Thursday, June 21, 2012


Paris, France

Parisians have been incredibly kind to us. I had emailed our apartment manager during our hellish Monday before leaving. But, on Wednesday morning when we arrived, I had not been able to check email for instructions. We walked up to the apartment building, the kids carrying our bags, hoping to find the manager's name on a doorbell button. Alas, only a number keypad.

As we were standing in the street contemplating our options, two things happened. First, the mail carrier came around the corner, so Casey went to ask him if he knew our apartment manager. Then, a mysterious man in a small yellow car came zipping around the corner, stopped and told us the code to the door before zipping away again. We never learned who he was or why he was doling out the code so freely.

We opened the door, the mail carrier abandoned his mailbag and escorted us inside. He checked the mailboxes for our manager's apartment numbers, then led us across the courtyard, and up three flights of stairs, right to the apartment manager's door.


So far, this has been the norm, not the exception. Parisians have embraced us and made us feel so at ease. What a lovely city they have -- especially since both our kids are here!

Our street -- and warm baguettes!
Happy, happy father.
Dylan, me, Chip and Casey, our Parisian reunion.
I hope they can't track me using nose prints.

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