Thinking back. . .

I never got around to writing a blog about our trip to Paris in April, mostly because so much happened that I ended up not writing anything.  It was a blast, and Paul and I had a great time aboard our Viking River Cruise from Paris to the Normandy Coast.  I highly recommend it.  It was a wonderful trip.

Oddly enough, two different events that stand out in my mind took place in Paris during the three days we spent there before embarking on the ship.

First, was the day we decided to visit the Eiffel Tower and had bought tickets ahead of time for a 1pm entry so we wouldn't have to wait on a long line.  Viking's itinerary took us to the Marais in the morning, and after leaving the group, the two of us headed for the Metro to take to the Tower stop.

 Except it turned out our directions were wrong and we shortly found ourselves totally lost.  In desperation, we stopped a group of young English speaking men to ask directions.  Turned out, that's where they were going as well, and invited us to join them.  They were Brits from Leicester, who looked like a 60's rock group, with lots of spikes in their ears and noses, but friendly as could be. Unfortunately, we soon discovered they were as lost as we were.

We apparently wanted the train, not the subway, and after tramping up and down endless flights of stairs and through various train platforms, our "leader" ascertained we were at the right place.  By this time we had added a young Australian couple to our group who were also lost.

Heaving a great sigh of relief, we watched as the train pulled into the station.  The door opened, and the polite Brits motioned to me and the Australian girl to get on, followed by four of the guys and a rush of strangers who were also waiting for the train.  And then the door closed.

Paul told me later that he wished he had a camera to freeze the look of sheer horror on my face as the train pulled out of the station and he was still standing on the platform.

The good news was that the Brits who were on the train were now my new best friends, staying with me and the Australian girl at the station where we got off until the rest of the pack, including Paul, arrived some ten minute later on the next train.

One last memory from that wild day.  When we all went to leave the station, the turnstile at the exit suddenly decided not to work.  This did not deter the Brits who simply climbed and jumped over the apparatus.  It also didn't deter Paul, who is over 6 ft.  You might remember that I am not exactly towering in height and the turnstiles were quite high.  Climbing was just not an option.  Another photo, thank goodness, he didn't get:  Joan, elegantly crawling her way under the turnstile on all fours.  Paul didn't dare laugh.

The second event I remember with less fondness was the night we ate at a very lovely seafood restaurant near our Paris hotel.  I love fish, and since the menu was all in French, I asked the waiter for his suggestion.  He was exuberant about the "fish of the night" and I said fine.

My dinner arrived and it looked very delicious.  Except, when I went to take my first bite, I hit a solid sheet of bone.  Calling over the waiter, he explained to me that "You must flip it over, Madame".  Flip I did, and began eating.  It was quite interesting, different than any fish I had ever tasted, and I was curious.  Already half way through the serving, I called over the waiter and asked what kind of fish it was.  He answered by telling me he would bring me a picture.

He did.  I was eating a Manta Ray.  Needless to say, that was the end of that dinner.  Paul, who rarely eats fish, couldn't stop laughing.

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Marching through the Metro

My new best friends!

OMG!  My poisonous dinner!