It's Pronounced 'Re Cahn Oh Sahnzzz'

Note: Sorry, the picture uploads are experiencing techical difficulty. I'll work on it. 


As it should be, this trip is the polar opposite of our real life: we have lots of time and absolutely nothing is planned. And even though there's something quite liberating about being adrift in a foreign city with a population of over two million, mostly fashionable residents, I guess it is just in our nature to try and impose some control over our predicament, to come up with a plan. So without regard for language barriers, street signs showing absolutely useless metric distances, herds of Romani trying to sell us untaxed souvenirs, and the forewarned land mines of sidewalk dog excrement, yesterday we put on our good walking Keens and set out to do a little pre-vacation reconnaissance.

After logging over 10 miles (approximately 427 deciliters, I think) on foot and another 15 miles (9 kilograms) on the subway, our known world has expanded tremendously, and I think we're ready to begin this vacation. Our first adventure beyond the hotel bar wasn't so much about sight-seeing as it was about mapping. Basically, we are like Lewis and Clark, but with iPhones and hand sanitizer.

Since we didn't linger at any of the famous attractions we stumbled upon, I'll wait to discuss those later in the week when we give them their proper due. Yesterday was drive-by tourism at its finest and all about overview and first impressions. That being said, here's a snippet of those impressions so far...

• Mark Twain once said that travel is fatal to prejudice, bigotry and narrow-mindedness. He was so right. Already I've had to revise my world view, as I now know that the Burger King breakfast menu is no longer a benchmark for what constitutes a good croissant.
• Wrapping an exaggerated French accent around an unholy mix of first semester college Spanish, community college Italian, and sixth grade French makes you virtually incomprehensible to the Parisian population at large. I am like Inspector Clouseau speaking in tongues.
• Bar tabs in French are particularly shocking until you remember that Europeans use their commas as decimal points. At which time, they are just garden variety shocking. Regardless, we really need to learn to say when.
• My friend Lara was right about the ever-challenging piles of dog shit on the Parisian sidewalks. But since I'm from Detroit, I'm used to being preyed upon by packs of feral dogs as I walk the city. So, relatively speaking, the French are once again more sophisticated in this regard.
• Duck, or duck fat, has been a major component of every meal I've eaten since I got off the plane. I'm not complaining, mind you, as duck (or its rendering) is very tasty. The problem is, I haven't seen a single living duck here yet, only pigeons. Hmmm, to paraphrase the great philosopher, Charlton Heston, maybe Soylent Green isn't Daffy.

That is all for now. Today we head off to the Arch de Triumph and Moulin Rouge after first stopping by Starbucks for a Venti (17.3 meters) of Cafe Americano.