A flight is a flight is a flight, but this flight was different. First, the plane was a big, powerful, quiet long haul wide body job built for comfort. The flight attendants were courteous and professional. There was food and wine and the food was pretty good and the wine was included. A sultry female voice kept telling us in French and English that smoking was absolutely forbidden on the flight. I was tired. Sleep came and went and every time I awoke I realized that something special was happening. After 6 hours the captain got on the horn and told us we were beginning our descent to Paris. This was it! A gradual descent, a soft landing, a moment when some guy tried to push his way out to “make another flight” and was stymied by the hundred people in the aisle. He tried to explain his plight to each person he wanted to push by and each one looked at him in disbelief. He gave up just ahead of me. The hatch was opened and we all started streaming out. One last “bonjour” to the ginger flight attendant and I was heading into Charles De Gaulle airport. Beautiful! It was designed with esthetics in mind. This sure as shit was NOT Burbank.

Getting through customs was a breeze. The best part was where the official looked at my passport then looked at me and with no fanfare at all, stamped one of the pages. A day at work for him, a milestone for me. My virgin passport had finally been “violated”.

I had decided to skip a cab and get into town the way a local would, by train. I followed the signs and ended up at a ticket dispensing machine where I spent 9 euros for the express run to Gare Du Nord. Funny thing happened. As I was waiting for the train some guy came up and asked me, is strangely accented French if this was where the train to Gare du Nord stopped. I said “oui” and he seemed relieved. Maybe I didn’t look,like a tourist,

The train was quiet, snug and on time. I got on, sat down, and in a half hour or so we were underground and heading into the heart of the city, prior to that what I saw was in some ways the same as the outskirts of any big city, graffiti covered walls, dusty houses, a junkyard with rusting hulks of Renaults instead of Chevys. Got to Gare do Nord and hopped a metro to Republique, the stop near my hotel, got off the train, went up the stairs, and I was in Paris. I felt dizzy. It was foreign and familiar at the same time I sat down on a nearby bench and looked at the Place de la Republique. People strolling, a crowd gathering near the central monument, a cafe called Cafe Republique, dozens of other cafes, a Macdonalds, a KFC. I had arrived. A little wandering to get my bearings and find my hotel. got there and the guy at the desk encouraged me to put my rollaway in a room labeled “Bureau” and go away till check in time at 1pm. It was 10:30 and though I had been on the move for about 26 hours I felt fresh. I put my bag in the prescribed place and hit the streets.

Stopped at a store and bought an apple and a chocolate bar. Continued toward what looked like a busy place ahead and stumbled onto a Sunday farmers market, ate and then greedily consumed a crepe with Nutella on it. I sampled cheese and bought and ate some figs. The market was big and lively, colorful ad fragrant. There were fishmongers and cheese mongers, and sausage, scarf, hat, and fruit mongers. I finally tore myself away and just wandered around looking at everything. Streetlights are placed differently, walk and wait signs for pedestrians are simple icons. The city is clean, the only litter I saw were autumn leaves and the occasional a metro ticket. Stopped at a book store and bought a really nice map of Paris, then I wandered back to the hotel, checked in, got to my tiny room and prepped for the rest of the day.

I was on fire! In a few minutes I was back on the street and headed for Notre Dame. On my way, another farmers market, another Nutella crepe, this time made by a mother daughter team. Across the Seine a nd there was the Cathedral. I thought of Quasimoto, watching in anguish from above as Esmeralda was hanged. While crossing the bridge to the cathedral, I had caught a glimpse of the Eiffel Tower in the distance. According to the map, to get there all I had to do was to put the Seine on my right and march,

The Eiffel Tower does not disappoint. It is huge and beautiful. Thousands of people from around the world were wandering about looking rapt this wondrous structure. Another case of foreign and familiar for me, hell for everyone. I had been walking a long time and decided to start finding my way back. I managed to blunder onto this big boulevard and after a few minutes realized it was the Champs Élysées. I thought, “holy cow, if I turn around I should see”, and I did and there was the Arc de Triomphe. That is when I remembered something I had known for years and had never really understood. It was these lyrics to a popular song:

I was a free Man in Paris
I felt unfettered and alive
Nobody was calling me up for favors
No ones future to decide

Night had fallen. I was spent. Got to the hotel, showered and crashed.