StanleyWheeler

By way of name, nomenclature, or designation, it was called  Simply Market . We had seen it from the outside on our walk around the exterior of the commercial complex.  (That picture, and more can be found  here ). We used the checkout pictured under the bienvenue sign. The entrance was guarded by nicely dressed folks handing out green flyers. They weren't going to give me one, but I extended a hand in silent supplication and, unable to resist my boyish good looks and new world charm (there may have been other reasons--but I'm telling this story like I remember it), a woman handed me one of the papers. Apparently they were from a local Catholic charity, and were providing a list of things that were needed which could be purchased for donation to the charity. I thought that would be nice to do. However, under the stress of making our necessary purchases, I soon forgot all about the charitable stuff.  "Stress?" you say. "What possible stress is involved in a...

Excitement...and the desire to shower again...roused us from our bed. My wife had been worried that we would end up, in Griswald European Vacation  fashion, sharing a community bathroom with strangers. I did try to dispel that fear, but couldn't unequivocally state that it wasn't a remote possibility--part of my "keep expectations low" style of husbandship. So every private shower was a victory. This may have been the most impressive part of the trip for my wife...no shared bathrooms. Breakfast, and the purchase of groceries and supplies were next on the list for the morning. We went into the mall and found that every place was still closed. The breakfast places wouldn't be open for at least another half hour. We decided to hunt the elusive Monoprix (see link from previous post). It was the largest store in the mall, a superstore. How tough could it be to locate? Besides, I knew that it was at the same end of the mall as our hotel. Turns out, "elusive...

Within the Palace of Versailles is the Hall of Mirrors (pictured below). It is beautiful--mirrors, windows, chandeliers, and reflections of all. When I saw it for myself, the tourists were thicker than maggots in an eviscerated cow's carcass --I remember the first time I saw that as  kid, the image has stuck with me. I think Versailles will stick with me as well.  I don't mean the palace; although, that is a part of the experience. My experience at Versailles in May was even more stunningly glorious than the maggoty carcass had been shocking to my young self. I'm not sure if that odd juxtaposition adequately conveys the indelible impression made in both cases; but it will have to do. The entire trip was magnificent, but if I had been forced to return home after the time at Versailles, it still would have been worth it. I will long reflect with exquisite joy on the experience. Often, adventures that we will later remember fondly begin contrary to our aspiration...

My wife isn't a Star Trek fan, but I'm pretty sure she felt like the lone redshirt in the landing party. I know this because she had expressed some anxiety about going to France. She didn't know a word of French. She had no idea how the metro system, or currency, or anything else in the country worked. She was like a redshirt on her first mission. Fortunately, I didn't have to worry about losing her. I did have trouble at times getting her to let go of my hand so that I could look at the map. Through everything s he was a fabulous 99  to my Maxwell Smart. (I know. How can she be both a redshirt and 99 ? She just was. I guess she felt like a redshirt, but she performed like 99. Would that combination be something like 99 Red Balloons? No. And I'm not linking to it.) I think it took over an hour and a half, including the change of trains to get to our planned stop...except we didn't. I had made another clever Maxwell Smart maneuver when we had switched from...

The Last Time I Saw Paris  in person was...well, let's just say it was long, long ago in a galaxy where the Jedi had only recently returned...and it was the month of May. So the touch down at Charles De Gaulle airport this May was something of an anniversary. I couldn't decide if the sprinkling of raindrops that descended as the plane taxied to the gate symbolized tears of joy and expectation, or represented an infelicitous omen. But my expectations were high, in spite of the fact that we were arriving many hours later than I had planned. I knew that we would really have to hurry to get through French customs, get to our hotel in Versailles, and get back to Paris to see the Eiffel Tower at night. The latter was intended as a special gift for my wife; I knew that she wanted to see the Eiffel Tower. I think that it was the only landmark she associated with Paris, or with France. I hoped to show her many more wonderful things than that great and glorious iron pylon...but I could a...

I never anticipated going through customs in Germany. As you may recall, our itinerary as scheduled was supposed to go from San Francisco direct to Paris. However, that famous German  Helmuth von Moltke the Elder  said something like, "No plan survives contact with the enemy." He might've added, "Or with Untied Airlines." (I have spelled it that way intentionally: so the carrier will remain technically anonymous...and to make sure I don't get dragged from a flight in the future. Actually, except for the delay(s), all of the carrier personnel were very nice, helpful, and never once threatened us with removal or bodily harm--if you don't count the in-flight meals (of course, I jest--about the in-flight meals, that is.)). So I was surprised to discover that we were going through customs in Frankfurt. We hadn't reached out destination; I saw no point in going through customs until we had reached the nation of our destination (desti nation ?). Thinking ...

We landed at  SFO  on "a warm San Franciscan night." Except that it was afternoon, and we were on a plane. We were tired, but we had good company; Jim and Nancy had become our traveling companions. We made our way together through the airport like a band of great white hunters on safari. In other words, we had no idea how to get where we were going, but we followed the sign of our quarry--large printed signs that often seemed contradictory or poorly placed--to reach our destination. Our destination was the international terminal, the  Hotel California  of airport terminals; once you enter you can check it out all you like, but you can never leave. Once we found the international terminal and passed through the security, we knew that we had entered  A Whole New World . Sweet perfume wafted to our nostrils, beckoning us onward into the labyrinth. Stores for perfume and jewelry--Hermes, Cartier, and Swarovski --these and more promised awe and wonder in the inter...