River Cruising – Teremar Travel

Paris to Normandy by Riverboat

July 23, 2026

It’s “Golden Hour” in Atlanta. Photography’s favorite time for capturing golden colors and shadows as the sun sets. Combine it with the many mirrored buildings in midtown, and it makes a dramatic backdrop for a new adventure.

Teresa and I are off to France for a river cruise from Paris to Normandy.

July 24, 2026

Once off the plane, we started our long march. Up an escalator. Down an endless glass walkway. Through a phalanx of stainless steel bollards. Then a train. Then more escalators, hallways and bollards.

Finally we reached the border. Customs and immigration. And in front of us was a large mostly empty convention-sized hall filled with stanchions and purple belts dividing the room into lanes for holding hundreds and hundreds of potential immigrants.

To our right, nearby, were the customs officers squirreled away in their glass cubicles, sitting on stools elevating them above the crowds so they could look down upon the teaming masses which, of course, there were none.

To our left … to our far, far left … was a lone customs official in an orange construction-style vest apparently waving to us. From our distance it was hard to see or tell what he was doing. He seemed to be indicating that we had to head his way instead of jumping under the belts blocking us from the nearby customs officers.

Complying with his apparent instructions, Teresa and I turned in his direction. After several minutes of walking, we arrived to the young man in the orange vest. “Where are you from”, he solemnly asked. “Atlanta”, we said. And he pointed his finger to the entrance.

The entrance of “The Maze”.

I followed Teresa as she entered. A few other people from our flight entered the maze to our right, but in a different lane.

Our lane went straight for a while before turning around and heading back. Then it turned again heading to the glass booths on the far wall. A young woman in an orange vest appeared and she moved one of the purple magnetic belts. She pointed to the right and we followed the new path.

Our other fellow passengers were facing the same scenario. They were now heading left. It was like we were racing in some sort of scene from Tron the movie. Left. Then right. Then another orange vested official reconfigured the belts and we were heading backwards.

“It’s like a rat maze”, I told Teresa as we turned left again. “But without cheese. In the country that invented cheese. How is that possible?”

“Soon”, I told her, “We’ll be in Paris”.

July 24, 2026

We finally made it through customs, zut alors, and headed to our new home for the next 10 days, the ms Serene, Tauck Tours newest river boat docked in Paris on the Seine River, sailing since March.

Tauck arranged for a driver from SIXT, a VIP car rental company, to pick us up and take us to the river docks just west of the Eiffel Tower.

Once in the arrivals hall, we found our driver, Nino, who led us outside to the limo parking area nearby.

Nino was driving a brand-new black Mercedes-Benz SUV. All electric. “Very nice”, I said using my best Borat imitation.

Soon, we were whisking our way, silently, down the freeways surrounding Paris. On the way, I noticed some landmarks and pointed them out. To our right, coming up, I thought, was La Defense. I asked Nino if that was it and he pulled off the freeway to give us a closer look.

Back on the freeway and in another ten minutes, we pulled up next to our river boat, it’s gang plank empty except for a lone ship employee who took our bags.

It was 3 PM and I think we were the last ones on board and everyone was waiting for us. At least they didn’t take off without us this time. Of course, that’s a different story for a different day from a different cruise operator on a different Caribbean Island and a very different century. And, besides, I don’t think they have hurricanes in Paris.

Checking in, we quickly toured the boat and before you could say “incroyable”, we headed out for an afternoon cruise through town.

I quickly sought out our captain, a 24-year-old wizened man of the seas, and asked if I could water ski through downtown Paris.

“NON!”, was the young captain’s reply.

“But I’m an American” no longer seemed to work its magic.

Feeling dejected, I headed back to the upper deck and was surprised to find that “Lady Liberty” had recently returned home to France. Looking exhausted (it’s a long flight) at least she smiled while posing in front of the Eiffel Tower.

Heading out of town, we passed under several very low bridges, the smarter passengers ducking in time.

As Marie Antoinette would say, “It’s nothing to lose your head over”.

July 25, 2026

We left our riverside dock early in the morning and climbed aboard our Tauck Tourbus. Our destination: Le Marais on the eastern side of cental Paris. The 4th arrondissement.

On our way we followed Paris’ perimeter freeway, much like Atlanta’s I-285 filled with traffic, passing by the last of the latest high rises, the Pyramid and a pair of wobbly, broken looking glass towers. Paris, apparently, is finally serious about banning high rises in the city and the Pyramid is supposed to be the last one allowed. The previous high rise, Montparnasse, was built over 50 years ago and caused an uproar then. But Paris fell off the wagon one weekend recently and allowed one too many. That’s it. No more high rises. Leave that to Dubai or other third world cities.

We pulled up to the curb just past the Bastille monument. Les Marais is the oldest neighborhood left in Paris, untouched by the city’s major urban renewal project from the early 1800s spearheaded by Haussman, Napoleon the Third’s chief of staff (yes, there were three Napoleons).

Hausmann tore down medieval Paris and installed straight wide boulevards, sewers and lighting. A lot of the inspiration for this “updating” was so that, if the locals got uppity, as they had been doing since playing soccer with Marie Antoinette’s head for a few decades, the new emporer could bring in cannons to blast away any barricades erected to keep out all the king’s men. Apparently, barricades were very effective for a while.

Alors!

Le Marais was untouched by the urban renewal so it still has cobblestone streets and Edwardian timber sided structures from before the 1700s. It’s also where the Bastille, a prison, was located before the aforementioned uppity locals tore it down and started their soccer match. Why it wasn’t the first place Haussman “renewed” is baffling.

Our first destination was the Place Vosges, the first of several large fountain-bedazzled, tree-filled squares surrounded by pricey, pricey architectural homes, of which one is the home of Victor Hugo, France’s famous author from the 1800s.

It’s also the home to the city’s Jewish Quarter. Along the way, we passed a Holocaust museum and memorial. A wall on the side of the museum listed the names of the thousands of people lost as well as the names of the local Parisians who risked their lives protecting and hiding their neighbors.

A Jewish deli nearby was attacked in 1982 and six people were killed. It is considered the deadliest attack on a Jewish target in France since World War II.

There’s a lot going on in the 4th A.

After an hour of walking and gawking, we stopped at an outdoor cafe to have coffees. Adjacent, was a brightly lit carousel filled with noisy children. You could barely hear the trucks and motorcycles roaring past.

The music from the carousel provided a background sound track. Baroque and classical music. At least until a group of Americans arrived with children. Once on board and spinning, the operators changed the music to Star Wars sound effects with occasional bursts of machine gun fire. Strange, I thought.

We continued our Le Marais tour and ended up at the Paris City Hall, modestly tucked away in some blocks-long palace. The view of the recently reconstructed Notre Dame Cathedral across the river was stunning.

After a couple of miles of walking, the tour buses picked us up and drove us to the other side of the river to the Sorbonne where we got out to wander around on our own and find a cafe. It was now noon.

Teresa and I found a nice empty cafe. Teresa enjoyed the (authentic) French Onion soup and I had the Swinging Medallions of Pork.

Following lunch, we walked to the nearby Pantheon where Voltaire, Victor Hugo and Madame Curie are buried. I was hoping to find one or several Napoleons buried there but they weren’t.

Heading back to our bus rendezvous point, we found a bustling outdoor market where I bought a strawberry beret.

Like one of those you would find in a second hand store.

July 25, 2026

Tauck Tours provided a real surprise tonight and arranged for a private tour of the Louvre after closing hours.

The Louvre has 10s of thousands of visitors daily and it can be too crowded many times to see anything up close. It’s like trying to get through the Atlanta Airport and find Mona Lisa who is stuck in the security line.

And this weekend is the end of the Tour de France with the race finishing tomorrow afternoon on the Champs Ellyses. So Paris is packed.

After an hour drive thru the heavy traffic made worse by the closing of many major streets for tomorrow’s race, our bus pulled into the basement parking lot at the Louvre.

Finally inside and under the glass pyramid of the lobby, it was strange to see the place empty.

We had a great Louvre tour guide and she went into incredible detail on all the major works of art. It was easy to get close and enjoy the details she was describing.

We got up close with Venus de Milo, Nike on her Boat and of course the Mona Lisa.

What a treat. Apparently Tauck is apparently known for this type of surprise experience.

Teresa and I were here last November with another great guide but the crowds kept you from seeing these treasures up close. Everything felt rushed. And in the Mona Lisa room, all you could do was squeeze through to the exit without getting anywhere near the famous painting.

To illustrate, I’ve paired the pictures below which show this visit on the left with our visit last November on the right. Same painting, different scenes.

Finished with our private tour of the Louvre, we headed back to our river boat.

The sun was setting on our circuitous route back as we passed by the famous La Madeleine, covered in scaffolding. Apparently, another great treasure being cleaned and repaired.

But somehow, we managed to orbit the Arc de Triomphe even though it is the final landmark for tomorrow’s Tour de France finish and, of all places, should not be accessible by motorized vehicles.

Jul 26, 2026

It’s Versailles Day.

Outside in the morning and it was cold and grey. Overcast with temperatures in the low 60s. The breeze made you wish you brought a jacket but, just a few weeks ago, the temperatures were over 100. At least the Tour de France cyclists will love it when the race finishes in the afternoon nearby.

The palace was close to our riverboat. The bus trip took 20 minutes.

The scene at Versailles was what I consider normal especially after last night’s visit to the Louvre. Crowded. Packed with tourists.

Once inside and past heavily armed security, our great guide began detailing the history of this “new” but famous palace.

Briefly, the Louvre, which was the home to the French King, just got too small. And it was in the city with all the city types of problems. “Urban” as they say. So his highness packed up his things (well, not the king but his many, many servants) and moved to the suburbs.

I think this was Louis the 14th and it was in the early 1600s. There were so many Louie Louies that I lost count. 14,15,16? So I will just stick with plain old Louis. Or “Lew” as I prefer to call him.

Anyhow, Lew, and his wife, Marie (all the queens were named Marie in this same time period. Strange, I know) bought the biggest lot in the nicest suburban town called Versailles southwest of downtown Paris. There, he built a big, REALLY BIG, house and filled it with all sorts of nice things.

Then, he had all his friends show up and they partied all the time. At some point, Lew ran out of money and assembled his political pals to discuss making more money (for Lew) by increasing taxes. All Lew had to do was to get the three political groups to mostly say yes to his idea.

The three groups were; the Church (who never paid taxes), the Nobility (who never paid taxes), and the People’s Parliament (who were the tax payers). Each group got to cast one vote and it was close. Like a World Cup game. The final score was 2 to 1 in favor of increasing Lew’s salary. You can guess who the lone holdout was.

Anyhow, when the uppity hoi-polloi found out about the results, they lost their heads and by “they”, I mean Lew and Marie.

So tragic. They seemed like such a nice couple.

Once we finished our tour, we headed back to the boat to grab lunch. A quick 20 minute drive and … we missed our exit.

The bus driver took the next exit and that’s when the adventure began.

He turned the megabus down a road that lead to a neighborhood packed with multi-floor apartments. And increasingly narrower streets.

One block. Two blocks. Three blocks. And we’re stuck. The bus was too big to move any further without crushing the multitude of curb side parked vehicles.

The bus lurched to a stop. On the sidewalk, an old French woman wagged her finger at the driver and started getting “mouthy”. I can read lips but my French comprehension is not so great but let me tell you she wasn’t saying nice things.

Slowly we started backing up. Inch by inch. Meter by meter. Horns squeaked. We were almost scraping the paint off of the adjacent cars.

The bus crossed an intersection and continued backing up. Slowly. Slowly.

Finally, enough room opened up on the side that opposing traffic could start flooding through. There was a burst of motorcycles, scooters and tricycles.

Then another intersection passed by as we continued backing up ever so slowly. And the bus driver was doing a great job until he nearly backed up a loading ramp from a delivery truck. Much mayhem and mayhew ensued.

Finally, we were out of the cramped neighborhood and came to rest in a roundabout. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief and applauded.

In 5 minutes we were back at the riverboat. As I exited, the driver apologized and said that the roads he normally takes were closed due to the Tour de France race.

“Don’t worry”, I told him. “It’s nothing to lose your head over”.

July 26, 2026

After everyone was back on board, we left Paris and sailed west, heading towards our next destination, Rouen, 90 miles away.

Following dinner, there was a special dessert “surprise” waiting for us in the lounge. “Could it be Marie Antoinette’s cake”, I wondered silently to myself.

Non! It was Crepes Suzette. Much better received to the delight of the passengers than Marie’s dessert was years prior.

“Let them eat crepes”, just doesn’t have that same, je ne sais quoi, touch, does it?

A few thoughts from our morning spent at Versailles.

The life and times of the French people in the 1600 to 1800 period are similar to today’s world. It was a time of struggle for the common people and they were taken advantage by the powers that controlled their lives. There was, similar to today, a big divide between the “haves” and the “have-nots”.

They had an elected Parliament which shared powers with the church and nobility. This elected Parliament was mostly for show and didn’t hold any real power as the church and nobility really controlled things.

The kings and their families in many ways were the entertainers of the day. “Influencers”, as our guide said. The media stars of their day.

Versailles was really set up as a performance venue. Outside the main gates is a huge parking lot to accommodate many carriages coming for the shows. Very similar to CBS Television City in today’s Hollywood.

The reason this becomes clear is that Versailles had two distinct areas. The public areas where the King performed his daily ritual live in front of a live studio audience and the backstage area where the family had their private living quarters.

Each of the public salons, huge rooms elaborately decorated from floor to and including ceilings are effectively stages large enough for audiences.

Whether it was waking up in bed, going to Mass, eating lunch, meeting for business or just lounging around, a separate salon was built to accommodate these activities. And these were open to audiences to watch in person.

One of the King Louies danced ballet in front of the royal audiences until he was in his 60s. A painting in one of the salons shows him decked out and flashing his stocking covered legs. He is today credited with creating modern ballet.

Ooh la la!

The whole Royal Family Show at the end of the day was just one big schtick designed to entertain and distract from the real machinations of daily French life.

Bread and circuses as the Romans said.

It was like today’s reality TV except there was only one channel and one show.

At the end, their system failed and the first French Republic, sans King “Ozzie Ozbourne”, was born following the revolution of 1789.

So much like America today in the 21st Century. The real gears are turned without public knowledge while the circus show grabs all the attention.

A proven recipe for disaster. Or positive change.

July 27, 2026

We sailed all night and arrived at 9AM at our next port of call, Rouen, 93,206 miles west of Paris, according to Google. “Wow, France is a really big country”, I thought, until I remembered that the periods and commas are reversed for numbers in Europe. I’m sure that’s caused some navigational confusion before.

Rouen is the Capitol of Normandy and the largest city between Paris and the Atlantic. It has occasionally been in the right place at the wrong time. Most notably, recently, during World War 2 when it developed a bad case of the Nazis with the only cure being getting flattened by Allied bombs.

And flattened it got.

Sadly, little of the medieval and historic city is left today but what is there, or what has been rebuilt, makes this place worth a visit and walking tour which Teresa and I did today.

Rouen, pronounced “WARNH” in French and not “ROO-EN” as any sane person would say, was once called “the city of 100 church steeples” but they’ve managed to whittle that down to about 30 steeples with help from the previously mentioned Allies.

Speaking of French, I took 4 years of French language while in high school and college and it still makes absolutely no sense to me. While I can read it a little bit, pronouncing it is impossible because the French refuse to follow any grammatical rules and the only two things I know are, (#1) if you see it in print, don’t pronounce it the way it looks and (#2) only speak through your nose.

Eh!?

So strange too since their neighbors, the Germans, pronounce absolutely everything you see in writing plus, probably, half of the stuff the French threw away. Sounds like a potential source of conflict.

Personally, I think that absolutely no one knows how to pronounce anything in French and that all the locals are just faking it and saying it the way they think it should be said. I base this on the number of ways I heard locals pronounce this city’s name and everyone was different. The trick to the language is just say it with confidence and if someone doesn’t understand you, it’s their problem.

Anyhow, Rouen’s most famous claim is being where Joan of Arc was tried and burned at the stake for, as Grace Jones sang, “Feeling like a woman, looking like a man”. That’s right, at the age of 19, Joan of Arc was brutally murdered for wearing men’s clothes. Some French religious wacko found something in the Bible and the church jailed her, tried her, found her guilty, and burned her alive. Thank God for religion as it gives these folks something to hide behind as they get their thrills.

And of course, now the French are known for their haute couture and setting fashion trends so, at the end of the day, Joan started a whole new industry.

Sacre bleu!

Fast forward 500 years and in 1909, the Catholic Church canonized her so now she’s a saint and a fancy new modernistic church (built in the 1970s) was constructed on the site of her execution and now Joan of Arc souvenirs are for sale everywhere. I can’t wait to get home to break out my Joan of Arc BBQ Set including Spatula.

At the end of our tour, inside Joan’s new church, Teresa and I decided to do our own tour of Rouen. We wandered around town and found the local art museum with a handsome Alexander Calder mobile out front. Inside, free of charge, were artworks specializing in images of people looking sickly or being tortured in some sort of religious ways. Saints, apparently, don’t have a pleasant stay while visiting.

We quickly departed and headed out to find a bistro for a late lunch. We walked through some refreshing, flowered gardens and passed by the Palace of Justice with stone walls pockmarked by craters from WW2 bombs. “Whatever it takes to cure that Nazi problem”, I said as we passed.

Around the corner and down some narrow winding streets we found a sunny plaza with a ring of restaurants and outdoor seating under umbrellas.

Lunch was delicious. Teresa had the Carrots Miso and I had a Deluxe Joan Burger. Yummy.

Exhausted and still lightly disturbed, we headed back to the riverboat to relax and refresh for the evening’s events.

July 27, 2026

We had dinner at a local chateau. Tauck made the arrangements.

After a fifteen-minute bus drive, we arrived at the Château du Taillis, now under reconstruction and doing business as an event center.

The owner of the property, a man in his 40s, met our group and explained the chateau’s history. When he was a teenager, his parents decided to leave Paris and buy a country estate. It was 1990. Ever since, it has been under “reconstruction”, or “non-stop repairs” as I prefer to call it. Always read the Property Disclosure Statements, I tell people when buying real estate. Always.

Anyhow, he’s done (and is doing) a great job. And the seven-course dinner was great too. I just wonder how the 200-foot-tall California redwood tree ended up in the front yard.

July 28, 2026

Another night cruise took us to the city of Le Havre, the port city for Paris. During the war, this was a key strategic location and filled with troublesome Nazis.

The D-Day invasion started with a diversion. And that was the flattening of Le Havre. The Allies were successful with both goals.

And nothing was left of Le Havre. So today, it is all new construction and mostly a “meh” sadly because, before its destruction, it was described as the “small Paris”. It feels like a generic, suburban city now. At least it has some notable buildings designed by Brazilian architect, Oscar Niemeyer, who designed Brasilia, the capital of Brazil.

In the morning, we boarded a bus and headed up the coast to the seaside city of Etretat.

Etretat is a small and beautiful city on the English Channel framed to the north and south by large white limestone buttressed cliffs still housing World War II pillboxes.

The beach is not one that I would recommend running barefoot across. It’s composed of rocks. Or “pebbles” as they call them around here. Attractive pebbles, however, as people started taking them home as souvenirs. It proved to be such a problem, that the French were afraid their beach might one day be stripped clean, so now they have “Pebble Police” who patrol the area looking for pebble thieves. If they catch you stealing pebbles, you can be fined. Like that.

Bam bam!

Etretat doesn’t seem to have suffered much destruction during the war so a lot of its original architecture still stands including thatched roof homes, Victorian looking brick structures and timber sided medieval buildings.

It is apparently the beach town that Parisians go to if they have their own vehicle. When we left town, both sides of the highway entering town were lined up with parked cars stretching for at least a mile. Parisians, we were told, hate to pay for parking.

Deauville, towards the south on the other side of the Seine, is where Parisians without their own transportation go if they want to hit the beach since a trainline from Paris ends in Deauville. And Honfleur is where all Brits head to.

And it’s where we headed for lunch. But first, we crossed the Normandy Bridge spanning over the Seine River.

Honfleur is on the southside of the Le Havre Harbor and around 100 miles south of England across the English Channel. There must be ferry service direct from England as the place is bustling with British accented tourists and all the restaurants advertise “Fish and Chips – British Style”.

No matter how much England wants to be excluded from Europe and how it wants to be seen as some sort of remote island kingdom, at the end of the day it’s still closer and likely quicker to get to than many places in the Atlanta metro area from where we live in the suburbs.

But at least it has strange accents, y’all.

July 28, 2026

Back on board the ms Serene, we were treated to a special dessert surprise. I don’t know what it was, but after all the bubbles burst into misty smoke bombs, everyone fell fast asleep.

July 29, 2026

It was a somber day. A long day. A hot day. And a D-Day pilgrimage day.

We started early at 8 and headed west towards the beaches of Normandy. A two hour bus ride from our river boat in Le Havre.

Our first stop, excluding the French Freeway Buc-ees filled with D-Day trinkets, was Pointe du Hoc Ranger Monument and Visitor Center situated halfway between Utah Beach and Omaha Beach.

Pointe du Hoc is a hilltop where Nazis mounted large cannons with a firing range of 12 miles. The guns could fire on both American landing zones as well as the Allied ships at sea. So, a group of US Rangers “cleaned up” the site a day before the invasion. Much to the rangers’ surprise, several cannons along the cliffs overlooking the English Channel were actually decoys fabricated from wooden poles.

Our next stop was Omaha Beach. A long sandy beach lined with beach houses, restaurants, bars and other beach businesses just as it was in 1944. I always thought Omaha Beach was undeveloped at the time but I found out otherwise. It’s basically a beach party town now as it was then.

I can only imagine what a killjoy it must have been to watch the Nazis goose stepping up and down the beach promenade for 4 long years while heiling Hitler. Maybe it’s the birthplace of the phrase, “hang 10”.

Anyhow, the beach is subject to twice daily large tidal surges of 10 to 20 feet so at times the beach can extend out into the channel by 100s of yards or be crashing against the sea wall next to the beachfront road. Timing the invasion had to take this into account.

From the beach, the land rises 100 feet or so to hilltops where Nazis positioned their troops and armaments. So, these were some of the factors that the Allied planners had to consider.

Fortunately, the Nazis were surprised by the invasion as they were expecting it further north near Calais, 100 miles away.

The D-Day invasion started on the morning of June 6, 1944, and consisted of 5 different landing zones along the Normandy coast. Two by American forces, two by British forces and one by Canadian forces. Many thousands of troops died in the attack but by the end of the first day, Allied forces had advanced to the hilltop off the beach where farms and villages were located.

From there, the struggle to liberate Europe began and within a year, it proved to be a successful strategy.

After our visit to Omaha Beach, Tauck arranged for lunch for us at a restored chateau now converted to a 5 star hotel. C’est bon!

Following lunch, we paid our respects to the fallen American soldiers by visiting the American Cemetery at Normandy. Over 11,000 soldiers are buried there on a bluff overlooking the deep cerulean-blue sea and golden sands.

Such a beautiful spot, except for that June morning in 1944, to be grateful for the efforts and sacrifices made to free the world of the Nazi madness.

Let’s hope it doesn’t happen again.

July 29, 2026

A quiet sunset cruise as we sail away from Le Havre and Normandy. It’s been 84 years since that last summer of World War II when so many lost their lives protecting the world from fascism. But now the drums beat again.

“The next great war won’t arrive until everyone who remembers the last one is dead.” – Cormac McCarthy, Stella Maris

July 30, 2026

We are on our way back to Paris where our river boat cruise ends in two days.

We sailed all night and pulled up to the pier in Caudebec-en-caux. The world’s most boring French city. The Perry Como of Normandy.

It’s 9 o’clock in the morning and we headed out on our own for a self-guided tour. The sky was overcast and the air cool.

We crossed the sleepy riverside highway, a lone farm tractor rumbling towards us, and entered the medieval city center, a place with over a thousand years of history. Much of the city looks like it was built in the 1950s. Clearly a sign of fleeing Nazis with Allied troops on their heels.

In the center of the village is a church named Notre Dame. Apparently, the French have a short list of names from which to choose when naming churches. And like other churches we’ve seen on this visit, its steeple was covered with scaffolding, repairs underway.

Behind the church was a nice garden with a loud, swiftly flowing creek flowing to the river. Like everywhere in France, pots of growing petunias were mixed with vibrant green potato vines.

Around the corner was a Piggly-Wiggly grocery store open (Le Piggly-Wiggly in French). A sad and sparce vegetable stand outside beckoned us in but we resisted. Viva la résistance.

In another block we stopped to stare at the real estate signs showing local homes for sale. We found a nice Tudor style one for only €238,160 equivalent to $273,285. While small, 1,130 square feet, it looks like it has plenty of outdoor living space to compensate. And probably a good place for plenty of naps.

Of course, who knows what the cost of repairs and taxes are. Likely more than expected.

We headed back to the boat after an exhausting 3 block tour. A barbecue was being prepared on the upper deck for lunch. Grilled chicken and lamb, of which Mary had a little.

But before lunch, time for a nap. The sounds of Perry Como played from somewhere nearby.

July 30, 2026

In the afternoon, we climbed aboard our bus and headed out to visit an historic abbey in nearby Port Jumièges.

The abbey was originally built in the 600s and was used during the reign of Charlemagne as a jail for folks that “Charlie” didn’t like. Like the Duke of Bavaria and the duke’s son, Theo. Politics never changes.

Fast forward 100 years and you have the Vikings paying a visit and like all Viking visits, it ended in ruin and pillage. Not to mention the sacking. (Note to Self: Don’t invite Vikings for the next party).

After the locals recovered from their “Viking Party”, they cleaned the place up and rebuilt the abbey. And made it bigger.

Over the next many hundreds of years, famous folks came and went and the abbey thrived and grew when it wasn’t being knocked down and attacked during many wars with literally everyone around the area. I guess it must have been boring before everyone had iPhones with cat videos in their hands. People had nothing for entertainment other than wars.

Yet, the abbey continued to survive and thrive. At least until the French Revolution in the late 1700s when things REALLY changed, at least briefly. It seems the revolutionaries really, really didn’t like the church. So, they took the abbey and sold it to the highest bidder. The revolutionaries were big into selling stuff. You should see what they did at Versailles.

The new owner, from England, took one look at the abbey, still in good shape, and said to himself, “I can make that into a new house for myself”, and he disassembled parts and pieces and shipped it back to England and built something called Highcliffe Castle where, hopefully, he enjoyed many years.

Today, the remains (not ruins) of Jumièges Abbey are owned by the local town and it has been turned back into a major tourist destination with less wars.

So far.

July 31, 2026

Leaving the docks in Les Andelys, our next stop after an all-night sailing past Rouen, we headed up the hill to the castle, or fortress (I can’t remember what makes them one or the other) overlooking the Seine River.

We are about 60 miles west of Paris.

The castle marked the boundary between England and the Kingdom of France around 1200 and it was built by Richard the Lionheart, King of England.

From what I understood from our tour guide, remember my hearing is not so good, Richard grew up with Phillippe, who around this time was King of France. They were once buddies growing up.

Somehow they got into a tiff and before you could say “Jackie Robinson”, they were battling it out with each other using knights, killer rabbits and what-not and at the end of the day, King Phillippe won the tussle and enlarged the Kingdom of France, which was, in those days, mostly what you call today Metropolitan Paris.

Fast forward 800 plus years and you find us in a bus lumbering north towards La ferme des ruelles – Galmel Michel, an all-natural organic no-pesticides-at-all farm next to Tilly (not the famous ATM machines in Atlanta), France.

Michel gave a lecture in one of his barns festooned with a chandelier. At this point I suspect that all old wooden barns in France have chandeliers. It’s the French way.

Non?!

Michel started converting the farm in 2004 to an organic farm and stopped using chemicals and pesticides. He also started breaking up the fields into smaller patches bordered by trees and hedgerows. Overall, the farm covers 150 acres.

He eventually found that by bringing back the biodiversity, he could sustain his agricultural output naturally.

He had some setbacks, like when the mouse population exploded. He let the problem go without fighting it using today’s poisons or chemicals and found that hawks and herons moved in to control the problem naturally.

The soil at the beginning had few earthworms but years later a survey was done and the earthworm population was discovered to have grown significantly.

Now, how does one survey earthworms in France? Why, with mustard (presumably Grey Poupon) mixed with water.

But, of course.

They took the mix of mustard and water and poured it on the ground. The mustard is an irritant to the earthworms so they wiggle up and get counted.

Today, the farm is productive without the use of chemicals all due to bringing back the natural food chain.

Following the lecture we sampled his products including a variety of highly alcoholic apple juices, ciders and wines. Also his mustard, even though it is not recommended by earthworms.

August 1, 2026

WARNING: Pictures of flowers ahead. Lots and lots of flowers. Enter at your own risk.

Early morning, we left our boat in Vernon and headed to the nearby village of Giverny. The home of Claude Monet and his famous garden with the green bridge and water lilies. Tauck arranged for a private visit for us before the gardens open to the public at 9 AM.

Seven years ago, Teresa and I tried to visit one July afternoon but the line waiting to buy tickets was too long and we didn’t have the time or patience to wait. And besides, Paris was nearby and calling. Monet can wait.

Well, he waited and seven years later here we are again. But this time in advance of the soon to be big crowds of tourists.

Monet bought his property in Giverny following a successful and lucrative exhibition of his paintings in New York. Further sales allowed him to buy more property and expand the gardens to the other side of the highway which is where he built his green footbridge over the pond filled with lilies. A tunnel under the highway connects the gardens to Monet’s house and prevents tourists from becoming road-kill.

The gardens are as beautiful as the many paintings and photos show. What’s not seen are today’s conga-line of selfie picture taking tourists. The numbers of visitors makes for a good local economy but diminishes the experience of seeing the gardens, partly due to the fact that you are confined to narrow walkways. It’s likely that, like other overly popular destinations, in the future visitors will have to reserve a time slot for their visits.

Following the gardens we did a tour of the interior of Monet’s home filled with Impressionistic art masterpieces, all of them fake. I call it, “Impressions of Impressionism”.

And on the way out is the ubiquitous gift shop filled with all sorts of coffee table books and tchotchkes.

Once out of the museum, we visited the local museum. Museums seem to be a thing around here. Inside were more impressions of impressions and one real Monet painting, a painting of a weeping willow tree dipping into his lily pond.

Beautiful.

Finally, of course, came the shopping. We bought a horse named Clod.

It was now late morning as we headed back to our bus and, with Giverny open to the public, the familiar crowds waiting in line to buy a ticket had returned.

Oh mon Dieu!

August 2, 2026

We made it back to the Charles de Gaulle Airport for our early morning flight without any delays even though traffic on the Paris freeways was heavy. Finally airborne, we have eight hours of flight time until the real show begins. Getting our checked bags and getting back through immigrations and customs.

But, sometimes when you are seated next to a window, it pays to look outside. And this time, what did I see? A city floating in the clouds.

Mont Saint Michel.

August 3, 2026

Back home in Atlanta after 10 days in France. Looks like we caught a bad case of inspiration. Mr. Monet would be proud.

Go Van Gogh!

Sailing the Rhone

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.

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.