February 1999

When I was still working for hotel companies, I traveled a lot around the States, but I still hadn’t been abroad. When I got the chance to see France with a beautiful girl who actually spoke fluent French, I jumped on it.

She made all of the arrangements, and she did a bang-up job. In Paris, we stayed in a positively romantic little place, the kind of hotel you probably imagine when you think of Paris. It was a small boutique with period furniture, tight hallways, and pleasant views of the city. We were a block away from the Pantheon, and every morning I walked up there to take in the sights. Looking straight down the long avenue from the steps of the Pantheon, you could see the Eiffel Tower poking up through the morning fog.

I had a bad stroke of luck - or maybe ignorance. We stopped in at a bar, and since I was starving, I ordered steak tartare. I had no idea it was raw hamburger. I’ve always seen the culinary arts as an extreme sport, so I dove right in, and actually enjoyed it. (I like sushi, too.) Well, I enjoyed it for a while, but I ended up with a nasty case of food poisoning that haunted me for the rest of the ten-day trip.

We took in the Louvre, some wonderful department stores, and more than I can remember.The Louvre was my favorite, by far. They say the amount of art overwhelms you, and they’re right - I walked right past my favorite Bottecelli three times, trying to find it, before I even realized it was there. (It’s a large mural, probably six feet tall by ten feet wide, and it was hidden in a hallway.)

After three days of Paris, we rented a car and headed to the Loire Valley for four days, where plenty of castles hold guard over champagne country. As it turned out, it was bad castle weather - lots of rain - but we braved it long enough to get more than an eyeful. We even stayed in an old castle, a restored one owned by two princes. (No, not the ones in the Spin Doctors song.)

Faced with all the great food and wine, I couldn’t be reasonable, like any other food poisoning victim. I had to keep trying new things, including a wonderful pizza with fresh mushrooms and feta cheese. I don’t regret eating it, but it didn’t make my stomach feel any better.

We spent the last three days of the trip back in Paris in the same hotel. We kept the car, and I had my first international run-in with the law. A policeman waved me over to the side of the street, and began jabbering in my window. He appeared to be training two other police cadets, a young man and woman, who couldn’t hold back their smiles when they realized I had absolutely zero ability to speak French. I handed over my passport and my insurance information from the rental car company, which he perused quickly. He was talking entirely too rapidly, and my travel companion couldn’t understand what he was getting at. Finally, he reached into the car and jabbed my chest firmly twice with his finger. (That one scared me.) She realized that he was pointing to my seat belt, and she obligingly put hers on and smiled. That seemed to do the trick, and he let us go. At that point, his trainees were laughing out loud.

(My second international run-in with the law was a parking ticket in France, which having gone unpaid, has probably put me under surveillance by Interpol.)

I was entranced by the Louvre - I spent another entire day there, just wandering. I stopped by the Eiffel Tower, but didn’t go up due to the horrible lines.

If you’re planning a trip to France, you can get by without taking along a Francophile. The horror stories you here about the French attitude towards tourists hold true whenever you stray outside of places that derive their income from tourists. Most of the menus that we found were printed with English translations, and the hotel staffs were remarkably fluent and pleasant, but outside of that, you’re not going to get any help at all from these folks. This ain’t Mexico.

Having said that, I can agree that they’ve got plenty of reason to be haughty. The French have some of the finest culture you’ll find anywhere: impeccable fashion, tasteful art, tremendous history, and a melodic language.

UPDATE: 1/2003 - Joe Millionaire Was Here

Fox filmed Joe Millionaire in the very castle we stayed in, pictured at the top of this page. I watched the first episode with my jaw wide open, and I kept repeating, “I stayed there. I remember that.” It’s one thing to watch shows about New York City and recognize landmarks that you’ve personally walked up to, but it’s another thing entirely to see a TV show filmed in an obscure castle where you spent a few days.

This brings to mind one of my Travel Tips - stay in the nicest or worst places, but never in between. Travel is all about making lasting memories, and spending some extra money here made the kind of difference I’ll remember for the rest of my life. Becky worked hard to find a beautiful castle that we could afford to stay in, and it paid off.

Paris Revisited, February 2004

When Erika worked for an airline, we decided to take advantage of the flight benefits and spend a long weekend in Paris. International first-class flights are a completely different experience from coach class, or even from domestic first class, and the trip was mostly an excuse just to fly international first class.

We did the basic common stuff - saw the Louvre, went up the Eiffel Tower, visited Notre Dame, and ate some really, really good food.

Again, I can’t emphasize this enough: every experience should either be something you specifically want to cherish, or something that flat out doesn’t matter. Stay and eat in great places or completely average ones, but any money in between is wasted. Erika tried setting us up in a relatively nice hotel as determined by Expedia, but you can’t trust the ratings of the company selling you the hotels. The Hotel Lotti ended up being way overpriced for what little amenities it actually offered. It was memorable alright - for an abject lack of quality - and we’d have been better off saving our money, staying in typical hotels, and spending it on things we really enjoy.