We arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport about a half-hour ahead of schedule, 11:00 AM. After the usual baggage chase, Nora was complaining of not feeling well, so instead of following our ambitious plan to take the RER train, transfer to the Metro, and then walk a couple of blocks, we loaded the luggage into a taxi. The taxi was more affordable than we expected, about 40€ (prevailing exchange rates make that $50.80). The hotel room was ready and welcoming, as were the staff. We stayed at the Citadines Louvre, which is a chain with efficiency apartment-style rooms. The hotel had air conditiong, which we later found was hardly the standard in France. However, they had a sign in the lobby that the heat had been turned off for the season, and if it got cold they would be happy to provide extra blankets. It was located near the Louvre Metro stop, and steps away from a square and a public garden.

A couple of hours later I got a call from Mark that they were in Paris but their room wasn't ready. They were relaxing at a café. Rabab and the kids were sacked out so I trotted over a couple of blocks trying to figure out where they were when I saw Mark waving his arms. We sat long enough to have a beer, and then headed back to the hotel where their room was finally ready.

After everyone settled in, we eventually went in search of a restuarant for dinner, and settled on a place within walking distance of the hotel after we discovered that our first choice was closed for August vacation. (During the rest of our trip we would find a lot of businesses that closed for a couple of weeks or even the whole month of August.) We had a seat under the sidewalk awning and ordered from the English version of the blackboard menu placed next to our table by the waiter. Our waiter spoke American English with only a trace of a French accent, so I asked him where he was from. He said he was French but studied a lot of English in school. Just as Rabab was about to use this as an instructive lesson for studying hard in school, he added somewhat sheepishly that he also has had some American girlfriends. The kids all ordered pizzas.

Next morning by the time we up and around and ready for breakfast it was about 10. We opted for the hotel self-service continental breakfast, which was OK but a bit pricey at 9€50 per person with no discount for children.

Our first assignment was the Eiffel Tower. We went to the Seine and bought tickets for the Batobus, a boat that runs a route up and down the Seine with stops and key sightseeing points along the way. It's not the fastest way to get around Paris but it's certainly scenic and economical. Upon reaching the Eiffel Tower, we found two ticket offices, so we tried to figure out which long line was shorter. After a 45-minute wait we had our tickets, and got into another line for the first elevator. There were two elevators; one went to the first two levels, and you had to take another to go to the top of the tower. A sign warned that there was a 30-minute wait for the second elevator. As we explored the deuxieme étage (we skipped the first level and went directly to the second), a pair of Asian women pulled Lucy aside to have her picture taken with them. We all thought this was rather odd, but were all so flummoxed that nobody said "no". AFter recovering and shaking our heads, we got in line for the next elevator and were pelleted by rain. I fought off my acrophobia in the elevator, which of course had to have glass walls, but the top platform was constructed in such a way as to minimize my reaction. At the top, a couple of Asian girls did a repeat performance and asked me to be in a picture with them. It was weird but innocent enough, but Rabab was not happy. After we got back to the second level, I took the elevator down while everyone else took the stairs back to the ground.

We stopped for lunch at a café called Le Buci. We had sandwiches on baguettes which looked way too big on delivery but nobody left a bite. We did some shopping, and stopped for a treat at a gelateria on the way back. We got caught in the rain a couple of times.

This morning we shifted gears and crossed the square for breakfast, having a cool terrace breakfast of coffee, hot chocolate, buttered baguettes, and croissants. Then we tackled the Louvre. We had no intention of trying to beat the six-minute Louvre as described by Art Buchwald, although we knew that with four children we were sightseeing on borrowed time. Eric had a thousand questions about Saint Sebastian after seeing two or three paintings depicting the martyr shot through with arrows.

We walked from the Louvre in search of lunch, going through the Jardin des Tuileries to the Champs Elysees. We stopped to have lunch on the sidewalk at a fast food place, although it was raining so we headed for the area under a canopy. This is what I love about France: Even the fast food is good ingredients made fresh. We had sandwiches served on fresh baguettes. I ordered a "grillade," which turned out to be a hamburger on a baguette. Then we caved in to hand-dipped Ben & Jerry ice cream for dessert at the same place.

We continued our relentless stroll when there was suddenly a wave of children in need of a bathroom so after a couple of false leads we ended up in The Gap, who seemed sympathetic since it was children and ushered them to the bathroom. We reached the Arc de Triomphe. After seeing the long line for a ride to the top, we decided we had had enough for one day and just walked around it.

We took the Metro back to the hotel. The Paris Metro link here differs from the Washington Metro link here in that you can actually go from one place to another on it. Somehow the brief subway ride infused the wives with a new wave of energy, which after brief discussion they decided would be best put to use shopping. After reaching our stop, they headed one direction, Mark went off in another in search of sustenance to get us through their absence, and I led two American and two English children back to a hotel in the heart of Paris.

Mark arrived shortly with a six-pack of Kronenbourg 1664, the leading beer in France (alhtough now owned by a British company) and perfectly drinkable. This six-pack, however, was of 25 cl. bottles, slightly under 8½ ounces, normally too small to get through a football game but just about right for waiting for shopping wives. Hopefully. We relaxed on the balcony watching the drizzle come down while the kids played.

The kids were great and the wives returned, and we then went in search of dinner. Because of the relentless rain, we decided to walk to someplace close, and discovered Il Cardinale, a small Italian restaurant, which worked well with four kids who all love pizza and pasta. Our impression of the place slid as the evening wore on. They had a delightful antipasto buffet with wide variety and homemade quality, paired with a selection of pasta dishes for that day's menu. However, as I was at the buffet I noticed our hostess slicing bread. She dropped a piece on the floor, which went right back into the basket. I wasn't sure if it was for our table. The pasta arrived, at least one plate of it. Then another. A full 20 minutes later we had all been served. Nora's pasta was short of even al dente, being downright crunchy. Mine was overcooked almost to mushiness. Eric's bolognese sauce was a thin tomato sauce with only a suggestion of beef. All this amounted to 25€ per person for a simple two-course pasta dinner, about $127 for a family of four, with no discount for children, plus drinks, a shock when l'addition arrived. Although it was the low point of Paris dining experience, worse things have happened.

For the convenience, and based on the votes of the kids, we had breakfast in hotel. We decided to walk to Notre Dame. Along the way, we heard a screech and turned to see a motor scooter locking up its wheels to avoid rear-ending a truck, and it went down. He didn't hit anything but Mark and I ran out to see if he was OK, and help pull him and his bike up. He was pretty shaken up but not hurt. Eric was very impressed by the entire episode and peppered me with questions and comments about scooters, motorcycles, and accidents the rest of the morning.

We made the rounds at Notre Dame, although the Farrells had a train home that afternoon and decided a wait in line to go up the tower would be to risky for time. We stopped at a café across the street for a drink and a bathroom break.

Our next destination was Ile St. Louis to Berthillon for ice cream. The bad news was that Berthillon had closed for August vacation, but the good news was that there were plenty of brasseries in the area that served it, so we had some on the corner. We stopped at a carry-out shop for sandwiches, and had lunch back in our hotel. It was then that we had to send our dear friends back off to England, in hopes that we would see them again sometime soon.

Rabab determined that more shopping was in order, then when she got back it was my turn to out to take some pictures. After some downtime watching a French version of Candid Camera on TV, we boarded the Metro for the Latin Quarter to have dinner at Le Navigator. Mark and Jane had recommended it to us years ago and we went during our visit in 1994. We had hoped to go there with them on this trip but the restaurant was closed Sunday and Monday and we just couldn't work out the timing.

In the Metro at a transfer point, we passed a string ensemble playing. Although they were collecting contributions, this was not schlocky street music, this was pretty good classical music. I bought one of the CDs they were hawking, Classique Metropolitain.

We had breakfast at a nearby café, and then Rabab went to a pharmacy to get a recommendation for Nora's condition. They gave us the name and address of a doctor on Avenue de L'Opera. We all walked over, and finding the address was a little game of Adventure.

Lesson: Paris street addresses are not straightforward, Part I.

Unlike the U.S., not every single door on the street has its own address. Up in the brickwork is often embedded a tile with a number, which apparently covers a span of the businesses beneath. In this case, we had to enter a small alcove, and figure out which one was the "B" entrance. Someone helped us, and we did find the office. The receptionist said the doctor would not even be in the office until afternoon, and the first available appointment was 5:45. So poor Nora soldiered on.

We took the Metro to the Picasso Museum. The kids enjoyed much of the work there; they had both studied Picasso in school at least a little. We stopped at a brasserie for lunch and ate on the sidewalk, where we finally doped out that you could actually get a jug of tap water rather than ordering a bottle of L'Eau Tres Cher.

From there we got back on Metro to go to L'Orangeries, a museum which has been newly renovated. Rabab had explained that there was an important Monet exhibit there that was a must-see. There was a long line to get in, although people with reservations (which we hadn't known about ahead of time) were going right to the front of the line. I held our place in line in the Parisien sun, while Rabab and the kids relaxed in the shade at a little table by the grass. About 30 or 45 minutes later it was our clump's turn to get in. We got two of those digital audio guides—you punch in the code posted next to a work and it tells you all about it. The kids ended up with mine. The first room was a large oval room, with four large Monet murals, painted from his garden. It houses a major body of Monet's work. He did eight large murals which are beautfully displayed in two large oval-shaped rooms, which were designed specifically to showcase this work. After viewing the four murals, we moved to the next room, an identical room with four more murals. Then we walked into the next room where I expected to see the main exhibit. Oh. That was the main exhibit. NOt that it wasn't a nice exhibit. But it was only eight paintings. Eight really big paintings, but only eight paintings. To be fair, there was another exhibit downstairs which had been donated by a collector, but by then I was just too tired to look at another painting and I think the kids were on my side.

On the way back into the Metro station, we had to almost literally step over an unfortunate man who had managed to drink a damaging quantity of some cheap intoxicant before breaking the bottle, spilling the rest of its contents all over the sidewalk. That one took some time to explain to the kids.

On getting back to the hotel, Rabab took Nora to the doctor. He said she had bronchitis and prescribed an antibiotic. It was pills but they were probably too big for her to swallow whole, so the doctor said we would have to grind them up and she could take it with food or jam.

After our last breakfast at the hotel, we packed up and checked out, leaving our luggage in the baggage room. We once again boarded Metro to go to La Galerie de Paléontologie, part of the natural history museum at the Jardins des Plantes (I'm not sure what other kind of jardin there is). They had a large collection of skeletons from mice to whales, and other preserved biological treats in the comparative anatomy exhibit. Upstairs was the paleontology exhibit, with loads of dinos.

Our next step was to go to the car rental desk to pick up the car, pick up the bags, and head out. This simple process turned out to be thwarted by a particularly virulent strain of Murphy's Law. We boarded Metro at about 10:00, and got off at Bastille to transfer to Line 1. However, the corridor to Line 1 was blocked by either security guards or police (it wasn't clear who they were). There was some sort of disturbance but we weren't able to find out exactly what. Rabab asked how we could get back on, and they said we could exit the station, come in the other entrance, and get to a Line 1 train. So we exited, then upon re-entry told our story to the ticket agent, who let us throug the gate without buying new tickets, and we followed the signs to Line 1, where we found—exactly the same guys who blocked our way the first time. We had gone in a complete cirque. We checked the map again, and decided to just walk down one Metro stop and board again. By the time we had gone that far, I looked again and realized we were only one more stop away from where Google said the Hertz office was, and I talked us into walking the last leg. As we got to the next stop, I realized my error; there was still one more stop. We went down into the station and Rabab smooth-talked us into the station without buying more tickets, and we finally were at the Louvre-Rivoli Metro, just steps from the point on our Google map showing where Hertz was. We started looking for the address, 99 Rue de Rivoli, and were immediately confused.

Lesson: Paris street addresses are not straightforward, Part II.

Lesson: Google Maps doesn't speak French.

Looking to one side of the street we saw those ceramic tiles reading 87, 89 and on the other side reading 152, 154. . . . The first point of confusion was that we were in the 80's block and the 150's block at the same time. The French must find too much logic overbearing. After richoceting back and forth a couple of times, we asked a couple of passersby, and finally I called the office. There was a slight language barrier but I finally got that they were in the Carrousel shopping center, and we found a security guard at a store entrance that sent us in the right direction. It was a walk of a few more blocks. Fortunately the numbers on both sides of the street did both ascend in the same direction, so we confirmed we were going the right way.

Once inside Carrousel, an upscale shopping mall right in front of the Louvre on Rue de Rivoli, we found the Hertz office easily.

At the Hertz counter I was pointing out the information on the reservation confirmation email I had, and I realized that I had made the reservation for the following Monday. I got that feeling in my stomach that you get when you arrive for a final exam to find an empty room and realize you're a day late. Much to my relief this turned out to be no problem at all, and I pulled out my U.S. driver's license, international driver's license, and credit card. They also asked for my passport. Passport? Where are the passports? Packed in the luggage, back in the hotel room. I hoofed it over to the hotel and back while Rabab watched the kids eat the take-out sandwiches we had hauled along.

Lesson: Car rental in Europe is not car rental in the U.S., Part I

On my return I made the desk clerk walk me through all the charges before I would sign anything, and we started fumbling himself, and neither one of us could figure out how the charges added up. He finally figured out that a couple of the charges were per day for two extra days, and we ended up in consonance as I paid.After negotiating the parking garage to find our car, and were finally on the road. Back to our hotel. I loaded the bags, and then found a place to park while Rabab went to get replacement medicine for Nora that she might actually take. She returned after a time with a children's liquid, and we sped off to the Loire Valley.

Well, no. We had our route plotted on a map of the city, but that was from the Hertz office, not from a random parking spot around the corner from a pharmacy. So we headed in roughly the correct direction and hit a one-way street going the wrong way. So we kept going straight and before long we were zig-zagging through the maze that is the streets of Paris trying to get turned around to go through Place de la Concorde to cross the Seine, traverse the south side of the city, and get onto the motorway. I think this process took us around 45 minutes, which might have taken a seasoned Parisian 10-15. This was really not so different than trying to get from Adams Morgan through Dupont Circle to Georgetown and then over Key Bridge to Rosslyn and then out to Tysons Corner.

So we were well on our way to the Berruet's via A10 albeit three hours later than we expected.