Just your typical Paris arrival

Now that I have been to the City of Light a few times, I've developed this saying that goes, "It's not a Paris arrival unless something goes wrong." This dates back to my very first journey to Paris back in 2001, which started off with me wandering the city for a few hours, supremely lost, desperately hungry, and nearly melting from the oppressive July heat and the weight of my overstuffed backpack.

Looking back on that brutal day now, it was all part of the adventure. However, once Kate and I decided to have my parents meet us in Paris May 3, it was a part of the adventure I worked frantically to help them avoid. So when Kate and I touched down at Charles de Gaulle the scheduled three hours ahead of the flight that would deliver Papa Bear and Mama Bear to France, I was feeling quite confident my weeks of planning had paid off and I had covered all the bases. At least that's what I thought...

The first tinge of panic struck when Kate and I, after killing most of the three-hour wait eating breakfast in our own terminal, made our way over to the terminal that collected all the American Airlines flights shuttling people back and forth across the Atlantic. When MB booked their tickets back in December, she forwarded me the itinerary that had them landing at 11:45 a.m. So imagine my surprise when Kate and I strolled up to the arrivals gate at 11:15 a.m. only to read that PB and MB's flight had touched down at 10:40 a.m. Not good.

Believe it or not, I had actually planned for this on the off chance that perhaps the flight Kate and I were on might be delayed. The plan was to meet at the Hertz rental car counter. Only problem is that in an airport the size of de Gaulle, there are about 15 Hertz rental counters. Luckily, before Kate and I began our own O.J.-style sprint from yellow counter to yellow counter, I happened to hear two women near the arrivals gate talking to each other in the oh-so-lovely accent that indicated they had to be from Texas. Since PB and MB were routed through Dallas, I asked the women if they were waiting for people on the Dallas flight. Indeed they were and they informed us that they reckoned no one from that flight had cleared customs yet. Whew!

So after about a 30-minute wait, PB and MB finally came beaming through the arrivals doors. After warm greetings and hugs, we were soon on our way to catch the train into the city. Right about then was when MB decided to inform me their flight itinerary had been changed weeks before.



The real estate agent I had rented our apartment from, an awesome dude named Regis, asked me to simply call him when we were leaving the airport so he could meet us at the door of the apartment and give us the keys. I was a little unsettled when I only got the voice mail on his mobile phone, but that concern was quickly overshadowed when MB tried to withdraw her first little bundle of Euros from an ATM machine and was promptly denied.

The kind folks at Bank of America had apparently decided the international activity on MB's card was just too suspicious, so they called the house in Carlsbad to check it out. We found out much later that after our friend JoEllen, who was kindly house-sitting while PB and MB were away, informed the bank that she was on vacation in Paris, they figured it would make perfect sense to just freeze her debit card and cut her off entirely. Brilliant BofA. Comically and thankfully, the bank didn't bother to freeze PB's debit card, which is of course linked to the same account. Wonderful anti-fraud department they have at BofA, eh?

Anyway, we made our way into Paris and surfaced from the Metro at Republique. I, of course, then led us on a 10-minute walk in the opposite direction of where we needed to go to reach our apartment. So that meant we had to retrace our steps and walk about five minutes or so in the proper direction. Did I mention it was a wee bit warm? And PB and MB were a wee bit tired from the journey? And we were loaded down with luggage? Oh the flashbacks! All in all, it was an idiotic move on my part because I know that section of Paris very well, but at least it gave good ol' Regis some extra time to check his voice mail. So by the time we actually made our way to the apartment, it wasn't too long before Regis came strolling down the street to give us the keys.



After we dropped our bags and took a load off for a few minutes, we took to the streets to give PB and MB their first taste of Paris. We grabbed a quick bite and some free beers from a cool restaurant in the Marais, then set off to see our first big time attraction ... the Eiffel Tower.

I had planned in my head for years that if I ever went to Paris with my parents, I would ensure their first glimpse of the Eiffel Tower came from the Trocadero. I don't know why, by I just feel the way the Tower suddenly appears as you turn the corner of the tall buildings is breathtaking. To me, the Eiffel Tower never disappoints.



So after PB and MB caught their first glimpse of the Tower, we relaxed in the grass along side the fountains and brought a bit of Spain to Paris in the form of the siesta. PB and Katie were down for the count, while MB and I sat on a bench and soaked up as much of the atmosphere as possible.



We eventually made our way over to the other side of the Tower (the side where Kate and I got engaged) and drew a close to quite an epic day by settling down for a relaxing picnic.



So to recap: A near-miss at the airport ... a temporarily unreachable real estate agent ... directional hiccups on the way to the apartment ... and shut out by the bank.

Yep, we had certainly arrived in Paris.