Clutching my hand tighter, she looked up at me with eyes like saucers. “Daddy, this place is horrible.” My youngest daughter had been looking forward to Paris for months. Always somewhat of a romantic, to her Paris was sure to be the most wonderful destination of all. Now we had bustled through the crowded Gate du Nord Metro station, packed into overstuffed subway cars, and come up into a street strewn with garbage and stinking of rotting meat. People pushed sunglasses and headphones at us, corn grilled on barrels in shopping carts, and empty cardboard boxes and banana peels covered the streets. This was nothing like the Paris any of us had imagined.
“It will get better, let’s just find our apartment,” I told her. It was a great relief when we did find our apartment, and in contrast to unclean world outside our doors, the apartment was luxurious, spacious, beautifully furnished and had a garden with a waterfall. The housekeeper who showed us in spoke no English, so we communicated with gestures and got the tour. This apartment would be superb.
Leaving the children to relax in the comfort and safety of our apartment, Pam and I walked down the grocery store, purchased exciting food including plenty of puddings (mmmm!), figured out how to use the produce scale price sticker printers, and returned for dinner and naps.
We awoke at 8 pm, and decided we needed an evening outing to see something in Paris to replace this bad vision. Off to the Metro again...