agreed pretty quickly that the Gourmandises de Giverny sandwich shop sounded tempting enough so off we went!
As we left the museum, I’m glad we took the opportunity to swing by. Now, whenever I stumble across one of Monet’s paintings in another museum, I’ll get to nod knowingly, as though we’ve met.
From outside, the petite café looked popular without being crowded. Just beyond a large wall of windows, a generously sized, adorable patio awaited.
Hopping in line as the young lady behind the counter assisted the person in front of us, she smiled at us as we greeted her with all the charm of two country boys gone fishin’.
Kirk ordered his sensible lunch combo with a scoop of ice cream for dessert.
I leaned across the counter and, with every ounce of confidence my Pimsleur app (French) could muster and attempted to explain:
“I’d like a sandwich….but I’d like you to make the sandwich you would want.”
She blinked.
I smiled.
She smiled.
Neither of us appeared completely convinced we understood the other.
Her co-worker leaned over to her and asked what I had said. She told her and they both looked at me with Cheshire smiles and asked one last time:
“Vous êtes sur?”
I nodded enthusiastically.
This was either going to be an unforgettable lunch or an experience not fit for the supper table!
She added ingredient after ingredient that, in my mind, had absolutely no business sharing bread. Now and then she would look up at me and smile.
I just kept nodding and smiling…watching the creation of a masterpiece!
The sandwich was amazing and it remains one of the best culinary decisions I’ve ever entrusted to a complete stranger!
Marine, our tour guide for the House of Claude Monet and Les Jardins de Claude Monet, was wonderfully charming. Attempting to keep our small group contained and comfortable, she had an uncanny ability to effortlessly spot a good shady spot wherever we went! Dispensing personal stories about Claude Monet, his family, his career, and his passion for the village of Giverny, everyone forgot about the heat and leaned in to listen.
Visiting the hotel where he and many of his friends and colleagues gathered to express themselves, the list of people he consorted with was very surprising to me: Rodin, Sisley, Pissarro, Sargent, Hart, Butler, Beckwith, Dawson-Watson, Young, MacMonnies, Frieseke, Cassatt, Collins, and Perry!
I’ve included some pictures I took in the area.
Normally I’m not one to photograph overflowing flowerbeds, ancient pottery, or even humorously shaped vegetables.
But this place felt different.
Every corner looked as though it was waiting patiently for the artist to return…..developing a life of its own.
Eventually we made it to Monet’s actual home and garden. It’s very easy to see where so much of his inspiration came from. His attention to detail within his estate is, at times, overwhelming in person.
Fair warning. There are selfies.
Apparently I, too, become impressionistic when sufficiently inspired.
The entire estate is so romantic, including the dining room, bathed in dazzling yellow; we were told it was designed this way to help when Monet was battling with cataracts in his later years.
Kirk was very enamored with the flooring and has mentioned it a couple of times. If I discover a bucket of yellow paint anywhere near our house, I’m calling for an intervention.
Although our visit didn’t include a walk through his Japanese water garden, I will say I still got my Monet’s worth!
Hopping on the shuttle to return to the train station was pretty simple. I’ll admit I had forgotten all about the underground tunnel we used earlier in the day but I’d like to blame the heat.
Or the walking.
Or the emotional exhaustion brought on by experiencing such a sublime sandwich!
Anything, really……except age!
We sat on the shuttle along with a herd of other fans of Monet, fanning ourselves in the sultry heat. Lesson learned: next time we will definitely bring a small portable fan for just such an occasion.
With gratitude, we found the last spot for two at the rear of the train. We ended up sharing seats with Ricardo and Mike on the ride back to Paris.
Happily chatting with them, we shared some laughs and covered all the easy travel topics:
home…
family…
where everyone was from…
and eventually whether Kirk and I were together.
When we told them we’d been together for nearly 20 years, their smiles grew even wider.
Before we parted, I reminded Mike to tell his aunt in Dallas that if she ever wandered into the Home Depot in Plano I would be happy to meet her!
Promising that I would be on my best behavior, Kirk literally laughed out loud but I reassured them that I would “try”!
With that we were headed back to Paris, happily closing the day and looking forward to whatever tomorrow had in store!
Saturday, May 30
As usual, I managed to wedge an extra distraction into our already optimistic itinerary. Fingers crossed we actually have the time!
While peeking at our route from the train depot in Lyon, France, to the rendezvous location for our fun-filled foodie fest, I noticed the Musée Cinema et Miniatures. I saw a few photos and included it into our plans. As a “worst case scenario” strategist, I knew it could be a complete waste of time and money, but I’m always willing to give something “un peu bizarre” a chance!
Hopscotching across the street, we buzzed over and stepped inside. The menagerie of movie props, memorabilia, makeup, and miniatures kept enticing us further and further inside. Begrudgingly we had to say « Au revoir » to the museum as the tick-tocking echo in my brain had become impossible to ignore.
Aided by my Apple Watch, which had apparently joined Team Anxiety and buzzed every couple of minutes to remind me that time was slipping away, we began swiftly exited stage left!
Thankfully I found just enough time to snap a final photo before dashing over to La Cathédrale Sainte-Jean-Baptiste as Kirk stopped to focus his phone behind him for one last quickie!
By now we’ve been on a few food tours. We’ve always enjoyed the fun stories that accompany the experience as well as the introduction to the area it always provides us. Finding an option for that experience while in Lyon, we pounced at the chance!
Our lovely tour guide for the “Full Meal of Lyon’s Best Bites”, Marie-Klara had us off and rolling after picking up a mystery package at Francois Pralus. The bright packaging was very inviting and immediately caused my sweet tooth to ache with desire! Marie-Klara mentioned as soon as she noticed my look that we were actually saving this treat as our final bite of the tour. Oh, the agony! To help ease the sweet burden from her, I volunteered to carry the package for the group…..Admittedly, I wanted to rip the tiny ribbon from the shiny package it was in, but outwardly I displayed remarkable restraint.
Internally, I was more like a puppy waiting for the Kibbles ‘n Bits to drop!
Within minutes we entered Le Sirop de la Rue where we were greeted by Frédérique, who proudly explained what made his savory sausage so popular. Escorting us downstairs, we were given a hearty sample of his cured meats along with an adorable account of their very popular line of sirops. Offering a sample of the Praline aux Amandes sirop they are best known for, everyone agreed it would be a fun addition to a variety of adult-oriented mixed drinks at any festive gathering!
As we continued our excursion, Marie-Klara brought us to the entrance of Le Petit Musée de Guignol. Explaining a bit of the history of the hand puppet on display inside the miniature theatre, it was a fun and interesting tidbit I never would have considered delving into otherwise. In an amusing addition to the story, she included the curious connection between the Guignol puppet and traditional “Bouchon” restaurants renowned for their picturesque ambiance , friendly atmosphere, and authentic cuisine! Halting again at a nearby corner, Marie mentioned the book “Le Petit Prince” by Antoine de Saint-Exupery, pointing to a small storefront display packed with all imaginable types of products based on the book; it absolutely piqued my interest! Promising myself I WOULD purchase a copy and take it back to Texas with me, I added another note onto my “to do” list!
On our way to the next restaurant, we stopped briefly in front of a massive clock that’s famous in the area. Almost sympathetic to our poor timing, the clock was running a couple of minutes late. Luckily we ended up being right on time as we stood there watching the gears begin to whirl and the characters in the clock burst into action! It was a fun addition to our walk to see the clock in action!
Arriving at Restaurant Chez Grand-Mere, we enjoyed a traditional French dish called “Quennelles de Brochet” (aka, pike soufflé). This particular dish — served with a puff pastry lid covering the rich fish mousse of pike, heavy cream and egg whites in a bed of crayfish sauce — was amazing bite after bite!
Eventually we took a very confusing side journey into the world of chocolate at Le Chocolat est La Reponse, where we sampled a bit of hibiscus tea and were asked to choose from a variety of containers situated along the wall.
Not realizing why, as I was stuffing individual bites of chocolate into my bag, the young salesperson kept looking at me with an odd expression.
Until later in the day.
Apparently they weren’t intended as “travel snacks”!
Discovering later that I had taken samples of different tea “enhanced” chocolates which should have been eaten inside the boutique. All in all, the slightly globby messes were still quite tasty when I finally stopped to gobble them down before our next stop!
Our final stop was a confectionery store named Violette & Berlingot. Nestling into a nearby corner, we were told about the inspiration for their store. Sharing their concept as an artisanal candy store, the widespread appeal of their shop is easy to understand! As the staff member spoke with our group, I noticed a steady flow of customers walking in, sampling and almost every time purchasing multiple packages of candied delights.
We were given several morsels to sample as he asked for our feedback with each bite. By the time we were exiting stage left, he had bagged a few of my favorites for our return to the States. In particular, the Cocoons of Lyon — almond paste candies garnished with hazelnut praline and orange and Curaçao liqueur — were my favorite treat. There was also a very interesting anise-flavored candy that looked like a sweat pea and was anything but sweet! It had me so confused I couldn’t imagine life without it!
As a final nod to my indecisiveness, I asked him to drop a bit of each of his favorite candies into bags that I could continue to sample when we got back to Texas! He smiled and started pouring tiny shovelfuls into the clear cellophane containers.
Everything made it back safely but it didn’t last very long…….
Oh, and that final bite I had been toting around all day ended up being one of the most interesting creations we sampled. Ripping off the ribbons and pulling apart the wrapping, we were introduced to the Praluline. This pink praline brioche was first created by founder Augusta Pralus in 1955. The flavor and texture is ridiculously unique. While enjoying the texture of bread (which I love), I also got to enjoy the sweet flavor of the praline flakes (which I also love). Mind blown!!
While our tour may have been ending, we greedily packed the remainder of the Praluline into our backpack along with my candies for a second helping later on the train, thus ending our carefree culinary escapade around the city!
Leveraging our time in Lyon, we chose a second, more historical perspective tour to enjoy during our final couple of hours in town. Booking the private walking tour with a local guide was easy-peasy with Viator.
Making our way to the Tourism Office, we could hear people singing and chanting. Noticing the vehicles were plastered with glittery posters and streamers we weren’t quite sure what they were celebrating until we got closer.
I won’t lie. I was surprised when I realized the parade was the annual “March for Jesus” held in Lyon. It was easy to see how popular the event was by the number of people and the volume of singing and celebrating that accompanied every festive float.
Ducking into the tourism office, we waited for our guide. As we sat there allowing our sugar high to subside, we were eager to see how the historical tour would alter our relationship with Lyon.
It wasn’t long before we met Jörg, an older gentleman of Germanic descent who followed his passion for French women to Lyon, where he established his own French connection with family and friends and has lived here for 20+ years. As we began our introductions, I grew even more curious to see the city from his unique perspective.
Off to a quick start, Jörg shared the interesting story of Lyon’s role as the “Capital of the French Resistance” during WWII. Mentioning the buildings in the city where the Nazi government established headquarters to coordinate various operations, his tone was always understated while speaking to us along this part of the route.
One of the stories he mentioned that stuck with me was about the German officer Klaus Barbie, responsible for the torture of thousands of French Resistance fighters as well as Jews, earning him the title “Butcher of Lyon.” Nowadays the Center for the History of the Resistance and Deportation is located in the former French military health school where Barbie used to carry out his atrocities.
As we began our climb toward the ruins of the ancient Roman Baths, Jörg mentioned the Guignol puppets. We smiled and said we had been told a little about their history on our earlier tour. He asked if we had discussed the political aspects regarding the puppets, and we admitted we were unaware. According to all accounts, these adorable puppets have provided a subversive bit of street theater since the early 19th century. Providing provocative puppet shows as a way to spread news across working class communities throughout France is particularly fascinating and yet understandable…..because everyone loves puppets!
Reaching the ruins of the outdoor Roman Theatre, we walked around the outskirts for a bit. It was easy to mistake the size of the area while we were inside but when he mentioned the Nuits de Fourviere summer festival that is hosted there every year, we could easily imagine a captivated crowd lounging across the ancient ruins. All in all it sounds like a fun experience that we unfortunately didn’t get to see on this trip.
Exiting the ruins, we talked about the influence of Antoine de Saint-Exupery on the nation. Again, we had discussed his book, “The Little Prince,” during our food tour, but Jörg approached the writer’s impact from his status as a national hero instead.
While “The Little Prince” has touched readers around the world, Jörg suggested it was Saint-Exupéry’s own life — and ultimate sacrifice as a pilot — that cemented his place in the hearts of the French.
Our final destination during the tour was the “upside down elephant”. Technically we were heading to the Basilica of Notre-Dame of Fourvière, but the moment Jörg mentioned that descriptor the title was easily usurped by the more humorous moniker!
Detailing some of the history of this house of worship, we excitedly continued our journey. One snippet Jörg shared with us was the adoration of the Virgin Mary, who many attributed the survival of the city of Lyon from the bubonic plague in the 17th century. As a way of showing their collective gratitude, everyone celebrates December 8 with a Festival of Lights, lighting candles and displaying them throughout the city.
I’m sure it’s a magical evening to be in the city that night.
Respectfully we joined the crowd of visitors to the church during our tour. Jörg pointed toward the sanctuary ceiling where craftsmen had used thousands of brilliantly colored mosaic tiles to create breathtaking biblical scenes.
At one point, he mentioned that although he doesn’t share the same beliefs as the church, he still enjoys spending time inside the sanctuary during the quieter times of the day in solitude and reflection……I told him I could understand.
Winding down from our tour, we snapped a couple of fuzzy pics with him and wished him well, thankful for his unique perspective on the city he calls home!
We arrived expecting Lyon to be remembered for pralines, pastries, and good food.
Thanks to Marie-Klara and Jörg, we left realizing the city’s history was every bit as rich as its cuisine!
Sunday, May 31
Insecurities bubble up while I’m sitting here. It’s so bizarre. I’ve never been comfortable eating in public. Too many times I’ve said the wrong thing, eaten something the wrong way, or otherwise found some way to feel out of my depths.
Visiting a place like Paris where I attempt to be polite to the servers, conscientiously standing to the side to avoid being a nuisance, ‘am in a perpetual state of bumbling.
This morning, while eating a petite breakfast, I feel like the fork I’m using against my omelet—its tines slightly bent, splaying in every direction, hoping to bring more satisfaction than frustration. I look across the table at Kirk who is smiling, watching a family gleefully greeting our server and I remember that Kirk loves me regardless of my occasional moment of awkwardness.
So our breakfast continued.
Our server, a mountain of a young Frenchman, with a face full of beard, a handsome smile, and a booming voice, delivered exactly the type of breakfast I was hoping for. While Kirk h-a-t-e-s runny eggs, I think the French omelet is less “runny” than “just cooked”, with a softness to them that takes the egg to that happy place all hens hope for following a romp around the old coop!
With a refreshing morning coolness in the air, we enjoyed our decadent breakfast of hot chocolates, freshly squeezed orange juice. and a selection of breads that were satisfying in every way.
Waving goodbye to the young duo who had opened Café Janine, we set off for our long-awaited visit to Le Musée d’Orsay!
Musée d’Or (said)
The last time we came to Paris, we had only enough time to Amazing Race our way through the Musée d’Orsay. Leaving a trail of slightly tilted paintings and a handful of museum goers muttering profanities, Kirk asked that we revisit on the next trip if we ever returned.
Determined to make the most of today’s trip, I devised a plan!
Donning his audio guide, Kirk happily trotted off toward a very popular Renoir exhibition, casually waving goodbye as he scampered down the stairs.
Mounting the stairs nearby, I made a beeline for the top floor and chose to do a little people watching as I gallery-hopped through the morning. Stopping at intervals to eavesdrop on the comments being shared, I had a lot of fun nosing about from room to room, appreciating the candid reactions shared by so many of my fellow sightseers.
By the time I reached the upper galleries, I’d realized I was spending as much time listening to people as I was looking at paintings. A few of the comments that floated past me…
That’s so cool.
Le Repos au Bord du ruisseau.
-Lisière de bois- Alfred Sisley
The water is so pretty….
Boating Party
-Gustave Caillebotte
That’s not a bench…..it’s arrrt!
Water Block
-Tokujin Yoshioka
Oh my God! He looks like your cousin Barry!
Portrait de l’artiste
-Vincent Van Gogh
He looks familiar…..
The Demolition Worker
-Paul Signac
Early manga, anyone?
Jeanne d’Arc
-Adria Guam Queralt
J’adore ça!
Panneau d’Elégante
-Georges de Feure
Elle ressemble à Maleficent
La Poterie
-Georges de Feure
As our time at the museum was ending, I found myself once again biding my time near the entrance to the gift shop. Tapping away at my screen, I plastered a thumbs up onto Kirk’s “I’m on my way.” Glancing up I saw a 30-something-year-old girl with short, raven black and purple hair, sporting multiple facial piercings walking toward me. My eyes finally came to rest on the T-shirt she was wearing proudly asserting her intention, “Told myself to be normal”.
She saw me seeing her and smiled. I grinned back with a quick nod and almost asked where she bought her shirt but I didn’t because I didn’t want to be weird! Hahahaha!
Yeah, I know my trip to the museum was a bit different. But it’s a trip I’ll never forget!
Altering our plan for a picnic on the lawn of Jardin du Luxembourg, we agreed to visit La Grande Épicerie de Paris for a bite. Fingers crossed, we walked into this incredible food hall hoping to find a place to sit while we noshed. We immediately drifted onto our own little islands of indecision as we roamed through the market.
Passing the well-stocked grocer, mini-gourmet restaurants, and delectable pastries while avoiding the wine cellar, we agreed to forage separately and reconvene at the entrance. Surely we would find someplace to sit down nearby….mais no!
As I wandered around I kept passing by Yorgios, a Greek caterer. It was easy to decide to order lunch at their counter as everything they offered looked enticing and their staff was exceptionally friendly each time I drifted by. I’ll admit I ordered too much, but it was an honest mistake!
When I requested an extra bit of something, pointing and trying to explain myself, the young man behind the counter just smiled at me, adding all the “extra” he could! In true Ron fashion I wasn’t paying attention when he told me the price. I tapped my card and that was that.
When we eventually found an adorable tiny park a block down the street, we tore open our bags and my lunchtime FEAST began.
Lesson learned. I will never ask for “extras” again in France. Everything was delicious! But it was one of those times when it was too much. In literally every way imaginable…..MORE than satisfied, we were happy to “walk it off” as we hit the road again.
Exiting the small park, we realized there was enough time for a quick sashay through Le Jardin du Luxembourg.
According to all sources, Jardin du Luxembourg sounded like another grand city park we’d stroll through before checking it off our list. In reality, it was something entirely different.
Jardin du Luxembourg is très petite compared to the likes of Central Park of New York City. The options of “things to do” in Luxembourg is amazing; considering the compact size of the park, it had an almost palpable energy.
Enjoying an almost picture-perfect weather day, it was fun to share the park with the families who flocked to the park en masse!
The heat that had been stifling outdoor activities finally migrated away the previous evening, leaving behind a perfect day for playing tennis, launching naval armadas, and a bit of light traipsing by two jaded queens on an urban safari!
I’m glad we had the chance to stop by the Jardin on this trip. I’m sure we will go again on another trip. After all, La Grande Épicerie de Paris is practically around the corner from there begging for another visit!
Monday, June 1
By now we’ve established a pattern, right? Go somewhere early enough to avoid being late, but not so early that we seem desperate. With that in mind, as we were waiting for our street art tour to kick off we took a quick hike up into Parc de Belleville.
Having read a handful of blogs and online articles about the attractions inside the park, we agreed to skip our breakfast plans and go for a romp instead!
Admittedly, I found the au naturel state of the green space a bit surprising. But as we wandered along the trails, it was fun to see small clusters of people enjoying the very rustic vibe of the setting!
Within minutes of beginning our climb, we followed the distinctive plonky-plonk sound of ping pong balls. Spending a few minutes watching two petite ladies sharing a fun game of table tennis under the huge canopy tree leaves, we quietly cheered them on from our perch nearby.
Continuing our climb, we passed a man-made waterfall that had been built into the terrain. It was easy to tell it had at one point been an amazing source of enjoyment. Having fallen into disrepair since COVID, we were told later during our tour that friends of the park are hoping to repair the water feature later this year.
As we hiked, we glanced toward the top of the park when we caught the happy “Pop” music sound coming from just beyond our view. Discovering the small group of locals atop the hill enthusiastically engaged in a session of tai chi, one of the ladies waved in our direction, smiling as she moved from one pose to another without missing a beat!
Our final steps brought us to the spot in the park from where you can view the Eiffel Tower. I kept trying to situate Kirk in a way so he could share the frame with it in the distance, but my poor little phone found it to be too daunting. I’m still going to include the attempted photo, so do us a favor and pretend you can see it…..d’accord?
One of my favorite films of all time is “The Triplets of Belleville”. The combination of peculiar animation with a soundtrack that I loved more than I can adequately explain always created a world I wanted to visit someday. Yes. I know I don’t live in a Roger Rabbit world, but when I saw the opportunity to take a street art tour of the Belleville neighborhood in Paris, I suggested it!
I know street art tours aren’t for everyone, but it’s one of my favorite ways to find out more about a city, especially in grittier neighborhoods like Belleville.
Having already adventured around the neighborhood before meeting our tour guide, Olga, we knew we might retrace some our steps. On the second go round, we hoped to have the chance to learn about some of the curious pieces of artwork scattered throughout the area. We couldn’t wait!
We were soon joined by three additional street art fans, a grandmother/grandfather/ granddaughter trio enjoying a vacation together. The granddaughter admitted to studying art history at the University of North Texas, so we quickly became comfortable with the traveling trio.
As we walked along in that stop/start rhythm that you become accustomed to on these tours, Olga gave us plenty of time to oooh and ahhh before moving us along. Consistently asking for our thoughts on the artwork, she had a great way of directing the conversation back to the artists in question and the social or political significance of their work.
Sharing her immigrant story with us, Olga strongly related to the history of the area and the impact immigration has had on the neighborhood. Providing multiple examples of the artists’ attempts to express themselves, she asked if we felt like it was an act of resistance or just artistic expression. I enjoyed looking at the artwork with that question in mind.
As we continued to walk, I realized we were on top of the Parc de Belleville ridge. Standing there discussing the history of the park, we had the opportunity to watch a local artist prepare the surface of one of the nearby columns for his handiwork. Although we didn’t get to see the finished product, it was fun to watch someone actively engaging in this act of rebellion in real time!
As our tour was wrapping up, we found a few more pieces of artwork to consider before saying our goodbyes. Perhaps a little wiser for the experience, we definitely had a better understanding of what street art means to the neighborhood.
Street Burgers (li-ter-a-ly)
After a swift search of Google, we easily found a local, not even big enough for a hole in the wall, spot for lunch.
Glancing through the ratings/reviews, we wanted to give “Avec Amour, Le Burger” a shot.
What we hadn’t noticed, until I attempted to step through the open door (like) area of the tiny street-side restaurant, was that it was a strictly take-away restaurant. I guessed you couldn’t have a take “out” when there was never an “in” to begin with!
At first we were perplexed. What in the world were two old queens supposed to do? Eat standing up? Can you imagine? Sit along some utility pipe poking up out of the sidewalk while hoping my dignity would still be intact afterwards? As if?!?
We knew we could find a solution.
We may not have looked elegant or refined as we sat on the steps, but we were happy and the food was absolutely worth any awkward arrangement we had to allow for! Even though I accidentally ordered the chicken sandwich instead of the burger, it was awesome!
Kirk had the burger (I wasn’t envious at all!).
The server graciously added some hand-breaded fried mozzarella and a couple of super-tasty chicken strips on the side after our bungled conversation française!
Managing our sidewalk snack without covering ourselves in burger juice or barbecue sauce, we took off on our next big adventure!
After lunch we had the chance to share an extended visit to the Parc de Buttes-Chaumont. This visit was much less of a peekaboo than our previous excursion so I had zero doubts we would both enjoy this go round much better.
I could grouse about the unfortunate closure of the sites I was most interested in, but that would mean discounting all of the unexpected beauty we bumped into along the way! My sole concern was that Kirk enjoyed our unplanned junket but that was put to rest when I caught him taking a “selfish” in front of one of the concealed waterfalls just off the trail we were stumbling along.
Adding a revisit to this park onto our “next time” plan, we agreed to hightail it back to the hotel for a little repacking session…..because we are two responsible adults making adult decisions.
Okay, so we HAD planned to go back to the hotel to pack but that isn’t what actually happened!
Following the inspiration dropped into our laps from the recent victory of the Paris Saint-Germain football team and the subsequent excitement of Saturday evening’s metro ride, Kirk mentioned his interest in finding a team shop to pick up a memento of that moment of the trip.
After a quick train ride to the Champs-Élysées, we found the store easily. I mean, it was pretty obvious! The line that ran from their entrance, down to the street, down another street, and taking a sharp turn back on itself at the corner, was hard to miss! We agreed to hop in line for 30 minutes, see how far we would get in that amount of time, and decide if we still really wanted the merch.
Within 20 minutes, we were bum-rushed into the store, snatching jerseys off the hangers, and hopped in the checkout line. Oops! Wrong line. We stood there like landlocked guppies, mouths agape, until one of their associates walked over and plopped two shopping bags containing one jersey each in front of us. We grinned eagerly, tapped our card onto the little pad, and exited stage left squealing like young girls at a K-pop concert!
It was exciting. It was silly! But it was also A LOT OF FUN!!!
Once again I stacked the deck against me.
Thanks to my obsessive amount of online searches for food adventures, I came to Paris overloaded with too many enticing culinary options and irresistible foods. I knew I would struggle to try them all, but I wanted to at least a nice sample from the list I had curated.
This evening we chose a restaurant near our hotel that is highly regarded for their buffet. I know what you’re thinking — but I had already browsed their options and felt very comfortable with the options that weren’t strictly fried frog legs and duck pâté. We knew we were in for a treat!
A while back, Kirk picked up a copy of France Today magazine and one of the articles was about the buffet culture that has surprisingly sprung up throughout the country. So tonight I’ll try to stay focused on the main food groups of butter, bread, wine, and cheese and who knows, fingers crossed I’ll knock off a couple of things from my list!
Surprisingly, the layout at Envie Le Banquet is fairly straightforward. As we were seated, our server, a tall. lanky young Frenchman with braided hair and a pleasant smile, gave us a small leather booklet (en anglais) to help orient us to their accommodations. The buffet is set up with the goal that each person only takes what they are sure to eat. As they are trying to also be less wasteful, I’m determined to follow that one simple request. We were told we will have our seats for two hours and with that we were off and sprinting!
The restaurant’s floor plan is very well-organized. Each dining area, having been assigned a name, helps provide direction while the locations of their bountiful buffet are easy to find, so the task is easy to enjoy even for first-time adventurers such as us.
I began in the charcuterie salon and plucked my way from a selection of deviled eggs to a bit of pâté chorizo paprika. I wasn’t fooling myself. I knew the chorizo dish was a “choice” but I’m glad I made it! I want to say “Yum!” What I will admit to is “Interesting!” Because I was feeling a bit overindulged, I picked up a tiny amount of romaine sauce Cesar salad so I would feel like I attempted something reasonably health (adjacent)!
With the bakery and cheesemonger stations laying it wait, I spent some time nibbling this bread and that, trying to stay the course for the final two rounds of vittles!
Their hot course area had several interesting options; I chose a braised veal dish that had a rice with stewed veggies that was delicious, but the Belgian soup was the surprise highlight! The soup felt familiar in the way that everything does when it is made with care and good intentions!
Our last lap around the restaurant was all about the dessert area! As I sat down to a small selection consisting of madeleines with whipped cream, a brownie bite, and a tiny tower of baked goodness (I’m still not sure what it was) our server placed a small tulip shaped glass of Calvados in front of me. I had never tasted Calvados before.
The drink was more sensation than flavor, warming my insides with every sip! Leaning across the table, I told Kirk that I knew it was made of apple. But it sure as heck didn’t taste like apple to me!
Later, after the world had stopped spinning, I went for my final walk in Paris.
Each night, heading in a different direction, I enjoyed the city at my own pace and with zero agenda. Again, as my feet landed on the pavement outside of our hotel, I switch on my glasses, slip into Spotify, and disappear.
Tonight’s neighborhood walk in the brisk night air was more satisfying than a caramel and I found myself almost back at the hotel before I noticed the sidewalk was once again lined with makeshift booths. Most of the flaps on the booths were cinched tightly for the night except two.
There, on the corner closest to the busiest café on the street, sat two ancient Frenchmen sharing a late bite from the café; they nodded at me as I walked closer.
*I still remember the strong smell of the steamy Arabica coffee they were sharing as they laughed almost constantly between sips.
I almost wanted to ask what was so funny.
Before I realized it, I must have been staring.
Looking up from his sip, the older of the two looked up at me with the warmest, friendliest smile and said “Bon soir, monsieur”. The three of us spent the next 10 minutes talking about their lives in France in the same stilted conversational way I have adopted during this trip.
Finally I noticed how late it had become. Thanking the men for their time, I picked up a small yellowing paperback, handed them some coinage I always carry with me on vacation, and turned toward the hotel, ready to head back home.
Returning to our room, I found Kirk fast asleep.
Our search for adventure satisfied. Having laughed harder, eaten better, and created more memories together, I’m excited to see where we will go next!
From Backroads to Broadway 
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