Getting there

We left San Francisco the afternoon of April 14, 2019 and arrived in Paris the morning of April 15. As we approached the coast of France, the sun was rising, but we were still at an altitude of 41,000 feet. Our airplane was a model 777 Dreamliner, which dims or brightens exterior light without the use of shutter blinds. Looking out the window compares to viewing through a filtered camera lens. I took this photograph through that filtered medium with my iPhone.

On arrival at Charles de Gaulle Airport, we went through passport control, baggage claim and customs without inconvenience. We took the tram to Terminal 3 in order to purchase a Navigo transport pass, which we did, but the Fotomaton line for the required photograph to activate the Navigo was too long a wait for our tolerance at that time, so we stepped outside to obtain a taxi. We were referred to a driver with a van that was equipped with a folding ramp for rolling (rather than lifting) luggage into and out of the vehicle. The van was roomy enough to get into easily, and we were soon settled in our seats and on our way. We had given the driver our address on rue Saint Jacques in the Latin Quarter (5th Arrondissement), and his English,although better than my French, was not fluid enough for easy conversation, so we mostly gawked at the passing rush of unfamiliar sights out the window. Another impediment to communication was the bulk and height of the front seats, which blocked my view of the GPS and meter (although at this point I’m not sure there was a meter!) as well as most of the driver. At one point I inquired if we were crossing the major beltway, or Périphérique. He said no, but a little later he pointed it out. Later as we approached the Petit Pont bridge, Judy and I remarked at the size of the crowds and I said something about the previous day being Palm Sunday, which led us to note the “Spring Break” quality of the youth of the crowds. One of us mentioned Easter contributing to crowd size, and I said something like “yes, but it’s always Easter at Notre Dame.” We all laughed and nodded. Our apartment was not much farther (perhaps .7 mile), and we focused on reading addresses on either side of the street. We got to the intersection before our block, and the driver indicated that our building was quite close to the corner; this was a place we could stop and unload. He opened the back and we wheeled the luggage out of van. I asked how much I owed him (c’est combien?), he gave me a reasonable number, and I paid him in cash with a tip he received warmly. We shook hands and he quickly drove away before I realized I had not unloaded my daypack.