Day 15 - Paris, France

It was going to be a very long day of driving…8 hours according to the on-board GPS. We had to have the BMW returned to the drop-off location in Paris by 4:30pm at the latest. They closed at 5pm and the drop-off date could not be missed. We were on the road by 7:45 and settled in for the long journey.

For the most part the drive went by quickly. We had the latest David Sedaris audio book, read by the author to keep us company. The only small hick-up was crossing the border from Switzerland into France. There were 3 officers at the post. One waved us through and the other gave a very fast signal to immediately stop. Apparently, a red BMW, without tourist plates or stickers, being driven by 2 Americans is a warning. They searched around the car, looked in the back seat and proceeded to ask Matt how he came into possession of the vehicle. It seems, just as most Americans don’t know or understand European Delivery, neither do the Europeans. You could tell it made no sense to the border office why we would fly to Germany to buy a car and then drive it around. When he asked, “What else have you purchased on this trip and are you traveling with more than $10,000 in cash?” Matt replied, “No, we did not buy anything other than this car and now we are broke.” The officer finally broke a smile and waved us through.

We made it to the drop off location on the perimeter of Charles De Gaule airport by 3:15 pm. Upon arrival, Matt was informed he had to was the car. We knew about the formality, but chose to skip it due to the long line at the airport car wash. We were directed down to a car was reserved for taxi drivers. After the car had a bath, it looked like new again and the car return went smoothly. Matt was also very relieved that we had arrived in Paris without a single scratch on the car. In total we drove 1,824 miles and 6 countries!

 We were dropped off at the train station and headed off for the Left Bank of Paris. I’ve taken the train from CDG to Paris before, and yes, it can get cramped, but it’s usually an uneventful journey. I got a seat on the train across from a woman obsessed with her phone. Matt stood behind me since there were no other seats nearby. About 15 minutes into the trip, the woman got off at her stop and 2 guys who looked like rap-gangster wanna-bees took her place directly across from me.  When in such close proximity to strangers that make me nervous, I think to myself of one nice compliment I could give them based on first impression looks, to counter the first impression negative response. By the way, when gangster guys start speaking French, they don’t sound very tough or scary.

Dude #1 had gorgeous eyes. He could be an eye model if there is such a thing. As I tried to think of something nice about Dude #2, he began to dig deep down into his underpants, moving his junk around. That did nothing to help my find something positive, especially because as he dug around, his knees kept touching mine. Then his hand emerged from his pants holding a small baggie of bud. He passed some of the fragrant bud to Dude #1 who empty the tobacco from a cigarette and began rolling a very impressive joint. I assumed they were making for when they departed the train, but I was incorrect. In a train stuffed full of passengers, with no smoking signs on all the walls, the guys totally blazed up. I had smoke wafting completely in front of me and it quickly filled the car. Passengers searched for the source, but did nothing. I just figured happily stoned French gangsters could not rob me if they had the giggles. When they finally rolled off the train, they were too very happy dudes.

Finally, we reached the Raspail metro stop and emerged to the Parisian streets. After dropping off our bags, we headed out to explore the city. It was already 7:00pm, but we still had 3 hours of daylight. The river was the happening spot, full of Parisians meeting for picnics along the banks. We explored some of the sights throughout the Left Bank. However, when it was time for us to foraged some food for dinner, all the cafés were inundated with smokers and were very expensive. The little Panini stands and bakeries had already closed. By 10pm, we found a Mexican restaurant that was still open and willing to serve us (we had been turned down by one restaurant earlier). We ordered some enchiladas that were seriously overpriced by California standards, but I was so hungry I did not care.  They were delicious by the way. After dinner, we profusely thanked the waitress for a good meal late at night. We learned she was from a small town near Acapulco, Mexico. She came to Paris to study French and hotel management. While in school, she met her husband who was also from Mexico and who was currently the restaurant’s cook.  I really enjoy listening to these type of stories.