I thought his arrogance from the first day was an attempt at humor.  I had asked for our room key "Soixante et un" and his reply was "I ALSO speak French".  Seemed like a humorously clever line, and I replied "We wont need to visit Euro-Disney with the elevator adventures here" and departed

BUT, when we were told that we would only be here one more night with the implied "I don't need to accommodate your needs being that we already have the euros from 'hotels.com'."  Needless to say, I figured we can always change hotels, as soon as I get to an internet connection and cancel the weekend stay in 10 days.  The advertised internet connection at Hotel Sully St. Germain "is not currently working", nor is their public relation skills.  Marsha asked as we returned from dinner this evening if we can confirm a larger room on our return.  Another clerk "made a note" of the request, but made no effort to assure us that they would actually try.  So we plan to find a new place for our return, but don't cancel till we pick up our luggage late in the afternoon before we go to the train.  I need their luggage room as long as I can use it, and then we cancel our last two nights.  (P.S. The biannual Paris Air Show is in town the next weekend and we are screwed to find anything, so we keep the reservations at Le Sully)

Today we bought the Paris L'Open Tour 2 day pass for a nifty set of bus circuits that you get off and get back on as you stop at the various sights that you wish to visit.  They supply earphones, 8 languages, a map and a bus at various stops on the circuit about every half hour.  at the end of the day, I screwed the pooch on changing lines to get us closer to our hotel. We then took a taxi from the next stop after I caught my error.  I think that we would not have made the last connection, anyways.

The cabbie was way cool.  He made no attempt to speak English, recognized that I have a "marginal command" of his language and we conversed.  He was kind, fast, had a "Labrador" bobble head dog on his dash board and we discussed her puppies, which were too small to come to work.  Gold, is "or" in French, and I qualified the dog as "a Labrador d'or" and not a Black Lab (noir).  Fun conversation, simple stuff about tired feet and any other body parts that I could remember the words for.  I even tried the line about "Beaucoups de pedestrians, Pas assez le temps".  I think he caught the lame attempt at the "Too many pedestrians, too little time" joke that I was trying for.

Beautiful city, lots of nice people, and many friendly tourists.  Great fabric stores on Montmarte.  Neighborhoods specialize in the products that they carry.  Montmarte is fabrics and souvenirs.  St Germain de Pres (my neighborhood) is books, recordings, "gaming and fantasy"...all mainly aiming at the younger student crowd that may have started on Dungeons and Dragons and are keeping George Lucas in high quality grapes for his vineyards these days.

Tonight I introduced Marsha to Couscous.  I have tried the various concoctions at home, but there is something about the cafes that make it in Paris that make it special.  We finally saw a sign down in the middle of Le quartier St. Michel that indicated that they had couscous so we walked in that direction.  Every restaurant in the neighborhood has a Maitre d' out hawking the virtues of his Bistro.  Our guy had a dark suit coat on and as we slowed to confirm that the menu offered what we wanted he started the hustle to get us in the cafe.  "I will even buy you your first round of drinks" he offered.  This is called "leaving too much on the table" in negotiation circles.  The deal had been closed, he just didn't know it.  We were going to eat there whether there were free drinks involved or any other incentives.

They did not disappoint.   One Waiter, Two kitchen guys and the Maitre D' kept the food coming, and the tables turning.  Couscous is a poor man's heaven, great taste at little cost... and it fills you.  The dessert that Marsha wanted, as offered on the menu, was not to be had.  SO he gave us warm glasses of Moroccan tea.  Nice treat after a big meal.

The first night was in a little more upscale eatery, with a paving stone delivered to me from the oven at about 450 degrees.  There was raw shrimp and scallops to throw on it.... another adventure in dining, made all the better by the company I was keeping, and a fine wine.  The walk home from the restaurant was Marsha's first St. Michel moment.   Late night crowds and all out to have fun, and make a euro or two.  I did leave some of my vegetables on my plate, and our waiter admonished me.  I reminded him "vous n'êtes pas ma mère" (you are not my mother) and got a grin.

Remove all doubt to email me.

craig@alldoubtrodgerson.com