No, I don't speak English

Carol, BJ and I got into Paris a day before the team so that we could meet the players and other staff upon arrival the following morning. That meant meeting in the lobby at 7:00 a.m. to head to the terminal for the first arrivals Friday morning. But it also meant that we would be able to spend a few hours in the afternoon walking around Paris, looking for the storybook character Madeline and her friends.

We stayed at the airport hotel, which is a block from the train station. Carol and I had both been to Paris before, but BJ had not, so we purchased our train tickets and headed into town. It was about a 20-minute ride that put us right at the Notre Dame. First things first, a meal was in order. After sandwiches and coffees that added up to over $50, we felt a little more refreshed. We also realized that Paris was expensive. Nevertheless, the café was situated on the corner by the Notre Dame so we took our lives in our own hands and crossed the street to the entrance of the cathedral.

No sooner had we started walking across the plaza when we were approached by a teenaged girl asking if we spoke English. Don't remember who said yes (not me, I'm the insensitive type and ignored her), but then we found out that all she wanted was money. Something about Bosnia, etc. Turns out that was to be the theme of the day, "do you speak English?" was asked whenever we were nearby any type of monument or artifact. It got old. "NEIN!" I barked once.

Okay, so the Notre Dame is very lovely. But it's way too commercial in a sense. They ask for money for just about everything. Entrance is free, but every chapel has some sort of sign asking for Euros. It's supposed to be a house of worship, but people were gawking, talking, being loud and taking flash photography. That never would have happened at St. Peter's Cathedral in Vatican City. Trust me, I've been scolded there by a young altar boy, who then led me to the back of the cathedral to Michalangelo's La Pieta where he motioned for me to kneel, pray and think about what I'd done. But I digress. That's another story.

We left and wound our way up the Seine, past the Louvre, to the Arc de Triomphe and finally to the Eiffel Tower. Along the way, walking down the Champs Elysees, we were approached by a girl who asked us if we spoke English (go figure). This girl was Asian, which differentiated her from the other girls. But not by much. There was still some sort of scam going on. She wanted us to go into the Louis Vittan store and buy her a purse ... something about them only selling her one and she wanted he other color also, but they wouldn't ... whatever. I finally told her that the store was in the opposite direction (two blocks down) and that we were late for something (with my voice definitely giving the message to shut up, we're not falling for this scam). By the time I had finished talking there were two or three other people around us and it seemed as if they were going to try and pickpocket us or something like that. Dude! We just want to see the city!

We finally continued to the Arc, all the while I'm looking at the cobblestones of the Champs Eleysees and marveling at how guys with skinny tires can actually RACE on the street! And the final day of the 2005 Tour de France was in the pouring rain, no less!

After having a look around (we didn't go up, but we did go through the tunnel and popped up under the Arc), it was time for the Eiffel Tower. Maybe it's age, maybe it's over-thinking things, but I think I've developed a very small fear of heights. I did not like the top. Not at all. So we headed back down. Partially on the stairs, which was cool ... but never ending. After a stop for a pastry and coffee (when in Paris afterall), we found the train station, hopped aboard and snoozed practically all the way back to the airport.

I got one more day in Paris since our coach was delayed a day and I had to stay behind to meet her on Saturday. However, I didn't venture downtown. Maybe I should have taken advantage, but after a 6:00 a.m. wake up, followed by several hours running around the airport meeting players and staff (by the way, Taj was right, "Charles de Galle is SO ghetto."), I returned to the hotel for a nap and then worked the rest of the afternoon and into the evening.

After meeting Anne, who looked ghostly ashen at baggage claim, we found our driver and headed north and into history.

But more on that later.