À bientôt, Paris.

Time for cafe cremes to be replaced with drip coffee and to swap almond croissants for toaster waffles. Sadly, we must bid adieu to La Ville-lumière (the City of Light) and begin the long journey home.

It's easy to get into your groove in Paris, meandering through many a kilometer from one historical delight to another. But all good things must come to an end—such as our yogurt and baguette breakfasts in the Jardin du Palais Royal each morning, butchering the French language with our pals Didier and Fred, and watching in horror as our hard-earned American dollars pale in comparison to the Euro...

À bientôt, Paris!

Wide-eyed wonder at the Musée du Louvre

Open to all since 1793: From the outset, the Louvre has embodied the concept of a truly universal institution. Universal in the scope of its collections; universal in its appeal to some 6 million visitors (and a finger puppet named Foo) each and every year.

It is quite possible that Musée du Louvre Director Henri Loyrette is questioning "open to all" after our visit.

Chantilly (not just a topping for your tartin anymore)

After our 3-day excursion to Belgium, it was back to France for one last adventure outside the Parisian city limits. Whereas you can't go wrong with a palatial crib like Versailles, we were looking for something slightly less endorsed by every travel guide, website and blog about France.

A 30-minute RER train ride later, we found ourselves walking toward our answer: The Domaine de Chantilly, home to many an illustrious French Duke and Prince in its heyday; soon to be our 240-hectare playground for the afternoon.

Our stroll through the Château's painting gallery, chapel and library was nothing short of delightful—but it was our walk through the romantic curves of the English Gardens that unveiled unlikely surprises: an unsolicited wildlife tour guide in an old blue truck and a bevy of kangaroos.

From the clutches of chocolate to the canals of Ghent

You can only visit so many artisanal chocolatiers; indulge in their dark, milk and white chocolate truffles, marrons glacés, caramels, and mendiants before you simply must allow your insulin to restore itself to a normal state.

Our recess from cocoa butter ganache fillings would be replaced with apple tartins and waffles during a daytrip to Ghent, Belgium. Hardly a respite from sugar, but we concluded the details weren't worth balking about.

Lighter and brighter than Brussels, Ghent-St. Pieters features canals, meandering medieval streets and a disturbing lobster lady advertising one of Ghent's many bank-side restaurants in which to part with your Euro. There's also a wide range of languages you can speak to order your Belgian waffle: Flemish, French, English or German.

Ik zou van een wafel, tevreden houden (I'd like a waffle, please)
Supplémentaire chantilly, svp (extra whipped cream, please)
Quickly—I beg of you! (Rapidement—je prie de toi!)
Ich benötige ein Haar jetzt (I need a nap now)

Een goede dag verder (have a nice day).

Monday morning welcomed a first-class Thaly's train ride to Brussels, Belgium. Foo's enthusiasm could hardly be contained given Belgium's reputation for high-quality chocolate, waffles and a famed bronze statue of a boy relieving himself.

Less than two hours after departing Gare du Nord in Paris, our motley crew found themselves at the Grand Place--the geographical, historical and commercial heart of the city; a fine example of Belgium's ornate 17th-century architecture.

Flemish Renaissance and neo-classical stone detailing aside, it was the 81 chocolatiers Foo and her mama were more interested in exploring. The hand-dipped dark chocolate pistachio marzipan of the Corné Port Royale did not disappoint. 

Mannekin Pis

An unlikely attraction, this tiny statue of a young boy barely 30cm (1 ft) high relieving himself into a small pool is as much a part of Brussels as the Trevi Fountain is part of Rome. 

A tradition since 1698 (thanks to a donation from governor Maximilian-Emmanuel), the Mannekin Pis can be seen in various states of dress; 650 different outfits to choose from including an Elvis suit. 

Viva las België!

Marathon de Paris: the official race report

By: Robert S. Hebert III (Marathoner #42979)
PARIS, FRANCE—OK, so the goals evolved over time....let's just get that out there from the onset.

Having started running the summer of 2007 our hero in his usual regimented way, had his training plan all laid out that would find successive challenges—a 10K, followed by two half marathons. These 3 races coupled with the usual marathon training mileage would find him in battle trim condition for the Paris marathon. Voila!

But the ravages of both age and inexperience would dictate otherwise.

First, a serious IT band injury in September erased the Silicon Valley Half Marathon from the race schedule. Rallying in November, he survived the Rock & Roll Phoenix Half but was convinced upon completion that 13.1 might be his physical limit. A nose-to-the-grindstone training regimen however found him right on track to crest 22 miles 3 weeks prior to the Marathon de Paris. This too, was subverted by ankle and heel injures, and he never logged a distance greater than 20 miles before winging over to Charles DeGaulle airport.

So it was with some wavering bravado that the goal at the start was to beat Katie Holmes's NYC Marathon time of 5:29, or in a word, simply finish—time be damned.

The very fact of running through the streets of the ville ancienne regularly spurred on by the gracious Parisian populous yelling "Allez Robiere"..."Coor-aah-gh Robiere", capped by regularly seeing Mama Foo on the sidewalks at intervals for kisses and photo ops, found our hero running a respectable 4:40 pace at the halfway point.

The route then dipped down along the Seine which—with the Louvre on his right and the Eiffel Tower to his left—provided scenery enough to motivate one to chug along. Then along came mile 20, heretofore the longest distance he had ever run. Even being positive, thinking, 'Every step beyond this point is a new distance...', was not enough to overcome what lay ahead in miles 22-24; a park with little diversion or crowd support.

Left to his thoughts, and seeing others around him begin to fade and walk, our hero had to force himself to persevere. Walking was limited to two 30-second spurts before he continued however falteringly forward. At mile 24, there once again was his love—Mama Foo in her raincoat, running alongside to give him that extra boost needed to turn the final few corners and finish at Avenue Foch in 5:05:15.

The moral of the story: Never underestimate the power of love, or the motivating potential of spanking the running time of Tom Cruise's trophy wife who is 30 years your junior.

Congratulations, Bob. A fine Foo finish indeed.