Au Revoir Paris

There's a light rain falling on the City of Lights and the cold San Francisco like air has come back to usher in our last night in the city. The walk today exhausted us, but, as hard as it is to believe, hunger stirred again. Earlier in the week, we passed a charming little restaurant called Equinox, but try as we may, we could not locate it again. Tonight, without a hitch, we found it not far from our hotel.

With low lights and candles on the table, tonight was a true French experience. The waiters spoke little English, but it was pretty easy to figure out the menu. The coq au vin served over tagliatelle was the ultimate dish to end my gastronomic adventures. But tonight was all about the desserts and with Rosemarie having her new favorite drink, chocolat we shared a tarte tatin in addition to a concoction with almond ice cream on a spongecake base topped with almonds, pistachios and assorted chopped nuts drizzled with a sweet raspberry sauce.

Maybe the secret to the Parisians is the slow and lingering nights at dinner. No one rushed us out and we sat, often times quiet just enjoying the atmosphere and the company. We've talked and laughed and shared this entire trip and tonight was a quiet culmination of the week.

For those of you who have followed us on our trip to Europe - thanks for coming along. You've been a part of a once-in-a-lifetime trip that I sometimes thought I'd taken too long in planning. It was everything I dreamed about and more. This is a city I love and there's nothing like showing such a sight to a woman you love more than life itself. Without her, for me there would be no Paris.

Au Revoir Paris - it won't be long until we meet again.

Is This The Last Leg of the Race?

Our last full day in Paris started a bit later than the previous ones. The sheer amount of activities is catching up to us and after seven days, it is time to return home. But before we pack our bags, there is more to see, and yes, to eat.

At the suggestion of my friend Wayne, we took in what is one of the best museums I've ever seen - The Rodin Museum. Small, intimate and full of the iconic sculptures of the master himself, the house that holds the creations is a must-see for any person who comes to Paris. From The Thinker, to The Kiss, Rosemarie and I were in awe at the talent that one man possessed. And, yes, I found myself singing Linda Eder's Gold when we saw the works of Rodin's mistress Camille Claudel.

With the sun finally breaking free of the clouds overhead, we headed back to the Montmartre section of Paris to embark on a walking tour of Cinematic Montmartre. Following one of the guided instructions from my aunt's Christmas present to Rosemarie we set out for an adventure on shoes.

First stop, the Moulin Rouge and then for nourishment at the Cafe des Deux Moulins, which was featured in the film, Amelie. Sufficiently filled (A croque madame of course), we set out for the rest of the walk, where halfway through, we saw the warning on the card:

This walk includes many staircases and steep hills.

Strolling through the most charming streets of the city, the guide wound us up and around the city to look at points made famous or used for film locations and art. At the top of an incredibly large hill, like an oasis was the ideal Parisian cafe - and there we sat for an hour as the sun chased the clouds away. With a glass of wine and a hot chocolate, Rosemarie and I sat overlooking the city below us. You can guess who had the chardonnay.

Our walk began again and it wasn't long until we were faced with just one of the many staircases. There were no lifts at any point and up the embankments we climbed.

"You would never have made it up the arc," I said to my mom as we stopped midway for her to catch her breath. The view behind us was spectacular and after a short reprieve we ventured on.

"Is this leg of the race over?" Rosemarie asked as we made our way to the Basilique du Sacre Coeur.

She wouldn't hear of stopping at this point and we walked into the religious behemoth. From the stained glass to the statues of the saints, the church was awe inspiring, and even I was moved enough to dip my finger into the holy water. I had to check with Rosemarie to be sure I'd made the sign of the cross correctly.

The tourist crowds outside the church were a vast difference from the quaint Paris streets our walking tour had taken us through on the way to the last stop. Here were any big town's annoyances - the barterers, the gypsies, the street performers, the cheap garbage on sale. It could be anywhere U.S.A. and was slightly disappointing to see.

With our feet aching and believe it or not, our stomachs relishing our last dinner in Paris, we've arrived at our hotel where you guessed it, Rosemarie is fast asleep.

last day

More Wine And Rose

It's hard to believe that we were even hungry again, but believe it or not, we were starving when dinner time rolled around. Taking a suggestion for dinner from my cousin's son girlfriend who is here on a semester abroad, Rosemarie and I headed out to the Montmartre section of Paris to Les Relais Gascon.

We are now seasoned Metro riders, so getting there was easier than finding our way to Notre Dame. But before we could get to the restaurant, we had to climb out of the bowels of earth. Up we went, bypassing the lift, thinking that it could not be much further. Around the staircase wound and despite getting a bit winded, Rosemarie stopped for a bit and marched upwards.

"There's no way you could have walked up the Arc steps," I said as we looked around the corner to find even more stairs. We could feel the night air, we just could not see the night sky. Finally, with my mother short of breath but quickly recovered, we found our destination, which was small, intimate and oh yes, complete with even more stairs to the second floor.

It felt like we had walked into someone's home and were their invited guest. Close tables, yet strangely hard to hear the conversation next to us, although we couldn't have understood it if we tried.

Of course, as the only one in the family who drinks, I ordered the wine and we began with our favorite French Onion soup. Although clearly not on the level of our last soup experience, this as well deserved to be soaked up by the warm bread. Learning from my last meat experience, we ordered our dinners medium rare and followed it with a chocolate mousse that lingered on your palette while we also carefully cracked the topping of the perfect Creme Brulee. Two desserts, especially in France, are far better than one.

Dinner tonight was something I would wish for any child and parent. A time to talk as adults about life and love and experiences never shared. Here, on a cool Parisian evening, with the last of the wine poured into my glass, and my lazy eye just now making an appearance, was a night full of conversations only dreamt about, only imagined that one could share.

Walking down the Metro stop was a lot easier than maneuvering it up and finally, at long last, we exited where we were supposed to at our stop. It's Monday and the streets of the Marais are quiet. Rosemarie was fast asleep as I went out to enjoy what the bottle of wine and lazy eye has started, but Monday in Paris is the same as Monday in Los Angeles. It's a pretty city, but not a pretty crowd. Everyone that is, except the tourist with the lazy eye.

Tomorrow is our last day in the city of lights - and from tonight, it has a lot to live up to.

A Stroll Down The Avenue

Having the hotel room to come back to after our weekend away was perfect. It felt like coming home. If you can believe it, we were famished, so after a quick shower we headed out to the Marais for lunch. We couldn't resist our new favorite: Croque Monsieur for Rosemarie and a Croque Tomato for me. I don't know how they do it here, but the crust of the bread is just crispy enough but not burnt, yet the rest of the sandwich is just lightly toasted. It's an art and I want to buy every print.

The weather is still cool, but the sun peeked through and we followed its path for the rest of the day, as we took a leisurely stroll down the Champs Elysées. The flowers in bloom were exactly what April in Paris is supposed to look like - the crowds of a busy downtown are not. The avenue has all the stores you expect and although it was wonderful to be there, we were more excited to get back to the smaller neighborhoods of Paris. Our hotel is on the perfect street and to us, the quaint neighborhoods is where this city really shines. It's great to see the fabulous stores, but a Disney store is a Disney store.

The sun was out and we got the perfect seat at a cafe. We sat laughing and drinking and watching the men and women stroll by. My goal to get us to smoke has fallen by the wayside. I am pleasantly surprised that not a lot of people are smoking, or if they are, then we're not noticing it.
It's for sure a different Paris than when I was last here.

Once again, Rosemarie insists she's not tired, but as we relax in our hotel, where we are resting before we eat yet again, she is fast asleep. Of course, she'll deny it later, but so it is written, and I never lie on the page.

Paris Monday

Renvoi à Paris

After an incredible weekend in Belgium, we are back on the train to Paris. Before we retired, we all watched a fabulous reality show, Over The Rainbow the search for a new Dorothy.

The roosters began crowing early, but I managed to go back to sleep. However, Rosemarie decided to wake up at 6 a.m. Now as my roommate will attest, the mornings are not my favorite time of day, I don't like to speak until I've at least showered or brushed my teeth. It was futile to try to shush my mother, so I tried my best to get another hour's worth of shut-eye. But with the roosters back in action and Cookie scratching at the door, it was futile to resist. As I made my way downstairs, poor Winston didn't recognize me, and as he had done every morning of our stay, he barked and cowered away before he figured out I was the same person from the day before. It's tough getting old no matter what your species.

Once again, our hosts had the table set and we enjoyed fresh coffee and bread before Serge drove us back into Antwerp to catch our train. I promised to not let so many years go by before my next visit and I really hope I stick to that schedule. But, from the second we disembarked on Saturday, the years we have not seen each other didn't even exist. Never underestimate the power of letter writing. It may be a new age of Facebook and Twitter, but nothing beats the friendship that the two of us have cultivated and maintained through the post.

Naturally, we had to have one more waffle before leaving the country and as luck would have it, there was a stand right inside the train station. They're like Dunkin' Donuts, the aroma is just too hard to resist. Unlike the ones we had on Saturday, the treats served from the carts are warm and soft and you can get them with a variety of toppings. We settled on a plain one that was laced with enough sugar to keep an entire elementary school of children wired for a week.

Then, my mother decided to throw the waffle paper away, which required her to move more than five feet from me.

"Oh my God," I exclaimed. "You left my side!"

"I was just thinking that, you funny face," she said. "I made it back."

"So, I see."

Our train was surprisingly, fifteen minutes late and we'll be in Paris within the hour. It's quite crowded and there is a feisty quartet of German boys one row over. I don't speak the language, but it seems teenagers are, no matter where you are - teenagers.

You Cook Like This Every Night?

What can you say about great friends? No matter where they are in the world, a good friend is about as special a present as you can get. Rosemarie and I are exhausted and our hosts could not have been more perfect. Dinner wafted in from the kitchen and it was beyond delicious. First course, tomato soup with cream and baby shrimp followed by a shrimp souffle that Serge just "threw together." Made with the eggs from their chickens, the dish was light, airy and remained on the tongue as we had our final course - tomatoes stuffed with yet another creamy shrimp concoction with a side of homemade Belgian fries. The mayo was all gone in seconds.

"You cook like this every night?" I asked.

"Yes, yes, of course," Serge responded to someone who makes a week's worth of meatloaf and chicken casserole and freezes it. "Sometimes, though, we are tired and just have a pizza."

Thank God some things are the same across the world.

April in Belgium

It's April in Belgium, but it feels like January in San Francisco has followed us to Europe. As we drove towards Bruges, the clouds got thicker and we knew it was going to be a cold day. And what does one do when it's chilly outside? Well, eat and drink warm things of course. First up, as you've guessed were Belgian fries. I don't think Rosemarie will eat another fry without mayonnaise ever again. Served piping hot with a glob of the condiment, the snack was perfect as we walked up and down the medieval streets. My mother made a mess all over her sleeve as the mayo dripped down into the cone and it got a little tough trying to pick them up with the tiny forks.

And what's a trip to the ancient city without a stop in one of its most famous churches. The blood of Christ is stored in the cathedral and it only makes its appearance outside of its confinement during a rare pomp and circumstance ceremony. But today, for some unknown reason, visitors were allowed to touch it and offer up a prayer (for a donation, of course). Now, I am the most non religious person in the world, but how could you resist touching what legend says is the blood of Jesus Christ. I hate change in my pockets, so it was a pleasure to drop the annoying Euro coins into the offering box, Rosemarie and I got in line and touched the relic. I counted to ten, but I think every other person offered up some sort of prayer.

Bundled up against the assaulting wind, we decided to warm up with a hot beverage. The Italian Coffee with Amaretto was the perfect liquid. Sitting under the heat lamps in the square sheltered from the wind, the four of us watched as little Belgian children taunted one of their peers, who, Serge told us after they left, were bullying one little boy because he was clearly not white.

"Children are nasty everywhere," I said. "But he's got way more hair than any of them and they'll all be old bald bullies, so he'll have the last laugh."

If you thought the coffee would end the beverage consumption, you'd be mistaken as we wandered into one of the many chocolatier shops for what was clearly the best hot chocolate ever made. No doubt adding another five pounds to our waistlines from one sip, the drink, which for sure had the highest fat content of milk ever produced, warmed us up even more.

As the sun attempted to make its way vainly through the clouds, Serge took us to the city of Gant, where I marveled at the McDonald's'. Maybe the fast food eatery would be more appealing if, in the United States they were in such gorgeous surroundings. We took a look at the interesting menu but after Belgian fries and with Phillipe promising to make them for dinner tonight, there wasn't a question of stopping in.

The architecture never fails to impress me. How can you compare these surroundings to a bubble like Los Angeles where something built in 1963 is viewed as ancient. From the stones to the bricks to the sheer magnitude of the interiors, how these churches and houses were built is just astounding.

We're back from another full day, the dogs are settled down and Serge and Phillipe are once again in the kitchen preparing what smells like an incredible dinner. Tomorrow we leave on the morning train back to Paris, where I'm hoping the clouds will not make an appearance. I can't be sure of that, but I can be certain that the roosters will be non-existent.

bruge

Rooster Alarm Clock

You know you're not in Paris when you hear the roosters crowing. At one point, I felt like Carrie Bradshaw when she heard the "chickens" on the roof, but clearly, this is no New York City. We woke up to the smell of fresh brewed coffee and yet another basket of bread, but this time with the European treat, Nutella. And, for the first time, Rosemarie and I ate eggs fresh out of the chicken. Scrambled, bright yellow, moist and laden with fresh spices from their garden and topped with cheese, it was a breakfast feast to fuel us on another day of sightseeing - this time in Bruge.

I first went to the picturesque Belgian city in 1999, and I know my mom is going to love it. As if we have not eaten enough, we are going to have more fries today, which I was corrected by Serge are, of course, Belgian fries and far superior to their French counterparts.

The work Serge has put into their farm house is just amazing. New roofing, rooms, staircases, the dressing room. This is rustic European living from the fresh eggs in the hen house to the creaky staircase leading up to our bedroom to the cacophony of sounds from the roosters.

Winston, the eldest dog, doesn't remember me from my last visit, but like me - he's gotten older, walks a little slower but is still as cute as ever. His companions run past him to find the food quicker. He may trail behind but seems perfectly content to bring up the rear and get all the attention.

My friends' English is stellar, but every once in a while, Phillipe searches for the word to use and it's the cutest thing to see him when he discover the term. They love The Golden Girls, so we've been quoting lines all night and day. It's funny, Phillipe never speaks the language, only listens to it on tapes or on the television. I'm forcing him to use his skill, I joked and can't help but think what a shame it is that Americans don't feel the need to instill in their children the benefits of a second or in my friend's case, fourth language.

My grandparents were always speaking Italian, but the second my brother and I were in the room, they switched to English. Years later, Alfred Sr. was not the most helpful when it came to assisting with my Italian homework, and I abandoned the language. I tried French in college, but only managed to pass it enough to fulfill the language requirement. I figure as long as I make friends all around the world and visit them regularly, I won't have to feel so guilty.

Phillipe informed me that they have five roosters and that the chickens are continually exhausted. Roosters it seems are good for only one thing and the hens are not thrilled with their ratio. When it's time for the male to bite the dust, he's made into coq au vin. I like the sound of that - finally a real use for a man.

Old McDonald Had A Farm in Belgium

The train ride to Belgium seemed even faster than the two hours and Serge was at the station to fetch us. Seeing my old friend was like seeing him for the first time, and it seemed as if the twelve years since our last visit was only yesterday. We were both a few years older, but I think we look pretty damn good. Without wasting a second, he took us for what I've been raving about to Rosemarie for months - a Belgium waffle. Now, these are not your Bisquick Aunt Jemima come lately variety and never ever eat them for breakfast. Crispy around each waffle square with a delicate flaky center, I ordered mine with whipped cream and bananas while my mom stuck with the tried and true syrup variety. One bite and you'll never dream of opening a flour mix for the rest of your life.

The perfect tour guide from the start, Serge took us around Antwerp. After a stop in yet another incredible church where Rosemarie lit yet another candle, Serge gave my mother a magnet from the church shop. (Every giant church has a gift shop). He remembered she collected the souvenirs and told her that now she has one from a place she's actually been and hoped her fridge wouldn't fall over with the latest addition.

Our next stop was Serge and Phillipe's new home in St. Niklass and without a doubt, this is a farm. From the chickens and the roosters to the geese and the sheep to the aggressive goose, it is a far cry from Paris.

I've never seen eggs fresh out of the hen house. Martha Stewart would be impressed.

Phillipe hasn't changed one bit and after great wine and the most delicious (vegetarian) Belgian endive gratin, we had yet another sweet dessert to fill what I hope is not our expanding waistlines.

And the dogs, well, as my mother learned right away - they still don't speak English.

The perfect guide and host, Serge took us around Antwerp

belgium night

I Am Belgium, Madam, Not French

When I was in high school, my favorite author was Agatha Christie. I devoured all her books and my ultimate detective was Hercule Poirot. In every book, after some character would call him a strange little Frenchman, the tiny man would say, "I am Belgium, Madam, not French." Back then, I didn't even know where Belgium was, nor would I fathom ever visiting. But, here I am with Rosemarie on the train that left, as I knew it would, exactly at 10:25 a.m.

The train station, Paris Nord, was pigeon heaven and since I despise birds, we did not eat anywhere within the complex. Instead we walked to a sidewalk cafe across the street. Our morning croissants were as buttery and flakey as any that we've had - I swear, is there a bad piece of bread in this entire country?

"Oh, boy," she said watching the departure times fall like dominoes on the board. "Auntie Lily would have a field day with all those numbers."

Our train left from Platform 9, but I told her it was 9 3/4 just like in Harry Potter and we'd have to run into the wall to get to the train.

We're riding backwards, watching the Paris countryside zip by us at a crazy fast speed. We'll be in Belgium in two hours, and right now the sun of the French capital has given way to the mist of the green lush fields.

"Did I pack my lipstick?" she asked. "I don't want to meet Serge without lipstick."

It's safely in the suitcase, but really even if she forgot it, with all these queens around, there will be plenty of shades to borrow.

Belgium Morning

Good Thing You're Old

So we're stuffed from our late lunch and decided to go see the Arc de Triomphe. It was one of the first sights I'd ever seen when I came to Paris in 1995 on business, so it meant a lot to bring my mother there. Seasoned metro riders that we are, it wasn't a problem to get there. Following our walking tour guide that my aunt gave Rosemarie for Christmas, we arrived at the ticket booth.

Imagine our surprise to read the sign: Attention, There Are 269 steps to the top of the monument. There is no lift."

"What do you think? Can you make it?" I asked my mom disguising the fact that I didn't think all my time at the gym could prepare me for that walk.

"I'll go slow, let's give it a try."

So, off we went and as I gave our tickets to the entry guard, I pointed at Rosemarie and gave it a shot.

"Are you sure there's no lift?"

The ticket woman smiled. "Oh yes, I will call ahead. Go down the passageway to the left."

I pinched Rosemarie, and laughed. "Thank God, you're old."

And in less than 2 minutes. We were at the top of the monument with the most spectacular views of all of Paris. The city stretched out before us and as the sun was setting, it reflected off the many sights below. The traffic on the Champs-Elysees resembled matchbox cars and we watched as the sea of headlights stretched out below us.

After walking around for a 360 view of the city, we got back in the lift and headed back to the Marais. As luck would have it, we once again choose the wrong sortie and wound up in the complete opposite end of where we needed to go. Trust me, one wrong exit and the Metro puts you a zillion miles from where you want to go. We figured it out though and headed back to the quarter for a stop at an Italian gialato shop. The creamy dessert puts any attempt at imitation in America to shame.

Tomorrow, I think we'll take a taxi to Paris Nord, where we will pick up our train to Belgium. I've had my fill of the wrong Metro exits for a few days.

paris high night 3

Now That's What I Call French Onion Soup

We are back and exhausted from our trip to Versailles. With the mercury climing up to 19C (66F) the city is alive in ways it hasn't been since we arrived. The cafes are packed and before I get to our incredible lunch, the day began with a trip to the ultimate French history lesson. Boarding our RER train to Versailles went off without a hitch - we made our way to a smaller station that was easier to navigate than the cavernous Chatelet stop.

Versailles was a 40 minute ride away and once we reached our destination, I could picture Louis XVI escaping the poor of the city to the extravagant palace. It looks untouched from the years and standing in line we could tell how isolated and elitist the kings and queens must have felt.

First thing first, we got our audio tour.

"You just want that so you won't have to listen to me," my mother said.

"Oh, don't worry I can still hear you no matter what."

After navigating through the sea of little French children on their field trips, we began our mostly 3 hour tour. The French loved their excess and they also loved their wars. More paintings of this general or that king conquering that country or this enemy. And of course, all of them looking towards the heavens for God's approval and help. Mix that in with the images of the gods and goddesses of Olympus blessing this or that coronation and the pictures of the women who look like men and the little boys who wear dresses before they were kings and you don't have to wonder why they were so messed up.

"Too bad they could never find Marie's head," my mother said as we left.

"They never lost her head! They cut it off and you're thinking of Venus DiMilo and it's her arms they never found."

Good thing she didn't narrate the tour to the little French children.

Boarding our train, we made an easy and quick exit to Paris, hunger stopping us from going any further than the corner of Notre Dame, our favorite landmark. In fact, it's the only one she can remember that's close to the hotel, but she still doesn't remember if we go right or left.

Sitting down, I once again decided to try something new, but with more delicious results. First up, our onion soup - topped with a mound of Gruyere cheese that was crisp, but not yet burnt around the edges as it relinquished its onion soaked bread beneath. I knew it was delicious because my mother said nothing for twenty minutes as she devoured the entree and then soaked up the remnants of the broth with the french bread left over in our basket.

We joked about the little French boy running around the restaurant who finally stopped long enough to eat his pizza before coming over and staring at us. Maybe he knew we were Americans, so I said Bon Jour petite French fille, but I think that means little French girl, so perhaps that's why he went away.

Following our soup, I continued with eating new and different dishes with a Madame Croque. The ham hidden underneath the melted cheese topped with a fried egg was about as perfect a sandwich as any of the gods from Olympus could bless, and as Rosemarie inhaled her club sandwich with pomme frites (sans ketchup, which upset me greatly), the little French boy returned to stare at us and then once again disappeared behind the pillar.

"It's so cute how they speak French," she said.

"Well, it is their language." I do admit, though, there is something quite charming about this language coming out of the mouths of babes.

And never let it be said that my mother doesn't eat. There wasn't a crumb left on the plate for a sparrow.

With the weather the best we've had since we arrived, the streets are packed. We walked around the Marais with our coffee eclair and tried in vain to find an empty cafe table.

"I know where we are," she said.

"No you don't."

"Yes, I do. We go left here."

"No, we go right," I said. "See, here's the sex store where you don't want to buy anything for anyone."

"I can't get people things from there," she said.

"Well, I think that," I answered pointing to something that shall remain nameless. "Will beat a box of chocolates any day."

paris day 3

So That's What Beef Tartare is

As predicted, we could not find the restaurant we passed on our walk, instead going into a crowded place in the Marais, not far from our hotel. Now, when I travel, I try to eat something new or order a dish I would not normally try in Amercia. Such was the case as I tried Beef Tartare tonight. We started with a tomato mozzerella salad that was dripping in delicious oil - so imagine my surprise when the raw beef arrived. My first thought was, oh, my friend M would not stand for this at all. It may be something they eat in France, but alas, I could not handle it. Thank God for the wine and the profiteroles. Those were worth everything else. My mother has never had that dessert and something tells me she'll be making them for Alfred. One thing is certain, my father would look at the main dish and say, "What the hell is this?"

There's a Bakery On The Corner

What happens when you find a cute restaurant for dinner and you're traveling with Rosemarie? Lesson number one: You should never ask her where it was because she will say, "It's the street with the bakery on it."

Now that may work in your town, but...

Mona Lisa Smile

Even on a cool and overcast day, Paris is a gorgeous city. Today started with the requisite April showers but by the time we finished our breakfast, the skies had stopped spitting but the chill remained. At long last, Rosemarie had regular coffee, courtesy of the hotel. The breakfast room, small, quaint and with little cafe tables offered the perfect start to the day. A croissant that melted in your mouth the second it touched your lips and the chocolate oozing out from layers of dough was the ultimate breakfast treat.

Since it was such a cloudy morning, the choice to spend the afternoon in the Lourve was perfect. Now, my mom and I are no great fans of museums, but I don't think there's a person alive who could resist the equisite works of art on display. From Winged Victory holding court over one of the massive staircases to the crowds pressing against each other to get the perfect shot of the Mona Lisa - the Louvre was as exciting as I thought it would be.

"I'll have to watch the Da Vinci Code again," my mother said. "Now I'll be able to say I've been there."

I have to admit, I was thinking the same thing. But then I thought how silly that book really is -there's no way anyone could steal even a paper clip from this place.

Trying to get Rosemarie to take my picture with one of the statues was more work than the shot turned out to be, but it was fun watching her try to fit my big head in the same frame as some nameless emperor.

Leaving the artwork behind, we headed out to the streets and wandered into a boulangerie for lunch. Eating the fresh baked baguette sandwich on the steps of some nameless church was the ultimate Parisian lunch. Of course, we had to have a chocolate banana crepe, which turned out to be good nourishment as we got lost in the Metro station. The tip I can give you for Paris is to transfer at the smaller Metro stations - the big ones are so massive that one even has an underground shopping mall that makes it even harder to find the exit. Of course, had we not done that stop, we would have missed the homeless woman deciding that finding a public toilet was too much of an effort.

When we finally emerged from the Metro, my mother really thought she'd discovered our hotel. "I think we're going the right way, I recognize that pasty shop."

Mind you, she also thought we'd seen the same woman in mini skirt and stilettos four times that day, I of course, knew by the shoes that it was not the same girl - to hell with the dress.

The one thing we both did notice however, was the lack of obese people. For, despite the multitude of delicious food, the Parisians put the Americans to shame. We are simply exhausted at the moment and she is napping, although she will deny that she's fallen asleep.

"Go out and mail your postcard," I told her when we got back to the room.

The look she gave me was priceless. And if you think she walked outside without me, then you'll believe the Mona Lisa really smiled at me.

Day 2

Nights of Wine and Rose

Ever have one of those magical nights? The atmosphere, the restaurant, the wine, and the conversation? Now picture all of that with your mother. After a relaxing few hours at our hotel, we showered and went out to stroll the Marais to find a place to eat. As luck would have it, we went right past a restaurant my best friend David and I stumbled into during our weekend visit in 2005. (Kylie Minogue calls for a special visit to Paris - but that's another blog.)

Starting with the bread basket served with the creamiest butter known to man to the Duck ala orange and creme de carmel dessert, the evening was near perfection. Though our conversations are ours forever to remember, for 3 hours we were old friends and mother and son all rolled into one. After a stroll around the Marais on a very San Francisco weather night, Rosemarie is officially tired and although my night is just beginning, we've had a day that only the script writers could dream of creating. Bon Soir, Paris, my lazy eye is not quite lazy yet and there are more days of wine and Rose ahead.

Warning: The Last Team To Check In May Be Eliminated

Bonjour Paris! Our flights could not have been better. Sitting in the red carpet lounge really put Rosemarie at ease and our Economy Plus seats on United were stellar. Thanks to seatguru.com, I chose seats with even more space beyond the additional inches. On the connecting flight to Paris, we were behind the crew and I was able to stretch my legs out without even touching the row in front of me. If one can't fly business class, then seat 21J on a 777 is the best available option.

With our individual video screens, the flight couldn't have been more fun, although I told my mother to get at least a few hours sleep. Despite saying she did, I know she fibbed, while I popped two dolls and managed to get four hours shut-eye. With an early arrival into CDG, our adventure to the hotel began.

Maybe it was because I auditioned for The Amazing Race and didn't get on that I decided to take the train to the hotel. By the time I realized that taking the Paris subway in the morning rush hour was probably not a great idea, it was too late to turn back. There we were being squished by Parisian commuters of all shapes and sizes. And never let it be said that the French are rude. There wasn't one person who did not offer to help us. And when Rosemarie was faced with climbing out of the bowels of the Paris subway, two people offered us a hand in carrying our bags.

As we emerged from the subway, we were still faced with the prospect of finding our hotel. I knew it was by the Pompidou Center, but finding the blue abstract building proved to be an entirely different story. Once again, a friendly Parisian came to our rescue.

"Pardon," I asked. "Le Pompidou?" Perhaps it was because I butchered the name of the museum that our helper switched to English and pointed the way. Alas, finding the center did not lead us to our hotel and once again, I felt like a team that had lost its way once again. Inquiring in a store to no avail, we encountered yet another friendly face on the street who guided us to our destination.

Since our room would not be ready until 3, we dropped our bags off and headed out to explore the city, but first, we had to erase the memory and taste of the United "dinner and breakfast snack." Wandering into a cafe in the Marais, Rosemarie was faced with her first European coffee. To say that she enjoyed it is to say I enjoy eating a mushroom laden pizza with anchovies. Despite the sugar and the added milk, she relinquished the glorious nectar to me and I promised to find her an American coffee even if it meant going to Starbucks or God Forbid, McDonald's.

After eating the most delicious omelet and side of toast with butter and jam, we set out like Hansel and Gretel, substituting the bread crumbs for the list of Metro stations we passed on the way. Our first stop led us to the home of Quasimodo, where Rosemarie was amazed at the sheer size of the cathedral and its stained glass masterpieces. Of course, just because we are in Paris, doesn't mean the homeless and beggars are nowhere in sight. It took only one for us to shake our heads when asked if we spoke English. Problem solved for the entire day.

And then, as if we were fully rested from a 12-hour pit stop, we followed the River Seine all the way to the Eiffel Tower for our 2 p.m. entry.Walking with her arm protectively in mine, it reminded me of being five years old and staying close to her protective wing for my first day of kindergarten. Along the way, we pretended to be non-English speaking travelers while avoiding the bikers, joggers and couples all using the picturesque scene to make their own memories.

Seeing her face when Paris' famous landmark came into view was like watching a child on his first Christmas. The view from the second level was breathtaking and despite wanting to see if she could make it to the top tier, the line for the tiny lift wrapped around the entire mid level and we decided to call it an afternoon and finally check into our hotel. Being well versed by now in the Paris subway, we easily made our way back to find our luggage was already in our room.

As far as European hotel rooms go, ours is by far one of the largest I have ever been in. There's plenty of room in the bathroom for all my product, and those of you who know me well, know that I like to spread out in every room.

With a quiet few hours ahead of us before dinner, we're enjoying some French serenades courtesy of my ipod. We'll ask for a dinner recommendation and then as luck would have it, one of my favorite nightspots is ever so close. And for those of you who know me well, you know far too much on that already.

Paris Day One

Excuse Me Sir, Is This Your Bag?

Good thing I bought the Red Carpet passes, because just as I predicted, we left the house early. After a stop at Aunt Lil's to drop off some scratch tickets, we got to Logan without a problem. My mother was amazed at the self-check in kiosks and a bundle of nerves walking down to the TSA agent who scanned our passports. Note to travelers, TSA agents do not smile - they do their job and then dismiss you.

Going through security, I first thought I should let Rosemarie go through before me - and I was relieved to see that there were no full body scanners in sight. On second consideration, I decided to walk through the x-ray first and looked back to see my mother waiting like an obedient child at the crosswalk.

Her bags went through without a problem and then I heard it.

"Excuse me, sir, is this your bag?"

Thankfully, Rosemaire was too busy putting on her shoes to notice I was having my bag examined. It seems that this seasoned traveler should have taken his 3oz bottles and placed them outside the suitcase. After a quick rescan, we were on our way, although the look on my mother's face was priceless.

Now, we're sitting comfortably in the United Red Carpet lounge and she's enjoying the quiet atmosphere. She's reading her complementary USA Today, munching on crackers and even answering her emails. Something tells me she's going to get used to traveling like this.

Au Revoir Boston

This morning, I heard Rosemarie up and about at 6 a.m. while I rolled over and got another hour of sleep. Even on vacation, I'm awake early. Spending time in the house I grew up in and sleeping in my old room is like an out of body experience. Did I really spend 20 years sharing this little room with my brother and worst of all, did we all actually share ONE bathroom? My mom is visibly nervous about the long day ahead and she's already in the shower. She knows I despise using the shower last, but the poor thing needs to stay busy, so I'm sitting around with my father who's watching me type. Maybe before the morning is through we'll say a few words to each other.

Perhaps, with my mom being up early, she'll konk out the second the flight takes off. One can only hope.

Flight Day

Passes Printed

It's been a full day of flight prep. My cousin, Karen was like a travel angel from above as she stopped by our Aunt Lil's in the middle of our breakfast feast to drop off a fabulous, state-of-the-art, modern piece of luggage.

"It's so big, I have more room for stuff," my mother said before I immediately shut down that path of packing.

Checking in online, I once again found United putting us in group 3 boarding and that is just unacceptable, so it was back to buying front-of-the-line boarding so we're in group 1. That way, Rosemarie can get on and relax because trust me, she's a bundle of nerves and she's still on the ground. But maybe that's because my father is moving about the house like a garden gnome poking his head up when you least expect it.

That's Your Luggage?

Well, it's a good thing I came into town a few days early, as I just discovered my mother's luggage situation. After a day full of Easter feasts at my cousins' in Marblehead, we arrived back to Medford where I saw what Rosemarie has planned to use as a checked item.

"This is your luggage?" I exclamined examining the object as if I had just unearthed a jurassic find deep in the La Brea Tar Pits.

"What's wrong with that, it was Aunt Lil's."

Now, keep in mind, my Aunt Lil is 92 years old and has not been on a plane or packed a suitcase since she flew to Las Vegas with her husband in 1970.

"We need to get you something fast," I said, reaching for the phone and calling my cousin Donna to inquire about the whereabouts of her luggage.

"I'd love to loan you them," she answered, "But they're all down in my house on Cape Cod."

After a few late night phone calls, we may have one from my other cousin, Karen. (It's good to be Italian, there is an abundance of relatives). Tomorrow, she'll drop off what she has and if it's not large enough, then it's off to Target to get my mom a decent suitcase with wheels.

All this and I'm teaching my mother how to use her new DVR. I'm for sure biting off a lot more than I can chew tonight, but I have tons of energy due to the obscene amout of food I have consumed today. So, it's a full day tomorrow, and I mean that in more ways than one as we need to make a breakfast visit to Aunt Lil. Unlike her luggage, her food is a welcome sight.

Worth the Price of Admission

There's nothing like starting your day the right way. The price of the premier line was well worth it, as this morning, the line to get through security at LAX was quite lengthy. And, what the hell, I decided to go to the Red Carpet Club as well. This vacation has been long in the planning stages and I want to savour every slice of it.

Rosemarie is up and set to track the flight, which leads me to believe that she'll be disappointed she can't track the flight we're on to Paris. Then again, they do have those little tracking screens, so I'll be sure to switch her attention to that to keep her entertained.

I can smell the coffee. I think it's time to enjoy all the benefits (no matter how small) miles can buy you.

Feels like Christmas

At 1 p.m. today, I am officially on vacation. I've been planning this trip for so long, it almost doesn't seem real, and there's a little piece of me that feels like it's Christmas Eve. I've got the latest Jackie Collins trash to keep me entertained on my cross-country flight and maybe, just maybe, somebody cute will sit next to me.

Ever the joyful service providers, United had me boarding my morning flight to Boston in group 4. Now, I despise boarding in that group number and since my friend Wayne will be nowhere in sight to get me in the priority line, I decided to purchase early boarding from the friendly skies. Fighting the amateurs as they hoard the overhead bin space is not high on my list of morning activities.

It seems that on United, if you are willing to grease the palms of the gatekeeper, you can buy VIP treatment. I'm not complaining. I'm no amateur flier, I'm just short a few hundred thousand miles. I draw the line at paying for their food, though. No amount of cash is worth that.