Though hard to believe, TripIt tells me I’ve been in Paris now for over two weeks, the forth visit in as many years. The usual suspects made the journey, SpongeMark, EZG, The Brain, Ivan, Knepper and Dr. Levin with his 36lbs of grand slam brownies. Return appearances from our official refrigerator repair men Jasper, Vern and Jean Baptiste along with all of our kooky froggy contractors.
Paris and New York are two of the most rotten cities I’ve been privileged enough to smell. Paris differs by lulling your sense of smell into an unguarded state, delicious smells of fresh breads and pastries on just about every street corner. Once vulnerable and trusting your senses are bombarded with the odor of garbage and rotten street water sprayed early mornings down the narrow Parisian streets.
I’ve yet to see any accidents on our daily drive around the Arc de Triomphe, though I’m sure the day grows near. I’ve been told this is the only road in Paris where the insurance companies don’t bother trying to determine who’s at fault. The insurance companies have an agreement to settle accident claims with each company bearing half of the total loss, in order to avoid disputes and legal challenges in this circle of mess.
To make things more difficult we drive the largest car on the road through some of the smallest two lane streets imaginable. Luckily for the scooter ridin’ froggies, SpongeMark has the reflexes of a cougar. Nothing like shoving eight Americans in a 6.5 passenger vehicle.
It’s the French way!