Day 1 in Paris: buckle up and join me!!

Finally in Paris!  So let me get the BAD news out of the way first:  in trying to pack "light" I tossed aside what I thought was a random USB cable, and guess what - it's the only one that connects to my CAMERA so I could upload photos.  It's at home.  Regular USB cables don't fit into my camera.  My netbook doesn't take memory cards.  I can't even believe it, I'm so upset.  I experience a minor freak out.
Anyway, I arrive in Paris after being up for 24+ hours.  Oh to backtrack: "Andy" sat by me on the plane from Portland to Amsterdam. and we got along great immediately, and drank 3 Absolut Vodka's and cranberry juice and talked the whole way.  Andy is one of these young adventurous genius type people, so he was like sitting next to James Franco, that's how cool it was.  And he had a sarcastic sense of humor like me, so I know  my daughter Amber would like him.  I tried to hook that up, but he's taken, sorry Amber.  Then we hung out at Schiphol airport until we had to part.  Au Revior Andy, see you on Facebook!  If you break up with your girlfriend, let me know, I have a beautiful single daughter!  Schiphol airport was a nightmare, disorganized and packed into a bottleneck trying to get through passport control.

It is my turn for passport control finally. The officer peruses my passport and looks at me seriously. "What is the purpose of your visit?" he inquires. "I'm on vacation!!!" I say, giddy.  He says "Holiday? You're on holiday?" He peers at me with suspicion. I smile hugely at him, hoping that will help. A side note for the reader: my legal first name is Holiday. So, I reply to the officer "Yup! That's me!" He is still trying to find out why I have arrived in Amsterdam and I answered his question, obviously, so he asks again. "You're here on holiday?" which catches me off guard. I'm sincerely lost at this point, until it occurs to me that "holiday" is the European word for vacation. I burst out laughing. He remains stoic. "Yes, Holiday is here on holiday!" I say with a ridiculously loud laugh. He didn't laugh, but after asking me the other questions, he lets me through. I'm off to a great start.

Finally I get on another plane and head to CDG airport, which you pronounce like this: Sharl de Gole.  Real fast.  Not Charles de Gaulle, don't say it like that.  Next, I find the taxi queue and take a cab ride to my hotel in central Paris.  Holy cow, what a bustling busy crazy city.  Beautiful with lots of historic and amazing architecture but wow.  Don't get hit by a car or tour bus because make no mistake: if you're on foot a tour bus WILL hit you like a possum if you're not alert.

Got checked in, then up and around a few hours later and walked around a bit, and eventually walked to the Eiffel Tower, about 20 minute walk for a short person. 10 if you're tall, but whatever.  I was still there at 9 pm  when the tower lights up with the sparking gold lights.  The Champs de Mars (in front of the tower) was full of partiers and revelers of all nationalities.  One lady who was totally hammered, was singing and dancing the Macarena.  No joke.  What's up with those militia guys patrolling the park area with those semi automatic rifles?  Yikes!  Anyway I took a bunch of pics, too bad you can't see them.  

Right off the bat on my first walk in Paris, I get lost.  Big surprise to my family right?  I soon have no idea where I am, and everything looks the same.  Although I took note of landmarks, I forget what they were and anyway they all look the same.   I am completely intimidated by the cafes and I find a market and buy myself a ham and cheese sandwich, I'm not even kidding!!!  Maybe I'll be braver tomorrow.  We'll see!  I find a bakery and want to buy a baguette but they are 24 inches long.  What am I gonna do with 24 inches?  I can only handle three.  I know what some of you are thinking, don't even go there, keep it clean people!!!  So I didn't get one yet.  My hotel doesn't allow food in the room, so of course I had to smuggle something.  I find a Greek place and get a pocket sized baklava.  I know I know, Greek really?  It was 3" what can I say.  I am desperate for coffee.

How to look like a woman in Paris:  wear a big scarf around your neck, wear either ballet flats or stilettos (no in between) do NOT wear a hoodie or athletic sneakers for heavens sake, DO walk fast and with purpose.  Here was me:  wearing Ecco sandals, no scarf, lost but with a purpose!  (to find out where in the  **** I was.)  No hoodie, but wishing I had one because it is FREEZING here, totally unprepared for that.  Trust me, there's no hoodies for sale in Paris.  My landmarks were: walk past militia, turn left by Maracanã woman, go straight to giant stone carved historic building (what is that place?) and then a left and through lots of life threatening intersections, turn right by a cafe (which one again?) and find the hotel on a corner of a block shaped like a wedge, but oh wait, they're ALL shaped like a wedge.  Perfect.  Eventually like "Where's Waldo", I found myself, and I'm back in my room crying over my missing USB cable.

I love you all, and am going to sneak that baklava now.  I can see the Eiffel Tower from my bedroom window if I hang my head out! If anyone has any brilliant ideas for the camera problem, let me know!!!  The cable is specific to my camera. I'm SO sick about it!!!  More tomorrow y'all.  Thanks for reading!   Although it says I'm posting in  the afternoon, it must be afternoon there but it's 10:45 pm here.