Chez nous sans shoes

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So we stumbled over the Louvre, misplaced the Eiffel Tower, and lost my camera. Al Italia did us one better and lost our luggage. My beautiful shoes. Brenda's wine. All the books I picked up at all the museums. Brenda's mustard. The books I found for all my grandchildren. All in the limbo of lost luggage. We're really hoping that Brenda's photos turned out and can be downloaded without difficulty or we really will have only our memories. Brenda remains hopeful that both suitcases will be found and returned. I'm becoming a bit more of a fatalist.

This morning at 4:30 a.m. Paris time, we stepped into the van that would take us to CDG Airport. The driver had two more stops to make and neither of those clients were ready on time. Exactly why the last couple were 10 minutes late and kept us waiting when they had no luggage at all remains a mystery to us. But we did get to see a bit of Montmartre and thus become convinced that, despite its tiny size, our wee room was in the best area of the city. I'm insufficiently boisterous to feel safe in Montmartre, whereas last night we were walking to the hotel at 11:00 p.m. feeling quite safe. Perhaps all the students coming and going, the late-night open bookstores and such provide a sense that life in that area is bigger than beer and noise...whatever it is, the Latin Quarter is definitely the place I would return to. I'd even return to the wee hotel. But I'd ask for a slightly bigger room. At least one with the toilet placed in a space large enough that one does not have to sit sideways on the thing!

The only other airport that is more poorly marked than Toronto, Ontario's Lester B. Pearson is Charles de Gaulle. Egad!! The lineup is at least 3 hours long and nobody is around to explain to the multi-lingual, international customer what the fast check-in system is and how it works in terms of finding the line one should be in rather than the 3 hour long one. We are grateful for that system, not because it worked but because it didn't. Had Brenda not had so much difficulty using it, we might still be in line for the plane out of Paris!! That one was so late leaving that we didn't think we had a hope in hades of catching the one from Milan to Toronto. But we were not the only ones in the predicament so the plane was held for us. This is the point at which we figure our luggage went to Portugal or some other fun spot...it likely simply didn't make the transfer in time. So our shoes and wine and mustard and books are off having fun without us. Not nice at all.

Losing luggage of course requires standing in line waiting for luggage to appear before standing in line and reporting said loss which requires standing in lines to report to the airline and another line to get through Customs. Our 5 hour layover in Toronto quickly became a lot smaller than than that! And when we get through all the lines and decide that we deserve a beer, we discover that a beer in the airport costs as much as any meal we ate the entire week (not counting last night's feast). $10.80 for a beer! Now *that* is insane. If Tim Horton's can manage to keep their prices on airport property the same as or at least within a few cents of prices elsewhere in a city, surely to heaven the bar manager can do the same. Nasty shock upon nasty shock today.

The good news, though, is that we are home and safe and happy and have had an amazing experience in the beautiful, historic city of Paris. From the ancient Roman baths in the Musee de la Moyen Age to the Mondriani paintings in the Centre Georges Pompideau we have travelled the centuries. We stood at a spot on Blvd. St. Michel where there's a plaque to a young man who died during the liberation of Paris in 1944. The plaque is on a building still riddled with the scars of war. Plaques like this dot the area, some with flowers planted beneath them. Other plaques honour those who fought for Paris in wars during the 19th C and WWI, soldiers and generals, ordinary people in extraordinary times. The Pantheon honours men of letters, men and women of science, politicians and resistance fighters. Statues of Marcus Aurelius and Marshall Ney remind us that these people really lived, that they are not just names in dusty tomes but were the shapers of today's world, for good and/or for ill. Monet's paintings of Notre Dame make so much more sense after one has had the opportunity to stand in front of Notre Dame at different times of the day. And the immensity of the Eiffel Tower has to be seen to be believed.

I decided that 2008 was the perfect year for making new memories for February, making it a time to anticipate rather than dread. Time spent walking the streets where Blaise Pascal, Victor Hugo, Rousseau, de Beavoir, Sartre, Hemmingway and so many others walked, lived and died has accomplished that goal. Even if my shoes and books are not found, I have nothing to complain about. The journey was the purpose, not the stuff. And the journey was delightful.

BTW, Brenda did not toss me into the Seine, though I was only 3 churches away from a swim. Next trip I have to get to Sacre Coeur and the Moulin Rouge. And I think there are 51 other museums waiting to be visited. ... but maybe next year should be a trip to Portugal ....

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