The French Ghetto and,oh yeah, Disneyland

Only three full days in Paris and so much to write about.

First of all, I really don't care how fabulous the people of France claim to be with their Haute Fashion and their skinny jeans and stilletos and- I don't care if I get lung cancer at 30 and take you with me- attitude....it doesn't matter how great you look, when you have to dodge dog poo and turned over garbage block after block. Really people, get it together and clean up your city.

Ok...this blog has been long awaited by some. I hate working under pressure.

Five hour train ride with one kid and one baby...went fairly well until the train rolls into the Parisian Ghetto and Sean looks at us like this:



And a word to the wise, or the brave: don't even think of the subway system. You'll have to ask yourself: "do you feel lucky, punk, well do ya?" And the answer to the question in this context is always NO.

It's in the french underground where I'm having a very illogical thought for a 30 year old : "Get me to Disneyland.....help!" Normally, I wouldn't be caught dead in anything Disney. But the benefits outweighed the risks.

After riding a couple trains back and forth and getting nowhere, I look at Rick and say through gritted teeth and with firey eyes: Get us out of here. To which he almost salutes me and says yes ma'am. In a dash we're in the daylight. And I found myself thinking I liked it better underground when I couldn't see what was going on.

The best part: for several blocks, Cate screams at the top of her lungs: I want to go home! I guess the smell of urine and pot wafting out of the barber shops were too much for her. And just a side note: I've only been 2 places where it smelled like pee and they are Paris and New Orleans. Coincidence? I dont' think so.

I put on my : don't eff with me, my ancestors were from the continent,too-face-and we walk at a brisk pace (ahem, slow run) to anywhere but where we happened to be. I managed to snap this pic on the run...I have no idea what it is:



And then..our saviour..or so I think. What is that rolling up to this panic stricken family on the street corner? A taxi....a mercedes...and a driver in a suit. We're safe, my heart beats in my chest. But nothing is as it seems in Paris. We say: Disneyland. He says shrugging his shoulders in his french -I'm pretending not to understand you way-50/60 euros. We're in. Hook , line and sinker.

It's a no brainer. He gets "lost". And we pay more than 60 Eruos for a series of nauseating u-turns on what looks suspiciously a lot like the Jersey Turnpike.

I've never been so happy to see a pink wedding cake of a hotel in my life when we finally get there.



Oh, Yeah. Disney was great. The staff was excellent....and Sean was a great hit among everyone there. But don't drop a binki because no one is picking it up for you outside of Switzerland. in fact, anywhere else, and they might just stop to grind the binki to bits.

I love Zurich. Just yesterday a man in a suit on his lunch break came flying after me with Sean's blue bear in one hand and his briefcase in the other. God only knows how far back I had dropped the bear and how out of the way this poor guy had to go to catch up to me. Thanks, man. There would have been many a sleepless night without blue bear.

God, I love the Swiss.