Tried very hard not to get either blown up by or mistaken for a terrorist.  Apparently successful.  Yay, me.  We can continue not dying together.

Charles de Gaulle is a mess.  So is Boston.

In Boston we had to disembark the domestic flight and leave the airport to get to the International gates.  I am told the remodel is coming to enable direct connection transfers.  Two TSA scans are better than one.  Never mind that I walked between the two most disparate parts of the airport.  I made my flight.

And Charles de Gaulle can kiss my rosy red ass.  That guy can’t design an airport for shit!

I have thought I play with concerning airports.  They all exist in this dimension called the Airport Dimension.  It has some weird rules.  The physics and geometry do unexpected invisible dance moves.  They are all interwoven accessible only by the tenacious connections with our reality.  They are labyrinthine.  The TSA should be hiring minotaurs.  Maybe they are.

Then rinse and repeat that epic walk from the far side of CdG to the train terminal to get downtown.  Switch to the metro for another train stint.  The Paris plane disembarked about six in the morning.  I wouldn’t check in at this first AirBnB until three in the afternoon.

Once I arrived at Cadet (Metro stop on the 7 line) I began an epic promenade.  I put in nearly 30k steps for 10 Dec.  And did I mention most of this was done toting my backpack and my suitcase?  (I never check anymore so the suitcase is small, but that’s a lot of mass.)

The domestic flights aren’t offering meal service because they are cheap or maybe they can excuse it thanks to the zombie apocalypse.  Either way, whatever.  The French flight had chicken and mashed potatoes in a pepper sauce, a phenomenal quinoa salad, a role, and a brownie.  Plus a personal mini-bottle of red wine.   But, yeah, thanks for the domestic cookies.

Where was I?  Right.  Walkies.

My first host, Coco, had suggested that I could lock my bags at the Nord (train station) and I did go there at a couple points during my meanderings just never noticed lockers.  Admittedly never asked.  Wanted to use the toilets but they were on strike.  Vive la France!

I’ll be in this part of town for a few days so I wanted to get some bearings.  Spent about ninety minutes at a nearby bar called Le Multiplex Bar (super friendly staff and patrons, combination tobac, bar, cafe) and then finally walked to meet Coco and get sorted.

True to her description, there are a lot of stairs to get to this floor six apartment.  One hundred one up and two down.  This is their configuration for those interested:

1
1
19
13
5
18
13
5
13
5
18
5
-2

Quick face wash and head to take some real pictures (I didn’t feel liking digging out my rig on the street so only shot a couple shots (packing it back away each time).

Then I walked over to Bouillon Chartier for a classic meal in three courses.  Simple, delicious, no errors.  I arrived before the rush.  The only person in front of me was a pair of ladies trying to talk the patient person into allowing them to be seated as a partial party.  This is not something restaurants do.  When I left after finishing my meal the line was probably a hundred souls longing.  I am told the line does go quickly by; probably because they seat only full parties.

Some more walking since I won’t sleep until at least ten.  And it’s twenty-four after ten so that’s a thing.