November 19, 2025
A quick ride to the airport and Teresa and I are on the way to France to shop for next year’s travel offerings for our growing travel business, Teremar Travel.
And by quick I mean an hour and a half mostly stuck on the freeway downtown in an Uber. It is Atlanta afterall and rush hour. An hour nowadays that lasts 24.
First stop, Amsterdam. Then a change of planes to Lyon. On the shopping list for next year, villas and barges.
Bon voyage!
November 20, 2025
Travel is an adventure. And like all adventures, surprises happen. So, our flight to Lyon got canceled and now we are scrambling around trying to figure out how to get there before our boat leaves the port. The ever helpful Dutch immigration officer suggested getting bicycles.
Bedankt, dude!
Since we’re going to be at the airport all day, it’s time to find a bicycle store.
November 21, 2025
By planes, trains, automobiles, Ubers, not-Ubers, taxis and walking (but no bikes) we finally reached our destination last night. The riverside dock in Lyon on the Rhone River.
Today, we will explore the area and our home for the next week, the riverboat “AmaKristina”. Outside it’s overcast with a light snow falling.
November 21, 2025
We spent the day touring Lyon. Our guide, Jacque “Pierre” Pierre, a native Lyonnais, led the way up river as snow flakes fell from the gray morning sky.
Crossing the Rhone, we entered the medieval city center. Pierre gave a brief overview. Lyon is the second largest city in France; it has the second largest medieval district in the world; it has the second largest open city square in Europe.
So, it turns out that Lyon is the Chicago of France. The “Second City”. A place with a permanent inferiority complex as an identity. And like Chicago, it’s great.
Pierre led us down the narrow medieval streets and stopped in front of a large wooden door. He pushed it open and asked us to follow. This was part of “les traboules”. Secret passageways, alleys and tunnels dating back hundreds of years and most recently used by the French resistance in their successful battles against the Nazis.
He proudly explained that Klaus Barbie, a Nazi SS Officer and the notorious “Butcher of Lyon” was captured in 1987 living in Bolivia and returned to Lyon where he was tried for his crimes in front of the nearby Palace of Justice and found guilty. He was sentenced to life in prison.
For that, Lyon is number one, not number two, in their diligence at fighting Nazism.
Sadly, still, an ongoing struggle.
After five more miles of march march marching across Lyon and it’s very big city center square, we returned to our boat, the AmaKristina, glad to take a rest.
These older legs are beginning to feel these long hikes.
November 22, 2025
A bright blue sky and cold air greeted us as we headed out in the morning to Oingt for the Beaujolais Nouveau Festival. Since this is France, guess what’s for breakfast? Wine, but of course.
Oingt (pronounced “WAH” in French and not “OINKED” as it looks in English) is a small village in the center of the Beaujolais District about 20 miles west of Lyon and likely close to the Champagne District, apparently, since all the highways had signs with arrows pointing to Champagne in the opposite direction.
The Beaujolais Nouveau wine just got released 3 days ago and it becomes a good reason to party and drink wine, as if the French ever needed one.
For the uninitiated, Beaujolais Nouveau is wine from this year’s grapes harvested two weeks ago and then fermented for a couple of days and then bottled. It’s released annually on the third Thursday of November and it’s as green as a wine can get. It’s actually pretty good. Every year, though, it has a different taste.
It’s been a tradition for a long time and used to be a big deal in America when, once the wine was available, it would be flown supersonically on the Concorde to America, two hours away, so New York oenophiles could join in on the fun. It’s a good wine for Thanksgiving too, just another week away.
The wine doesn’t age well so it must be consumed quickly. Not a problem if you ask me.
We pulled into the parking lot at Domaine De Fond-vieille, a winery known for its Beaujolais. Mascot, the wineries dog diplomat, met us and barked excitedly nonstop, as if insisting that we follow him (like a scene out of a boozy Lassie) to the wine tasting rooms. Obligingly, we followed through the gravel lot dusted with snow.
Once inside, we saw several long tables with lots of people sampling the newly birthed wine. Teresa and I found two empty seats and were quickly presented with small wine glasses and then by an older gentleman pouring out the fresh Beaujolais.
Let me announce that this year’s crop is pretty good.
After sampling the winery’s other offerings, we wandered around checking out more goods for sale which ranged from raw oysters (no way … who knows where they come from and how they got to the middle of France) to chocolates (but of course).
Back outside, Mascot pushed a yellow rubber chicken for us to toss. He then led us to a toasty wood fire overlooked by a large wooden vat.
After warming up we headed back to Lyon and arrived just in time as the gangway to our boat was being lifted.
Another close call but we are back on board and sailing south to Vienne (not Vienna).
PS We never found Timmy or if he fell down a well. Not that we cared. And Mascot didn’t seem to care either.
November 23, 2025
Today is history day (or any other day of the week for that matter) in Vienne.
Vienne is 70 miles south of Lyon and, like Lyon, was built by the Romans. So it has layers and layers of history and ruins. A palimpsest of time. “You can’t dig in your garden without finding some ancient artifact”, our young guide glibly said.
Our first stop was a church (they’re everywhere here) on a hill overlooking the city and an ancient Roman amphitheater just below. One of seven hills around Vienne and likely the inspiration for the Roman’s site selection since Rome was built around seven hills too.
We enjoyed the view, briefly, since the temperature was in the 20s (Fahrenheit!) and with a strong wind blowing.
Back down the hill, our guide led us around the city center where ancient Roman ruins still stand mixed in with medieval buildings and newer (and admittedly uglier) architecture.
One Roman ruin has been converted to a playground. Its massive arches rising up and hinting at dramatic scenes long forgotten. Today, children play quietly beneath the ancient walls frozen in time. And of course the children are quiet because they’re frozen too. It’s 20 degrees outside! Why aren’t they warmly inside playing on their Nintendos.
Our next stop … the 1st Century Roman Temple of Augustus. It was visited by Thomas Jefferson in the 1700s and is officially recognized as the model for the entrances to the US Capitol. And given this temple’s tumultuous history, let’s hope it doesn’t serve as a model for America’s future.
Further down to the Rhone River our guide stopped in front of the local cathedral sitting on the river’s eastern bank. When it was built it was located in the Holy Roman Empire. The river was the border with France located on the western side.
This cathedral was the site of trials in the middle ages against the Knights Templar and, at the end of the trials, the order of knights was eliminated. Those knights not executed escaped to unknown locations and eventually became fodder for Hollywood’s fertile imagination.
Finally crossing the river, we arrived back at the boat, still freezing, and looked for the nearest blazing fireplace. Sadly, river boats do not yet offer roaring fireplaces. That may be something left for future history to create.
November 24, 2025
It’s Monday morning and we have docked in Tournon after traveling south from Vienne and passing through several locks. Across on the other side of the Rhone is Hermitage Hill, a famous vineyard in continual operation since the crusades 1,000 years ago and the birthplace of the Syrah grape.
What’s for breakfast you ask? You should know by now since this is France it’s wine. And chocolate as well.
We headed to the local wine shop conveniently located across the street in a castle called Le Trou du Château de Tournon.
Along the way we passed a statue of a man named Marc Seguin looking very much like Edward Scissorhands. It turns out he is the inventor of the suspension bridge of which the Brooklyn Bridge and the Golden Gate Bridge are examples. Let’s hear it for the engineers.
Once at the castle, we were greeted by a sommelier who took us up to a high stone patio that overlooked the small city and vine covered hills. The Hermitage Hill rose on the opposing shore.
He gave a brief talk about the local history and took us back down to the tasting room in the cellar.
He and an assistant gave a very detailed presentation about wines, chocolates and how they should be paired. The French are obviously very obsessed with their wines and no detail, no matter how small or sublime, should be ignored.
The wine samples and chocolates were excellent but at the end of the day I still feel like all I really know about wine is whether it’s a screw top or corked wine and I still couldn’t tell you what wine goes with Poptarts for breakfast.
So much to learn.
November 24, 2025
We left early for our next stop and curiosity always wins. Just how is this river boat going to fit under that bridge with the water level so high?
November 24, 2025
Our boat stopped at Viviers at 9 PM for a night walking tour of this medieval city. Now almost abandoned during the cold winter weather, we climbed up silent wet cobblestone streets to a church perched high on a rocky outcropping for a violin concert. Back now on board, we depart at midnight and cruise all night to our next destination, Avignon.
November 25, 2025
Early morning docked in Avignon after sailing all night. We did not arrive in time so we are tied up to another riverboat that is dockside and we will disembark through that boat’s lobby. Meanwhile, while we were asleep and snug in our berth, the Christmas elves visited our lobby.
It’s beginning to look a lot like Shipmas.
November 25, 2025
Crossing through the fortress walls, Teresa and I followed our French guide towards the “Palace of the Popes” through the streets of Avignon, busy with morning activities. A calm and clear blue sky and warming temperatures made a perfect compliment.
The palace was the headquarters for the Roman Catholic church during the 1300s. They relocated to Avignon on the far western edge of the Holy Roman Empire because there was a civil war going on in Rome and the French King, living in his kingdom next door, was buttering the popes up with the hopes of taking over the papacy.
It worked.
For about 100 years, all new popes were French. Quelle coïncidence!
The palace that temporarily replaced the Vatican in Rome is now a tourist destination and a museum of contemporary art. And, since the French Revolution of the late 1700s, all churches and church properties are owned by the French government. Sacre bleu!
So, to generate income, France rents the churches back to the Catholic Church (for a discounted rate we hear) or uses them, as in this case, for arts and culture.
After the French Revolution, churches were originally converted to “Temples of Reason” to promote science and atheism but, being human, that didn’t last long and the French soon realized they could make big bucks doing what they are doing now and keeping the wheels of the economy running smoothly. Well, that’s reasonable if you ask me so mission partly accomplished.
We saw various rooms of the pope’s daily life from the kitchen to the bedrooms to the dressing rooms and finally to the French version of the Sistine Chapel sans Michelangelo. It was in this big room that the Papal Enclaves were held when new popes were interviewing for the job.
Eventually the popes got homesick (and tired of living next to the French) so they moved back to Rome.
Still today, though, there is a working church named St. Peter’s Basilica (not cathedral as that one is still in Rome) so some things never change.
BTW, devotional candles are on sale, this week only, for 5 Euros. Hurry now while supplies last.
November 25, 2025
Well, there’s an afternoon event I’ve never done before. Hunting for truffles.
We climbed aboard a bus in Avignon and headed to Uzès in western Provence and stopped at a “truffle plantation”. There, we met with the owner Michel and his dog, Mela.
Michel’s farm is 12,000 acres of rows of Acorn, Linden and Hazelnut trees. During his presentation, Michel explained that truffles grow in very small areas of France, Spain and Italy. A truffle is the fruit grown by an underground mushroom that lives symbiotically with a few trees like oak trees. The fruit is ready to harvest in mid November and takes 9 months to grow. So this year’s crop is just being harvested.
Since the truffle grows underground, they need an animal to hunt for it and find it by smell. Pigs can be used but when they find one, they will eat it before it can be harvested. So, they use dogs and Michel’s black lab is named Mela.
Back outside, we headed to the orchards. Mela began whirling around like a dervish and bolted off in pursuit of the treat rewarding smells. Suddenly, the dog stopped and began sniffing the ground. He stopped for a few seconds and then began digging furiously. Michel ran after Mela and called out in French. Catching up, Michel dropped to his knees and began digging with an axe. He found a pricey black nugget. Holding it up in his hand, he said it was worth over $100. At this time of year, a truffle brings him $500 per pound.
After 30 minutes, the hunt was over and several more truffles were found. We headed back to the main office where Michel weighed today’s find. 496 grams. Over a pound. More than $500. Not a bad haul for spending 30 minutes with a hyperactive lab.
In the tasting room we sampled several types of truffles and enjoyed bread with truffle butter paired with a local white wine. Apparently, truffles don’t age well and should be consumed in less than half a year.
After the tasting, we headed back to Avignon. The setting sun illuminated the surrounding farm fields.
November 26, 2025
It’s Wednesday and we’ve arrived in Arles near the mouth of the Rhone as it meets the Mediterranean Sea. It’s our last day on board our river boat, the AmaKristina, and tomorrow we depart for places known and unknown.
Docked adjacent to another riverboat, we exited through its coupled lobby to the riverbank where we met our guide who would be showing us the locations of the scenes of Arles’ most famous resident’s paintings created by Impressionistic painter Vincent Van Gogh.
The weather conditions were normal for this time of year with the air cold, skies sunny and bright blue and a variable wind blowing from the north at 30 MPH gusting to 60 MPH. Another Chicago for France. Le Windy City.
Our guide explained the weather is so notorious for Arles that they named it “le mistral”. When Van Gogh arrived from Paris by train in the late 1800s, he immediately hated the place due to le mistral and complained in letters to his friends back home that the place was going to make him lose his mind. He never mentioned anything about that ear though.
We sailed into town walking as slowly as we could go which means it was a quick journey. We blew through a farmer’s market (only available on Wednesdays and Saturdays), strapped down for security, and whirled through a city gate in the fortified walls of this ancient Roman city.
Behind the city walls, things were much calmer with a mild constant breeze of 25 MPH.
We passed by Van Gogh’s “yellow house”, the site of several of his most famous paintings both from the exterior and interior. The house is gone now, a victim of much needed bombings in WW2 by the Allies in successful attempts to rid the city of a bad case of the Nazis, and replaced now by a Kentucky Fried Chicken blow-through chain. Comme ci, comme ça.
We passed by the city’s Roman Coliseum still in use today and occasionally offering bull fights, weather permitting, and wound up at the city’s hospital called “Hotel Dieu”. That’s right, folks, the hospital is named “God’s Hotel”. I can’t say that that’s a ringing endorsement for its staff or patients. Nonetheless, it is the site of another of Van Gogh’s famous paintings, “Garden of the Hospital in Arles”. And it’s the place Van Gogh ended up after a neighbor saw him with blood coming out of the former location of his right ear.
He survived that experience and skipped town with an unpaid balance on his “hotel bill” probably due to a large bar tab. He was found sometime later after committing suicide by shooting himself in the back 10 times. Officials described the circumstances surrounding his death as mysterious. But, I suspect, it might have something to do with a hotel owned by God.
You can check in but you can never leave.
November 27, 2025
Teresa and I checked out of our luxury river boat, home for the last week, the AmaKristina, and climbed to the top of the ramp streetside. There, a couple of taxis waited. We hopped in the first and I said, in my best French, “Côté est du Colisée”.
The driver looked at me and said in perfect English, “Show me on the map”. Apparently, my French is rusty and besides, almost everybody we meet in France speaks English. We’ve never had a problem.
Pulling up next to the Coliseum (east side) in Arles, the driver stopped and, after paying the fare (and tipping … we are Americans afterall) we headed to the house Teresa found to rent, which will be our home for the next couple of days as we meet some travel vendors in Provence.
The place is nice with a rooftop patio overlooking the Coliseum and in the shadow of the Notre Dame church. It seems every church in France is named Notre Dame.
Now, after warming up for a bit (it’s still cold but not as windy as yesterday), we are heading out to the Hertz car rental agency and then to the local supermarket.
Adventure awaits!
November 27, 2025
Teresa and I quickly settled into our new domestic life onshore in Arles. The strong “le mistral” picked up and blew more cold air into the sunny city.
A few quick stops on our way to the supermarket; Hertz Rental for tomorrow’s meetings, lunch at a French version of fast food, and a quick tour thru an empty Coliseum.
Almost everything in this old section of Arles is closed. Tourist season must be during the summer and warmer months only. It’s nice, though, with the place almost empty and to ourselves.
The supermarket was busier. A short 15-minute walk to a mini-Walmart style business with food, clothes and other goods. A noticeable difference being the requirement that all bags had to be inspected before leaving. Theft must be pretty bad here.
We picked up some things for our Thanksgiving dinner of cheese, crackers and wine. Turkeys are not part of the scene here. But truffles are.
On our way back home, we did a self-tour of the Coliseum across the street. It was empty except for a gang of cats. Gladiators reincarnated from past incredible histories.
Back home we turned up the heat and sat in the sun to warm up.
Happy Thanksgiving!
November 28, 2025
Sunrises here can be spectacular. No wonder the Romans picked this spot for their entertainment venues.
November 28, 2025
It’s Black Friday here in the south of France and a long day shopping for real estate for Teremar Travel’s 2026-2027 adventure offerings.
We picked up our rental car from Hertz and headed out to the heart of Provence to a small village called Eygalières. Traffic was light as we sailed thru hundreds of roundabouts. The rental, a brand new Renault, beeped nonstop warning us we were exceeding the speed limit. OMD, they drive slow in France!
The road to the center of Eygalières was blocked. Our prearranged meeting spot was in the village center, but a festival today necessitated closure of the roads.
We parked in a free dirt parking lot and hoofed it in from there.
Our real estate agent, a Brit by the name of Eric, met us behind a row of hedges. He apologized for the bustle in the hedgerow and asked us to follow him.
Soon, after climbing several stairways in Heaven, we arrived at our first villa. A classical stone Provençal villa overlooking groves of olive trees with a backdrop of purpled mountains.
It was like a Hollywood movie scene. Beautiful with an azure pool and tall green conical cypress trees. A bocci ball court suggested warm summer parties to come.
The villa property consisted of several out-buildings and had enough accommodations to house more than a dozen guests.
We saw several more properties in the region each unique and beautiful ranging from a very large, gated estate to an historic villa built in 1755 in the heart of a village at the foot of Mont-Ventoux, its summit treeless and now snowcapped.
It will be a tough decision but someone has to make it.
November 29, 2025
We are on the long journey back to Atlanta. But first, we have to get to the airport. In Paris. 500 miles away. So, the quickest way is by train on the TGV. It’s a two-hour ride from Marseille 50 miles south of Arles.
To get to Marseille, we caught the local train, The Zou. And to get to the train station we ordered an Uber from our Arles apartment.
The Uber driver showed up 10 minutes late. I think we woke him up. Watching him maneuver on the Uber app showed him not moving for 15 minutes. It was probably parked outside the driver’s home waiting for the driver to get dressed. Once underway, it went on a completely different route than the shortest one shown on Uber. Very likely due to one way streets and pedestrian only streets that both Uber and Google Maps frequently show incorrectly.
Finally at the Arles station, we found it fully engaged in renovations, all walls covered in visqueen. And the signs too. Fortunately, we were 30 minutes early so we eventually found our way to the correct platform. In a short while our Zou train arrived, much worse for the wear.
A 45-minute ride brought us to the Marseille main train station, stopping beforehand at the international airport, where we found a departure schedule sign showing what platform to go to. It was platform F nearby.
Our TGV train arrived and everyone started to board. Teresa and I of course were on the wrong end of the train and scrambled to find our car. Teresa told me we were in Car 2 from her ticket. But, as we rushed to the front of the train we noticed every car was marked the same with a large number 2 next to the car’s doors.
We climbed aboard one car to find it packed with absolutely no room for any more luggage. Or people. Then we found our seats occupied by somebody already. Clearly, we were in the wrong car and the TGV is not like a regular train where you can go from car to car. Each car is completely sealed off. Probably due to the train’s speed of 250 mph. Half an airliner’s speed and not one to get caught in between cars.
So we hopped back off and finally found a TGV conductor who pointed us to the right car. We boarded within a minute of taking off. Fortunately, there was extra room for luggage and bigger seats. It was 1st class at the front of the train.
No where on the train tickets was there any indication of where to go or what car to board. Sometimes you have to wing it. Another mystery to solve for another day.
This is part of travel in foreign countries. While flying is universally similar no matter where you go, and subways are generally and similarly easy to navigate, trains seem to have their own country specific details and can be more challenging.
Anyways, we are Paris bound at 250 mph at an elevation of 10 feet. Now, if I can just figure out how to open this bottle of water.
November 29, 2025
We arrived in Paris at the Gare de Lyon train station after a quick trip on the TGV. Hailing a taxi, we made it to our hotel in the 16th Arrondissement. A light rain started to turn heavy.
As darkness fell, we headed to the hotel lobby to grab an Uber for dinner at a restaurant called the Buddha-Bar located a couple of blocks from the Élysées Palace, the home of the President of France.
The Buddha-Bar restaurant offers Asian cuisine mixed with an abundance of pretense in a city built on pretension and overseen by a 20′ tall statue of Buddha demanding you answer his koans so he can place your order and move onto the next table.
Now I know what the sound of one hand eating is.
The drinks were great and so were the Szechuan Dumplings. And the soundtrack was awesome.
After dinner, we walked to the nearest Metro station passing by the French White House surrounded by heavily armed yet oh-so-fashionably dressed security guards. Yves Saint Laurents bearing Uzis.
Back at our hotel, we turned around to gaze at the Eiffel Tower glittering across the river, its light beacon sweeping thru the misty sky like some all-seeing third eye.
November 30, 2025
Sunday in Paris and a day to see the sites. The rain from yesterday blew out and the morning, cloudy, cleared up with a bright blue sky and chilly fall temperatures.
Our first stop was the Louvre where we met our guide at 9 AM. A young professional French licensed guide named William, he enthusiastically guided us past growing lines of tourists waiting outside for the museum opening.
He led us to the highlights including Venus de Milo and the Mona Lisa. It was a quick tour, only three hours long, and it barely touched on the range of art and historical artifacts housed in this massive museum. Hiring a guide was well worth it, not only for the early access to the museum but also for his knowledgeable narrative providing insights that might be missed otherwise.
By noon, we headed to lunch on nearby Île de la Cité where the recently renovated Notre Dame Cathedral is located.
After lunch, we headed to the Notre Dame Cathedral in hopes of getting inside to view the incredible sanctuary. While reservations are recommended, they’ve been unavailable since the cathedral opened a year ago. However, you can go inside without reservations as there is general access as long as you are willing to wait in line.
There’s the problem. By early afternoon, Paris was swamped with locals and tourists. A sunny afternoon and everyone was out. And the line to get inside looked like it had more than a hundred people waiting. We’ve been inside the cathedral several times before, so we skipped it and took the Metro subway to our favorite bar, Les Deux Magots.
The bar, a favorite of Ernest Hemingway, is a great place to sit outside and watch the Paris show. And the subway station is close so it’s easy to get to.
Now approaching 3 o’clock, we finished our wines and jumped back on the subway to our hotel.
<CUE SCARY DRAMATIC MUSIC>
To get back to the hotel, we had to change subway lines near another popular tourist destination called Montparnasse Tower.
We got to the connecting train platform and waited. And waited. A crowd of people started to grow. We waited. More people showed up and filled the platform. A cheerful “Ding Dong” sound preceded an ominous sounding announcement (as if Teresa and I could understand French).
But we could notice when several hundred people simultaneously headed to the exits. Looking at the announcement board overhead, I used Google Translate to discover that the subway line was broken and out of service until further notice.
As some of the last hopeful transients still gawking at the announcement board, we turned around and headed back to the street. Now crowded with hundreds of jilted riders. All of them staring at their cell phones.
I decided to order an Uber and pulled out my phone from my coat pocket. It was hot to the touch. Apparently, all the other cell phones were blasting the cell phone towers and my phone, in an attempt to make a connection, was screaming as loud as possible and burning up the battery which now showed at 10% capacity.
I got Uber to load and entered our hotel’s address. Uber started to find a driver. It couldn’t. It would find one and then drop it. Another and another. 15 minutes passed on the now late Sunday sidewalk getting colder and colder in the setting sun.
Finally a driver was found that would accept us. Taxis passed by with their rooftop lights in red showing unavailability. The Uber fare had doubled in that time and a $20 fare was now $40.
Our driver showed up on my cell phone screen inching his way to our destination in the now suddenly heavy traffic. He was approaching from the opposite direction meaning he would have to turn around to pick us up at our spot agreed to on the map.
I spotted his white Toyota and waved my arms. He pulled over to the curb on the other side of the busy multi-lane street and stopped. Then suddenly someone hopped into his back seat and he took off. SACRE BLEU! Someone stole our Uber!
I went back to my Uber app and picked “cancel ride”. Uber prompted back, “are you sure?” I clicked “cancel ride” again and my toaster hot phone turned off. Dead. After only 8 hours of battery usage.
SACRE BLEU BLEU! (Now I know where our parrot gets it from).
Teresa and I went inside the bar we were standing in front of. Observation: they have almost as many bars in Paris as they have churches.
Inside we assessed our situation. We had no paper map to navigate back to the hotel. The subway system was out. Taxis were full. My phone was dead after only a few hours of usage. And we had two glasses of wine to consume.
Then we both remembered that Teresa’s iPhone was still working and had Uber on it. So, we finished our wine and 15 minutes later stepped out to a calmer street scene and ordered another ride.
In a short 5 minutes, Jacques showed up in his black Renault and ferried us back to our hotel, through very heavy traffic, none worse for the wear.
Some Additional Observations:
1. Always take a backup charger with you along with a charging cable. We all rely on cell phones for everything these days.
2. It’s probably a good idea to carry a paper map.
3. And be sure someone else has a phone that’s still working.
4. Remember, travel is an adventure. Be ready for detours and have fun. Plans fall apart sometimes.
AND THE FINAL UBER INSULT:
We got charged $10 for canceling our hijacked Uber ride.
December 1, 2025
Teresa and I woke to the sound of explosions. BOOM. BOOM. BOOM. Outside our hotel room window, we could see the top of a garbage truck lifting a dumpster and banging it on the truck’s top to empty the contents. It was 6 AM. And our room was on the second floor.
Welcome to Monday morning rush hour in Paris. The beginning of a new work week. And garbage day. Remember to put your herbie-curbie curbside. And watch out for the wheel to wheel bicycle traffic.
In an hour we were outside the hotel front door heading to Carette, a coffee and croissant shop our “Uber Savior” from yesterday evening pointed out and recommended on our ride back. “Carette. Very good”, he said in broken French.
The place was close. Two blocks away on the Trocadero roundabout.
It was still dark outside. This time of year the sun doesn’t rise until after 8.
As we approached Carette we saw on either side well lit cafes that were open but empty. Carette, however, was packed. Full of tourists. “Suspicious”, I thought. “Surely the taxi cab drivers wouldn’t be incentivized to point the place out”.
Once seated, we ordered coffee and croissants. In a short while, a waiter brought our order and put the highly touted huge croissants (the size of a small dog) on our table.
“Yep, incentivized”, I said. They were nothing special and neither was the coffee. Our hotel has better for both.
But what WAS special, though, was the cafe’s location. Outside the window, across the roundabout, was the Palais de Chaillot, the first home of the United Nations. And it sits on a hill overlooking the Eiffel Tower. And the sky was turning bright pink.
“Let’s hurry and pay up”, I told Teresa. “The sun is coming up and it looks like the sunrise is going to be spectacular”.
All paid, we stepped outside in the cold air and growing light. A line now formed outside the door. A dozen more taxi cab riders waited for a table. Both cafes on either side of Carette sat empty but brightly lit.
We rushed through a couple of crosswalks and climbed the steps to the terrace separating the wings of the Palais.
Stopping, we stared to the east. There in front of us was the Eiffel Tower silhouetted by a blazing yellow sunrise and reflected in the polished stones of the terrace.
La vie en rose.
December 1, 2025
Our last full evening in Paris before our return flight and we decided to spend it in a most Parisian way. We went shopping. We went to the opera. And we went to the bar.
Our first stop was the Lafayette Galeries. An enormous store in north central Paris. The French version of Harrod’s in London or Macy’s in New York. It seems to cover several city blocks.
Exiting the subway station, we emerged to packed sidewalks decorated with Christmas lights. “It’s Cyber Monday”, I thought to myself. “Isn’t everyone supposed to be shopping from home?”
We stopped to look at the very creative window displays, some animated. Approaching a set of entrance doors, we found them locked and chained. The same for the next few entrances. We finally found doors that were open at the far corner of the building.
Entering, we found the same extremely crowded conditions. A conga line of shoppers. It amazed me that the other doors we locked and chained. A terrible setup if there was an emergency.
Inside the store the aisles were narrow. On either side and throughout were high priced luxury goods. Gucci, Hermes, Dior, all of them. And a conga line of shoppers pushing forward.
We eventually found our way to the the central atrium, known for it’s holiday displays and took a few photos. It was quite a scene.
Feeling overwhelmed by the crowds we headed back outside to the equally crowded sidewalks. We had a tour scheduled soon for the nearby opera house and headed that direction, two blocks away.
The opera house, Palais Garnier, is technically the “old opera house” built in the 1800s. There were older opera houses, but they all managed to burn down likely due their wood frame construction and use of candles for lighting. The Palais Garnier is built from stone.
Apparently, this opera house is the setting for “The Phantom of the Opera” which our guide made note of several times during our visit.
After our tour, we headed to the bar. Nearby was an old Hemingway favorite called Harry’s Bar. The sister bar to the one in Venice. What better way to end a long day on foot than to toast our favorite traveling companion, Ernest Hemingway, who always seems to predict our next destination.
And, of course, Hemingway was right. Paris IS a moveable feast.
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