Aaaaand... We're back. Here. In America. Our plane did not plummet into the icy depths of the Atlantic Ocean and I can't even really complain about the any part of the travel involved with this particular trip. Which means I can't be witty about it, so we'll move on now.

While I wish I could recount every detail of this trip in vivid, technicolor writing, that would be impossible. There are entirely too many weirdos and crazy people, too many paintings and massive sculptures, too many plants and an odd lack of actual animals. I can cover the highlights, though.

There are no squirrels in Paris. None. I mean that, I did not see a single bright eyed or bushy tailed vermin the entire time I was there. I saw a ton of dogs, all on leashes, none of them mauling innocent bystanders or the elderly. For the most part, I find that French dogs are considerably more refined than the average American congressperson. For instance, they don't shit. There is less evidence of dog bowel activity in Paris than there is human. We've covered the subject of Paris's unpleasant odor and I can personally assure you that not a single dog had anything to do with it.

We should discuss the trash can situation though. It is altogether baffling to me that the Parisian government did not invest in a more decorative receptacle for the rubbish generated by the city's occupants and visitors. Everything I saw in France was elegant, detailed and well considered. Some of it ridiculously so. So it alarms me that the were not bothered to consider the rubbish receptacle. If I had to guess, there are 20 million trash depositories in Paris. They are all the same. These receptacles consist of one green pole, approximately three feet in height, with a green hoop, approximately 12 inches in diameter affixed in much the same manner as a basketball hoop would be to a backboard, with a clear green trash bag placed unceremoniously in said hoop and allowed to flow freely in the breeze until filled with empty packs of cigarettes, the napkins involved with the consumption of baguette and ice cream (Don't be fooled by all the hoopla, this all anyone eats in France.) and everything else that you can think of except for dog waste. Kris has surmised that they designed the bins this way so that one can see when the bin is full. But he is insane and I don't believe him. Plus, I don't think I ever saw anyone actually empty or change a rubbish bin. It is like Paris is the Great City of Disappearing Trash. Jolly well, I say. Can't complain about that.

I met a great many interesting people while in Paris. I had the honor of meeting a lovely Australian couple my first night there. Damien and Marisa were funny, light hearted and made the night a great success when the best I hope for was to hear three or four English words in a night. Thank God for them or I might not have gone out the second night and met my new friends Tim, David and Mattieu (I may or may not be spelling that right. But I presume this is French for Matthew and it is a hell of a lot more fun to say.). It happens that Tim and David, one of the absolute most adorable couples I have ever met, live right here in DC and we will be rendezvousing for spaghetti and meatballs when Mattieu visits next week. I guess that is one of the idiosyncrasies of travel, you sometimes meet people you have the pleasure of knowing again, if you're lucky.

And I was. My trip to France really changed my outlook on a lot of things. I had a hard second day there, but I am very very glad that I did what I did. And I'm even more glad that Kris was able to join me there. There is a line in Into the Wild, by Jon Krakauer, which was a notation by Chris McCandless, that says "HAPPINESS ONLY REAL WHEN SHARED." It's totally true. I could have spent that week in Paris alone. And I probably would have enjoyed it. But it wouldn't have been the same. It would have been as fun. I think the people I met in France and the person that joined me in France made the fact that I will someday again visit France a truth, rather than a wish.

So, thank you France. Thank you Damien and Marisa. Thank you Tim and David and Mattieu. And thanks, Kris, for following me to France.

I will continue to blog about my trip to Paris over the next couple of days but if you will excuse me, I have to go write a letter to the French government about the scent of the Metro and the lack of decorative trash receptacles. And then I have to cook something before I jump out of my own skin.