Il est revenu!

(And all was right in the world again)

Au revoir Paris; hello Florence.

Kentucky, that is.

Waking up in full-on travel mode, it was 6am when our duo tossed the key to Yannick, bid him adieu, and smartly hopped a taxi to CDG. 4 hours early with nary a bag to be checked, it wasn't long before they had cleared security and were swilling espresso in the Air France Club Lounge. Foo happily stuffed her pockets with all the edibles she could find—crackers, cheese, cookies, and a pain au chocolat for good measure.

One of the first to clamber on board the 767, Bob's initial disappointment in discovering the lack of individual seat back TVs was promptly offset when the boarding doors closed and he realized there was no one sitting in the seat next to him. This meant nine hours in the air relishing the extra space, enjoying the view of Greenland from the window, and NEVER having to worry about crawling over someone to go pee.

A turbulence-free flight and an easy trip through customs found our heroes heading to the Hilton in Florence, Kentucky for the night before heading home.

Kentucky as you may not know is a Commonwealth, not a State. Can you name another?

Fighting off jet lag, they strolled over to Rafferty's restaurant to find that the local dialect was almost as alien to their ears as French had recently been. "They actually say y'all in this fine burg!" whispered Foo to Bob.

So with a dinner of potato soup, a fillet of beef, and a slice of Kentucky Silk pie—our weary travellers called it a night. For tomorrow would bring one more flight, then home to Mama Foo.

Au revoir Paris—vous voir bientôt.

Fighting off sinking into travel mode, Bob and Foo started the day with their usual routine—cafe at Le Nustrale. But that wish would be short-lived as Le Parisien headlines screamed something about an RER stike: the train line between downtown and the airport. Oh no!

Now fully gripped in travel mode, Bobbers tried to deduce if this was a one day event (tres typique en France) or an ongoing labor outage. Noting there was absolutely nothing he could do about it (and that a taxi was always an option, albeit an expensive one), they fully embraced their last day in Paris and hit the streets doing a circuit that took them up towards L'Opera. They found interesting passages to wander through, and spent the morning window gazing.

Grabbing a sandwich, they arched a circuitous route to Place Vendome, skirted Concorde and crossed the river to Invalides. Slugging down their afternoon cafe in the Babylone section of town they paused to call Mama Foo who reminded them to be in the moment, not in 'travel mode'—but to get home SOON! With this sage advice they went back Seine-side and dropped onto the lower quay before vectoring back to Les Halles to grab their dessert eclair, and prep for their pasta-in-a-bucket dinner.

A fitting final meal before heading home (depending on who you ask).

Dimanche aventures.

After bidding bon voyage to Didier who was headed off on his own vacance, Foo and Bobbers did what they do best: hit the streets, looking for adventure. Today would find them roaming the entire length of Paris.

Starting with a window shop walk up Rue de Rivoli, they found all sorts of purchasable shirts to match Bob's recent tie acquisitions. Their morning goal was to hit the insanely crowded Bastille Market which, in addition to selling every sort of fish, meat, vegetable, and cheese to be found in France, was also a general flea market filled with assorted flotsam and jetsam. Foo was a tad spooked by some of the charcuterie stands which were too close in resemblance to her own kind. So Bob diverted her attention with a fun juggler who balanced a jar filled with water and goldfish on his head.

Then they headed for parts never seen before—La Defense. They grabbed the Metro #1 and rode it to the end of the line. There they enjoyed the ‘other’ famous arch in Paris—Arche de la Defense, the Arc de Triomphe's modern day counterpart mirrored many miles away down the Champs. La Defense is predominantly modern skyscrapers but there is no shortage of fantastic parks and public art.

Take the Metro back to town you say? HA! Bobbers could see the Arc (albeit, a speck on the horizon) and quickly calculated it as a doable walk. Foo knew it was going to be one of those days (then again, weren't they all...?). Not being in Paris proper any more, they had to pass through Neuilly sur Seine before reaching the Porte de Maillot to reenter the city. And what a trudge it was! And because it was Sunday, food options were quite slim...so our heroes (quite famished by now) had to slog all the way to the Champs before food options presented themselves.

A slice of pizza was enjoyed at an outside cafe, the solitude of the repast fractured only by a wheezing, twitching, slow to settle homeless guy who decided that sitting at the table next to Bob was just the place he wanted to be.

Given our duo were sufficiently watered and fed, a plan to see the Eiffel Tour at sunset was hatched. But first they strolled over to Pont Alma and enjoyed the huge outdoor photo exposition at the Quai Branly next to the river. Of note, the French have a huge sense of mixing the ancient with the modern; liberally sprinkling art everywhere in the city. Walk down the street and up pops a 15th century sculpture and hey, is that a giant thumb?

So they whiled away the sunset at the Trocedero fending off souvenir hawkers and watched the kids go round and round on the carousel. As the night came on, so did the lights of the Eiffel Tower. And while the view looked warm and inviting, it was actually quite cold, so they scampered back to their billet by the Louvre by way of the Metro.

Samedi promenade dans Paris.

Who cared what Le Parisien said about Saturday's forecast. After tossing a crème, deux café, and a pain au raisin down her gullet, Foo declared "Let's go!"

Rive Gauche was the morning destination so our heroes moseyed on over to the Parc du Luxembourg to enjoy the crisp morning. All of Paris likes to stroll through the parks before shopping the main boulevards—and today was no different. The parks were filled with joggers, jump ropers, tennis players and children enjoying pony rides. There were Foo-friendly ponies but le lapin was too busy scampering all over the statuary to be coaxed onto a Shetland.

After leaving the Parc, they roamed the St. Germain area to find familiar spots and eateries, while enjoying the store windows, street art, and hidden alleys just begging to be explored. For le dejeuner they grabbed a grec baguette avec frites for a frugal 4.50€ and settled alongside the Seine quai to enjoy their gut bomb. Pigeons had their beady eyes on the baguette but Bob spared them the salty nastywich.

Amply recharged, they did a quick tour of Ile de la Cite (and for those of you keeping count, the gitane ring scam count is now up to six). Crossing the pont to Ile St. Louis, they espied a familiar street band. Twas much too cold for a famous Berthillion glace on the ile so they found their way back to Rive Droit to have a café with Fred before rounding out the afternoon in the broad Rue la Fayette area with its many Cinemas and Grand magasins.

Vendredi: retour à Paris

“He that has a little tiny wit

With a hey-ho the wind and rain

Must make content with his fortunes fit,

Though the rain it raineth every day”

Fool’s speech, King Lear

For those wondering about the respite in updates, twas because the foul Winter weather of Normandy saddled our voyagers with chest rattling colds. After taking the train back to Paris, our soggy duo took Thursday off to rest.

Friday morning found Bob wishing he had better studied the chapter in his French book about bodily health as he ventured forth into the Pharmecie. "J’ai mal a nez, c’est bloquee. Avez vous quelque chose pour ovrir?" Somehow the pharmacist, between this and Bob's exemplary pantomime, deduced that he had a stuffy nose and sent him on his way with some pills and something sketchy to launch up his nostrils.

So off they went to the Palais Royale to breakfast on Foo-sized pain au raisin and whatever weird French drugs Bob had procured in the name of bodily health.

As this was the first day in four where the sun had made a visit, they decided to stroll along the Seine toward La Tour Eiffel and count the number of time les gitanes tried to scam them with their, "Did you drop this ring?" ruse. The count so far: three. "Geesh" Bob thought, "they must take me for an enfoire."

After making the tour of La Tour, Foo began to chant, "Fa-la-fel! Fa-la-fel!" That meant only one thing: a trip to the Falafel windows in the Jewish Marais on Rue de Rosiers. Naturally, they were as far away from the Marais as they could be.

Casting off the urge to hop the Metro (and because it was Bob-walk-til-you-drop in charge) they made a beeline for the Champs, ran straight up the Tuilaries, crossed Les Halles, and slipped into the Marais. Miraculously they found their vendor and were soon feasting on that pita wonder filled with cabbage, falafel, beets, and other assorted mystery toppings. That and a café, and the afternoon was whiled away blaming each other for poots and other gaseous indiscretions.

They passed a poster advertising "Lapins Cretins—La Grosse Adventure". Yes, after 12 days with Bobbers, La Grande Adventure had evolved into La Grosse Adventure for Foo. But knowing her for the fickle bunny she is, Bob knew she could be bought for a song. So he snatched up a mille feuille and proffered the treat in genuflection.

Once again he and Bunny were fast friends.

Mercredi à Caen.

Wednesday dawned without a cloud to be seen from the fenetre of chambre 7. Unequipped with their foul weather gear, Bobbers and Foo trotted out for their morning crème. By first sip, the skies had opened up and the torrent began.

After a quick trip to the hotel to retrieve their rain impedimenta, Bob’s plan to walk the 4km back up to the Memorial Musee de Caen was dampened (pardon the pun) after Foo stated with a finality that was not to be messed with, "A la gare routiere Gunga Din!" So off they went in search of the bus to take them up the hill and to the museum.

They arrived just in time for the movie that showed the invasion, a moving split screen showing both the Allied and German preparations and the carnage that ensued.

It has been 65 years since those first brave souls perished, and now the lucky survivors are dropping away with their generation. One can only reflect as it was our parents who lived through the trying years of la Guerre Mondiale. It was a brutal time when many minds were lost both following and fighting Nazi fascism.

The Caen Memorial to Peace shows what it was like in all it’s horror, and follows time forward to the present day where an outdoor exhibit contains girders from the Twin Towers of NY.

After the somber morning our duo rode back down to town for a gallette, a crème, and an afternoon spent roaming the Chateau Ducal.