Our itinerary had us flying first to Atlanta before boarding a 10:00 pm overnight to Paris. Then a bus into the city from the airport, a taxi to the train station for the little more than one hour high speed train to the city of Tours, our home for the next two weeks. We had a final 20-minute walk from the train station to our half-timbered apartment. The only glitch in the whole 30 hours or so of travel was when we tried to buy our room wine after dinner when we’d arrived in Tours, only to learn the French ban wine sales after 9:00 pm. (Sacre Bleu!). But I fixed this major faux pas by coaxing a bistro waiter to sell us a bottle of rose that we could re-cork and take back to the apartment.

   We found our way to this small, medieval city of Tours thanks to video podcaster Veronique Saroye, whom Carol discovered, and then shared with me. Through Vero’s (as she goes by) videos, Tours seemed too idyllic and undiscovered to be for real. By the end of dinner this first night though, we were already thinking she might have understated its idyllic beauty.

   By the way, don’t let the blog’s title upset you. I have no intention of chronicling the minutiae of each day of our two weeks here. After all, my “plan” is to do almost nothing, save for watching French life go by from the comfort of a sidewalk café, and finding a nearby wood fired pizza place. (The previous sentence has been modified after Carol read it.) We’re going to be doing more than what I just wrote, and I will just have to deal with it.)

Tours seemed too idyllic and undiscovered to be for real. By the end of dinner this first night though, we were already thinking she might have understated its idyllic beauty.

   At dinner Carol disparaged my decision to order a burger and fries. But the burger was done in the rillette, or shredded meat style for which Tours is famous. And the fries, well, they were French and homemade, so I’ll stick with the story that I ate like a habitué as the French might say.

  The apartment (and I hasten to add the choice was 100% Carol’s) was an absolute upgrade from my solo travels, but Carol thought the pictures on airbnb did not match the reality. We opened the only window in the apartment (the bedroom is an airless cell), and when a neighborhood Siamese wandered in to see what new benefactors had shown up, Carol had the explanation she needed for her sudden allergy-like sneezing. The shower floor was as slick as a hockey rink, and if one of us had experienced a gastrointestinal setback due to all the travel, there wouldn’t have been enough toilet paper to get through the night. Still, it was a fine place, as far as I was concerned.

   Later that evening, we finally let jet lag drunk punch us. In the morning, Carol would begin scouting other accommodations for our second week.

   Overall, I was expecting a post-covid world of flight delays, frustrations, strained customer service and longer lines and waiting for everything. That hasn’t happened on the way over to Europe anyway. Delta gate and flight attendants were in their usual cheerful and helpful mindsets, and none had to become impromptu air marshals to wrestle unruly passengers into zip ties.

   We’re on to day 2. I know I promised, but what the hell…it’s France!