Day fifteen... the end of a long trip... we slept in a bit, since our plane didn't leave until after one in the afternoon. We woke ourselves up, and went down to have a little breakfast in the hotel's restaurant... couldn't hold a candle to grabbing a croissant on the run. C'est la vie. We got ourselves packed up, and decided that there was no point hanging around the hotel. If we were going to wait somewhere, we might as well wait at the airport. So we took the shuttle bus to the airport and made our way to our gate.

On the way, Penny saw a duty-free shop and remembered that she hadn't gotten any chocolate for the folks at work. So we popped in there only to find a few things: Cigarettes, booze and perfume. She sat down, but she was disgruntled. I thanked her for taking me to Europe, and she said that there was one way that I could make it up to her. I could go ask someone if we had passed some other shops where she could get some good chocolate. So I went up to the NWA desk, and said: "J'ai un question..." The attendant complemented me on my French... she should have waited... "Il y a un boutique dans l'aeroport ou c'est possible acheter des bon chocolat?"

"Mais oui," she said, and directed us to the place where we could get Penny the good chocolate. And we did... and we picked up a few other things so as to blow the rest of our French francs... Some champagne, some chocolate, a CD for me... and Penny was a happy camper. We went back up to our gate and boarded our plane... I took a picture of Penny just as she was getting in line to board the plane... it was classic, but it got screwed up somehow. Penny was standing by a monitor that read "Detroit W.C." Penny commented that those Parisians sure didn't think much of the states... but they were right; Detroit can be a bit like a toilet sometimes.

We had a much better flight back, but when we got to Detroit I was shocked back into reality. A rude American as we deplaned... A rude American as we boarded a shuttle bus... A rude American as we transferred our luggage...

Welcome home. No, indeed... it is not the French that were rude. It is US.

So here's one last picture, since I don't have any for the day... it's not a great picture... it's a Metro station in the midst of repair or construction. Kind of interesting, maybe. But the sound that accompanies it is kind of nice... truly Parisian...

L'accordioniste sur le Metro.
Jusqu'a un autre temps...
au revoir, Paris... ciao, Italia.