Allez, France!

[This would have been posted last night, but we were having technical difficulties (possibly exacerbated by jet-lag) and therefore, like Rush Limbaugh, couldn't get it up.]

We're here! My rusty French works well enough to tell waiters that we just landed this morning and I'm too tired to speak French. They sweetly lie that I speak beautifully, and my sweet Frenchless girlfriend believes them.

Just a few quick, jet-lagged points:

1. Trip was smooth as silk, but Air France is not what it used to be. We were jammed into our seats like sardines, and the woman in front of me kept rocking back into my lap all night long. Note to self: before next transatlantic trip, cut four inches off of legs. We watched Woody Allen's Match Point late last night because we were too tired to read and too wired to sleep. Good bit of storytelling; nasty little tale, though.

2. Apartment is lovely, all we hoped it would be. We came in and napped for almost four hours, then went out grocery-shoppping for wine and breakfast goods. It's warm here and nothing is air-conditioned, but the people all speak French, so who cares? Young men are exceptionally nice to us, wherever we go. They like to practice their English on us, and they are charmed by our efforts in French.

3. Parisians are extremely happy this evening about France's victory over Brazil in the World Cup. We were happy because the restaurants were empty. Now the streets are full with cars honking their horns, people shouting, motorcycles with French flags flying proudly. We remind ourselves that "football" means "soccer," and in some parts of the world this matters a great deal. We think it's cool that there is one world sport that the U. S. totally sucks at.

Time to crash. Tomorrow we'll hit some museums because they're closed on Monday. Tuesday we may finally visit Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas's graves at Pere Lachaise.

Salut!