Thursday, August 28, 2008

When In Rome...


I was born in Israel, which is like Americas step-sister or something.   America always defends Israel.  When Iran or Jordan or any of the other bullies at school pick on Israel, America comes and says "What the f*** you doing?"

It's like walking up and punching the hot chick at the bar when there is a big, biker sitting next to her.  

I am not sure why countries pick on Israel.  I know its the whole "You took Jerusalem, now give it back!" thing.  Then again, we are Jews.  If you drop a ten dollar on the street, I am not going to run up and tell you.  You dropped it.  It now belongs to the free world.  I shall take it and buy myself a kosher hot dog with it.  Same thing with Israel.  Jerusalem was something we Jews took and said "We ain't giving it back ya know!  It's ours.  See?  We put our name on it with a sharpie so that means its ours! what?  where did we get it? uh.....we got it as a gift for Hanukkah back in 15 A.D....oh wait, we don't believe in Jesus.....uh.....15 After Moses. Yeh! We got Jerusalem as a gift for Hanukkah at 15 A.M."

But countries still pick on Israel.  Which in the human world, we all know the saying "Hey! Why don't you pick on someone your own size?"  Problem is, if wars were playing by that rule, the only places who would challenge Israel to a fight would be Jamaica and New Jersey.   But nobody follows rules in War.  That is why we have rules to prevent us from going into war. 

This leads to the airport in Rome.  As mentioned in previous posts, the Sexy Swedish Wife and I have been traveling Sweden, Denmark and Paris.   After seeing Sweden, Copenhagen and basically conquering France, we were getting ready to go home.  We were flying to JFK via connection in Rome.  

A quick back story:  I have been a permanent resident in the U.S. for like 105 years.  I moved to the U.S. when I was ten years old and never bothered to get my citizenship until last year.  Never really seen a need for it.  I live here, I pay taxes, what's the point of being a citizen over being a resident?  When I finally got my citizenship, when I was being sworn in, I remember they said to us "Now, as a citizen of the United States of America, you can enjoy the benefits of VOTING" (uh, yeh, unless Bush is running and then it doesn't matter/count) "You will also have the benefit of serving as a member of the courts" (which is basically a nice way of saying Jury Duty.  Also, really not selling this whole citizenship thing yet) "And finally, as a citizen, you can serve in the armed forces in protecting this beautiful country" (uh...yeah.  I came from Israel.  They force you to join the army at age 18.  I didn't move 5400 miles to join somebody elses army).  But I finally got my citizenship last year.  Since then, I got married in Vegas, drove a UHAUL with my new wife and two chiuahuahs across the country from LA to NYC, and moved into a new city.  So, I never bothered with the U.S. Passport.

Finally, about a month before I left to Sweden, I called the 5th graders who work at the USCIS office.  The people at the government offices are not very well trained.  If you call them with the same question 3 times, you will get 3 different answers.  I don't even think they train them.  They just give them a phone and tell them to make shit up as they answer the calls.
So I called the 800 number before I left and asked "I am traveling and I have dual citizenship.  I am a citizen of the U.S. and Israel.  I have an Israeli passport but no VISA.   Instead, I had to turn in my VISA when I was sworn in, and instead got this paper that says I am a citizen.  Will I have trouble traveling?"

Now I know everyone and their mother knows the answer to that.  Yes! I will.   Because honestly, unless you have 1) a valid U.S. passport or 2) a VISA, most countries will give you hell.  But, since I have the piece of paper and a dual citizenship, I called and asked.
The nice lady on the other end said, "you can use the paper you got when you were sworn in.  The number on that paper is the same number they will put on your U.S. passport, so at immigration, they can punch that number in and see you are a citizen".

Great!  Swedish Bread and Coffee...here I come!

Back to Rome now.  We woke up in Paris at 4:00 a.m.  I do not work well at 4:00 a.m.  Unless my wife is having a baby, I do not want to see the number 4 or the letters "A.M." on a clock in my lifetime.   We took a flight thru Rome and we were in line to board our plane on Alitallia back to New York "Is My Bed There" Fucking City!

"Uh, hold on Sir"  The security person at boarding tells me while looking at my Israeli passport.
Yeh, yeh.  I get it.  Middle Eastern man, getting on a flight to New York, without proper paper work....I get it.   I am the exact type of person they teach you all to keep an eye out for.  But seriously...
"I am a citizen"  I tell her.
I pull out my little paper that has my little middle eastern grin photo glued on it that says THIS GUY IS AN AMERICAN!
The lady looks at it and calls the big, security guy over and says something to him in Italian.

I wait.  

Long story a bit less long, 15 minutes later, wife and I are still not on the plane.  Instead I am arguing with the head of security who insists that I can not get on the plane to go to New York.
I tell him about the number on the paper, and how if you punch it into a system, it will show I am American...

"Uh, Sir" he tells me "I am not sure what you mean.  This is Rome. Maybe, back in New York they have a computer they can put this number in and see you are American.  But we do not have these computers here.  We have 1986 Macintosh and a bubble jet printer.  Thats it!"

Oh crap.

Meanwhile the pilot comes out to us and asks "What is holding up the plane?"
They explain to him that they are trying to get a hold of the USCIS morons to verify I can enter the U.S.

How the hell does that phone conversation go?
"USCIS office, this is agent 9291.  How may I help you?"
"Alo? uh, this is head of airport security in Rome.  I have a middle eastern guy here without proper papers trying to get on plane to New York.  Can I let him on plane?"

I knew this will be a while.

While the baldheaded, Sean Claude Van Damn looking guy who is head of security (who has 4 phones, 2 guns, a pepper spray and a ring the size of my eyeball) is on the phone trying to get USICS to talk to him, the Alitallia manager looks at me and goes:

"Sir, what will you be doing? Your flight needs to leave.  Shall we take the luggage off the plane?"

I asked her "If my wife stays here with me until this sorts out.  Can we both get on the same flight home?"

She looks at me without pitty and says "Yes.  But you are paying for those flights sir.  This is not an Alitallia fault, so both tickets will need to be paid by you!"

Oh crap.  I looked at wifey, who at this point is crying like she just saw the ending of The Notebook, and I tell her "Babe, get on that flight.  Its better I only pay for one flight instead of two"  She refuses and I tell her that she must.

I can understand my wife not wanting to separate.  There are two reasons.  The first is that out of all the times we flew to Sweden and back, we always travelled separately.  My work  gives me a couple of weeks off while she stays usually for about a month or a month and a half.  This was going to be our time to finally travel back together.  The second reason she probably didn't want to separate is due to my bad humor.  You see, I have for the past 10 years, have had a weird dream/feeling that I die before the age 30.  Not sure why.  Call it a strange re-accuring dream.  I mentioned this once to my wife and she always tells me its silly.  Yes, it is. But not when you are in Rome, at age 29, getting on two different planes.  Suddenly, suspicion and worry settles in and she suddenly thinks "It's Gods will" and he wants to spare her while I take the next plane into heaven.  I have to be honest, for a few moments, I thought the same thing.  Silly, but true.

They finally wisk her on the plane (while she is sobbing).   I stand there looking at the Van Damn security guy with a "hurry the fuck up" look.  Here is the problem:  It is Saturday.  Its Rome.  USCIS offices are open Monday thru Friday.  Getting someone on a phone from USCIS is like trying to get me on a phone at 4:00 a.m.  It just ain't happening.

He finally gets a hold of Billy in Honolulu.  After about 20 minutes of broken English, the security guy hangs up his 1999 blackberry and puts it on the table, folds his arms and stands silently.  

"What's going on? What did Honolulu say?"  I ask.
"We wait!" he replies.
"Wait for what? Jesus? Delivery? For you to come back from break? What exactly the hell does WE WAIT mean?"
"It means, we wait!  Honolulu is checking some things.  My battery is low.  So, they call back!"
He calmly explained. 
"Uh....battery low?  How low? Like, will it die on you while you answer the phone?  I mean, what does low mean?"
"Relax sir.  This will all work out."  He tells me.
"Oh gee.  Thanks Mr.  Van Damn.   Glad you are so confident.  Last time I checked, my plane left with MY WIFE ON IT!"

His phone rings.

"Hello?" he goes to the person on the phone from Honolulu.  "Ah ha.  Ah ha.  Yes. Yes.  Ok.  Yes. No.  No.  Yes.  uh...let me check.....Sir, you still live in the U.S. right?" he says looking at me.

"Not unless you need a new fucking roomate here in Rome" I replied.

He goes back to the call "Yes.  Yes.  ah ha...ok....sure.  sure.   yes"

What the hell is going on?  Is this his wife on the other line asking him if he can pick up some eggs and milk on the way home tonight.  What is with the Yes, Yes, sure, sure, for the last 5 minutes?

The guy finally hangs up the phone, looks at me and I shit you not, in HEBREW (my native language) says to me "Everything is fine.  Have a safe trip home and shabat shalom!"

You muther-***ker!  You were Israeli this whole effin time?  The head of security? the effin Bloodsport guy?  You were Israeli?  You been looking at my Israeli passport for the last 30 minutes.  You couldn't just tell these Alitallia people I was your cousin or something?  

Fast forward another 30 minutes and he tells me that he, and all of the other security guys are all ex-Israeli ops who get paid very well to live in Rome and do security in airports.  I guess in a way, Israel is the big brother, not the U.S.  Protecting its country from jackasses like me who travel without proper paperwork.

So Alitallia books me on the next flight to New York.  3 hours after my original plane left with my wife on it, I got booked on a flight to Newark, NJ.  Meanwhile, my wife is in the air and for all she knows, I am in Rome indefinitely.   

I sit in the waiting area cooling down.  What a nightmare.  They suddenly page me.  I walk up to the booth and  its the Alitallia manager is there again.  She has good news, which she says that Alitallia has sympathy for the fact that I had to let my wife get on a plane without me, so she will not charge me for the re-booking.  Gee, thanks.  That is sweet.

Oh yeah.  "We got bad news too.  Its your luggage.  We lost it." She says to me.
"Lost it? How many bags did you lose exaclty?"
"All of them!" she replies.

Excuse me?  How do you exactly lose 3 luggage pieces that are the sizes of  three Samoan babies?

You see, they didn't forget the luggage in Paris. Or accidently took it off the plane my wife got on and then left it somewhere.  They actually said it never left Paris and that have no idea where it is.  The luggage could be in a hotel room in Paris drinking coffee and eating cheese at this point. 

But wait..this story gets better...

I land in Newark.  Un-luggaged.  I stand in line in immigration with confidence.  Why the confidence?  Because Mr. Sean Claud back in Rome said that Billy in Honolulu said he will put a "waiver" in the system so that when I arrive in New York, I can get out of immigration without issues.  Problem is, as I later found out, Honolulu Billy, only added the waiver to JFK.  Not Newark, which is where I was standing in line at.

I get to the front of the line.  I hand over my passport.  I tell them "There should be a waiver in there" and smile.

"I don't see anything sir.  You will need to go into the immigration holding and talk to them there"

CRAP!

I go into the immigration room where we have about 30 people who all looked like a table at the UN meeting.  You got the token Ethiopian, the token Indian, the token middle eastern....oh wait, thats me.  Basically, we looked like an office Diversity Group.

Meanwhile, I want to call Swedish Sext Wife to ask if she landed ok.  Problem is  you can not use a cell phone from the immigration holding room.  This place is like the place they interview crooks on Law & Order.  Mirror/one way windows.  Brick white walls.  Low lighting.  I felt like I was about to be accused of smuggling little asian children in my luggage....oh wait, they can't nail me for that cause they STILL HAVE NOT FOUND MY LUGGAGE!

They finally call my name up.  I get up there and they start ripping me a new one.  "Do you know you can not travel without a U.S. passport? Do you know you don't have a VISA on this Israeli passport? Do you know the fine for not flying with proper papers is $582?  Do you know I hate my job?"

Wait..."What?  $582?"
"Yes sir.  It is a $582 fine"
"Ok fine.  Here is my Discover card" I handed them my credit card with its 49% interest.
"Sorry sir.  Cash only"
Are you kidding? Who the heck carries $500 in cash on a flight from Rome?  What am I?  A Miami King Pin?  Nobody carries that kind of cash on a flight unless you are Puff Daddy!

"Sorry.  I don't have $500 in cash or in my bank account.  I just came back from Paris with my wife, who I have officially lost, because she got on a different plane and you won't let me call her.  I lost my luggage, and frankly, I am about to lose $500.  So just take my credit card!"

The lady (who was on her high horse because all people who work in immigration think they are Gods) says to me "Well, you need to call your parents or a friend to bring you $582 or I can put you on the next flight back to Rome"

"Uh, my folks live in Los Angeles.  It will be a few days before they get here.  Secondly, do you have any friends you can call right now who would give you $582?  Cause I want those friends, because my friends,  will think I am playing a joke and hang up on me like I am Andy Dick looking for work."

I continued to explain to the lady about how I called USCIS and how they told me it would be ok to enter with this shitty piece of paper that is apparently worth less then a laser disk player.

Suddenly a man in a tie shows up and asks to speak to the immigration lady.  He seems to be the Boss.  This whole place is like a mafia base.  Everyone behind counters with guns.  I feel like they are selling coke on weekends here.  They both step away shortly and then the lady returns.

"Sir.  I am going to do you a favor and assume you were misinformed.  I am going to let you go without the $582 fee.  But, make sure you get  a U.S. passport before you travel next time ok?"

Wow.  You went from being the wicked witch of the west to one of the Golden Girls really fast.  Did your boss just tell you to take all the passports out of your arse?

They let me go and I took the taxi home.  On the way home, Alitallia calls me to inform me they found my luggage and it should be on the next flight to JFK.  Probably arrive same day or the next.  Great.

4 Hours later, another call from Alitallia.  This time to tell me they sent the luggage on the wrong plane to some other place in Italy.  But they are working on it and I will have it later tomorrow.  Fine.

At 11 p.m. that night, another call.  This time, they got the luggage back to Rome.  Unfortunately, someone in Rome didn't know what they were doing there so he sent them back to the original departure which is Paris.  

I almost wanted to ask if atleast I am getting the milage points for all these places my luggage is traveling to.  I hope my suitcase is taking pictures because its officially traveling more then I am.  
I briefly asked the person on the phone "If you never get my luggage to me.  What do you compensate?"
"Oh sir.  We don't compensate any money for lost luggage.  But don't worry, it will there on Monday."

Thanks for the confidence.  You said my luggage will be here 3 phone calls ago.

Our luggage DID arrive on Monday.  More then 48 hours after we left Paris. 

That is it.  As a friend of mine said "Got to love a country that lets your wife, who is NOT a citizen, into the country while keeping you, who IS a citizen, locked out of it.  God bless our system!"

And God Bless America too.

Friday, August 22, 2008

Swedish Lampoons - European Vacation (PART 1 of 3)

PART 1: SWEDEN


I landed in Sweden after a long flight ready to enjoy my vacation.  I arrived at the In-Laws for coffee and bread.  It is amazing how much coffee and bread this country has.  It's like every 15 minutes "You want some coffee?  Some Bread & Cheese?".....after lunch: "Bread & Ham with some coffee?"....before dinner: "Coffee on your bread?"

Just coffee EVERYWHERE all the time.  You look at cows in Sweden and they all look like runway models.  Just empty of milk.  Damn Cheese and Coffee.   

So after some coffee and cheese (ofcourse) Sexy Swedish Wife and I left for the Summer House.  I love the summer house.  First, just the name itself "Summer House" just makes it sound relaxing.  
"What should we do after a crappy week at the office?  Oh yes, lets go to the Summer House. "
"I have a long holiday weekend, lets go have some coffee and cheese at the Summer House."
"Norway is attacking!  Lets go hide in the Summer House!"
It just sounds so splendid.  So relaxing.  And they call it Summer House year round.  Especially in Sweden, where Summer lasts for like four lousy days.  How can you name it after something that only exists over the course of a long weekend?  
But I love the fact that if its Christmas they just go "hey, we got some days off, lets go to the summer house."  Its fantastic.  It is known as the Summer House in the cold ass winter too.  Which really makes you think that the temperature will be warmer there.  
"It's minus zero here in Stockholm, lets all go to the Summer House.  I hear its fantastic there this time of year.  Sven, grab the mohitio mix and lounge chairs."
I love it.

So we go to the summer house and enjoyed some great few days there.  Went to the lake down the street which was full of German tourists.  Germans love 2 things: Lake getaways and moose.  Every lake you drive by you see cars with German license plates or german bumper stickers.  Which all are subtly next to a giant moose sticker.  Moose stickers on the car, on the backpacks, or the children while they swim in the lake.  Moose! Moose! Moose!  For a country that ruled an empire and led a World War, they all seem to be kinda of nerdy now a days.

The lake was nice and warm and the walks through the forest was calming.    Lots of trees in Sweden.  No wonder IKEA's are spreading like herpes at a porno convention.

After the summer house, the weather got a bit crappy (in Sweden? Shocker!).  Fine Ass Swedish Wife and I went to check out the church in which we will get married in.  I know what you must be thinking: "Why did it take so long to invent Taco shells with flat bottoms?".  Which is a weird thing to ask yourself while reading this.  But! You may also be asking "Are you not already married?  Why else would you refer to your wife as WIFE?"

Short version (because I still have to finish this blog plus 2 more about Denmark and Paris):
We got married in Vegas with a Hawaiian priest and a couple of close friends. We still want the big wedding with flowers, and the dress (for her, not me) and the family.  Her family in Sweden is way too big to bring to Vegas and plus, alcohol is cheaper there, so I will save a ton on doing a big wedding there.  We are looking into doing the big wedding after she finishes school or close to finishing around 2010.  Gives me time to save up, and gives time for the value of the dress she wants to go down.  :)  win win.

Anyway, we went to look at the church we want to wed at.  It is in a castle of the old King Vasa.  
Very f'd up family.  Two sons.  One locked the other away in a dungen, then when he got out, he locked the other brother in his room for 8 years and then became king when his brother died.  Totally twisted drama.   The church was beautiful and hey, it's in a castle.  Sure, the tour said the castle was used as a prison once and many deaths happened there, but hey, when has the church NOT been a weird place to be (for a Jew) anyway?  The Jew in me wanted to negotiate pricing "since people died here.  Can we get the church at a discount?....oh the church is free?  ok, well, can we get some gingerbread cookies thrown in for the guests for free then?"

Finally, on August 8th, the reason we came to Sweden this year has arrived.  The Wedding.  Not ours, if you were paying attention, ours is down the line.  It was her sisters wedding.  They wed at an old church as well (from the 1700s).  Creepy side note:  The church had a grave yard and while I was outside chatting with some people about wether or not Swedish Chef from the Muppets was actually speaking swedish or not, I noticed a grave stone with the exact first and lastname of my wife.  It was creepy.  She assured me that their lastname is very common in Sweden.  Like "Smith" in the U.S. or "Rchahychaydh" in Siberia.   So I guess its not THAT creepy.  

The wedding was beautiful.  I was asked to film the whole thing and then walk around and film people and take photos.  Problem is, I speak as much swedish as a monkey.  Asking people "is it ok to take a photo?" or "Can you say a few words to the bride in groom to the camera?" is really weird when everyone around you speaks another language.   After a while, I started getting the vibe that some of the guests were like "Why is the creepy American taking photos of my girlfriend?"  I just felt like someone was going to come and punch me.  I had to have the toast master announce that "this guy will be taking photos for the bride and groom".  Although when he said it in Swedish, everyone laughed.  I assume he said something like "The guy with the camera is an American who is a bit slow.  So let him snap a few photos, otherwise he goes crazy and cries."  I have no idea if he said anything to what I asked him to mention.

Swedish wedding was interesting.  The speeches (which I did not understand) and the games (which I did not understand) and the conversations with the drunk guest at the restroom (which I kind of understood, because he somehow suddenly spoke english when he was drunk).

Everything was perfect.

After the wedding, the next few days were very relaxing. Lots of thunderstorms and rain. Mostly, wife and I hung out with her parents.  Drinking coffee and eating bread.







Danish Lampoons - European Vacation (PART 2 of 3)

Part 2:  DENMARK


Our flight to Paris was going out of Copenhagen.  The In-Laws suggested we take a trip down to Copenhagen the night before and spend a day in Denmark.  Sight see and all that jazz.

To get to Denmark, one must drive for what seems like the length of the Sex and The City movie.  And, just as boring.  

Lot's of trees and trees and...wait, is that an old historic green church? nope.  Just two trees next to eachother.  To cross into Denmark you must take a really long bridge.  This bridge is the "black dude" of bridges (if you know what I mean).  It's long.

After 17 days of driving on this bridge, we arrived in Copenhagen.  Copenhagen is very different then Sweden when it comes to street names.  All the street names in Copenhagen look like what happens when you let your baby slam his hands on the keyboard with an email open.  You know, you get thing looking like this: "fredrikssudnmotorvejen" (this is actually a real street name in Copenhagen).  My guess is that nobody throws any damn house parties in that city.  Nobody wants to deal with writing the directions in the invite by email.
"Crap.  How was that street off the highway exit called?  Rosjkildevej?  Is it two "J"s?  A silent "K"?  Crap!  I still have 6 more turns to write on these directions.  This is going to take forever!"

I would love to drive a car with one of those speaking GPS systems in Copenhagen.  Just smoke some pot and sit in the car and laugh my ass off when the voice lady goes "in 0.3 kilometers, turn left on Klovermarkenjan.  Turn right on Valensbakenit".  The system will probably crash if I just take it into a 5 point intersection.  Me and Sexy Wife's dad actually stopped at a liquor store to ask for directions for the hotel.  Can you imagine trying to pronounce the names of these streets to someone?  It took us like 30 minutes just to get the guy to understand us.  
"Ohhh, you are looking for Osterbroggen.  I thought you said Osterbrokken!"
It is really frustrating.

I bet if someone did a study, they would find that tourists just vanish in Denmark every year.  Its like the European bermuda triangle.  They can't find the damn airport.  They just get lost in Denmark forever.

We arrived at the hotel.  Very small and cute.  In the heart of the city.  Well, maybe not the heart...perhaps the Spleen of the city.  Whatever.  We took a walk through the beautiful shopping district and checked out the castle of the King and Queen as well as some monuments and beautiful buildings that look like something out of a MTV Cribs in the 1500's.

The one thing that did bug me was the attitude.  Danish people are not very nice.  Very mean and kind of "I don't give a shit" attitude.  We got that everywhere.  I know I am American and that we are not very liked throughout Europe.  I knew that coming there.  But the Danish are just piss stubborn people.  Just rude.  Waiters, bartenders, clerks, employes at the supermarket, people at the hotel, people on the street, homeless people.  They are all just crude.  

I can understand.  After all they have 5.5 million people and the thing they are most famous for is LEGO.  Seriously.  We got 5 million people and the thing the whole world knows us for is little plastic blocks.    That's got to piss some people off.  That's like looking at Israel and saying "No, you won't be known for being the Holy Land.  No you won't be known as the place that has Jerusalem.  Instead, from all the wonderful things you have to offer to the world, you shall be famous across the universe as the country that spawned Hummus.  Oh, what a delicious delicacy it is indeed.  People around the world will say "Israel.  Land of the Hummus!"

Nobody wants to feel like in the thousands of years your country existed and with all the wars and inventions and great scholars they had, to be known at the end of the day as the place that is famous for LEGO. So I understand why everyone is so pissy.  They probably get a lot of tourists "Excuse me, where is the bus pick up for the LEGO tour?".  All the Danish (Danes?, I dunno what they go by) are probably all "Piss Off!"

The other place we went to check out was Christiania.  Also known as Freetown.  It is a residential area (about 85 acres) of about 850 residents who, within the areas limits are free to do drugs.  Basically, if you want to smoke pot or do ecstasy with your first date, this will be the place to go and do it because its legal there.  Problem is, the place looks like shit.  First, they do not allow photos in there.  Not that anyone would want it.  Nobody goes around taking photos of your cousin's ugly ass baby.  Nobody wants photo of that kid on their fridge. Well, its the same with this place.  It looks like an atomic bomb of "Ugly" got dropped there.  The buildings are torn up, the floors and roads are all dirt and covered in garbage.  And all the people hanging out there look like homeless crack heads.  There was tons of police and alot of high idiots talking shit.  It was neat to watch people rolling up joints in front of police officers but then again, if you have to hang out here, I would really not trust what's in that joint.  The place makes Gaza strip look like 5th Ave. 

So Denmark was interesting.  Short stay as I said.  Saw the city.  Ate some food.  Had some coffee and bread that the in-laws brought with them.  Good times over all.






And, ofcourse in the spirit of LEGO, I could not resist posting this:

  

Thursday, August 21, 2008

French Lampoons - European Vacation (PART 3 of 3)


Ahhh. Paris.  Famous for things like the Eiffel Tower, the Mona Lisa and well, surrendering.

French are a peculiar breed.  The thing I noticed first about Paris is that there are no french people there.  Paris is just full of foreigners living there (very similar to Los Angeles).    

We arrived in Paris and had my mothers step-sister pick us up.  An Israeli French.  That has to be the oddest combination.  Part of you is from Israel.  A land that has suffered great battles and never lost. Never gave up and never gave up hope.  The other half, French.  Which basically gave up and surrendered.  But the couple who picked us up were adorable.  Beautiful people.  Heart of gold the size of Russia.  They have an apartment right smack in Paris which was nice for us since we had a lot to see in very little time.

I will give my review of Paris along with pictures:

The Eiffel Tower 

This thing is exactly how I thought it would be.  We took a boat tour our first night there and saw everything from the boat.  Including the Eiffel tower as it was lit up with lights like an LSD trip at a rave party.  The thing looks like a sparkling, giant dress.  It does look cool but you can not stare at the sparkling lights too long or you feel like you will have a seizer.  It does hurt the eyes.  People just snapping photos of this thing like as if it was a new Brangelina baby.  The Eiffel Tower is all iron and built on Champ de Mars (which I am guessing has nothing to do with the planet).  It is hands down probably one of the most recognizable structures in the world (with the exception of the Statue of Liberty and O.J. Simpsons house).  The Eiffel Tower is the tallest structure in Paris.  But then again, when you are building a house for Napoleon, most places don't need to be taller then 4 feet anyway.  Alot of French people seem to think that the Eiffel Tower (especially now with the glitter and lights) is much of an eyesore.  Then again, they don't seem to complain about Jean Reno (who the rest of the world seem to think is an eyesore).  




After the boat ride we went into a cafe':

The Cafe's

No matter where you go in Paris, every restaurant has the same thing.  Cheese, Coffee and Cigarettes.  Very much like Sweden with the Coffee & Bread.   French love their cheese.  They have fancy names for their cheese.   Like "Emmental francis est-central" or "Fourme de Montbrison" or "Picodon de l'Arde'che".   Just saying the names of them can turn a woman on.  Everything in Paris just sounds so damn sexy.  You can ask where is the bathroom in French and it sounds romantic: "Pardon, ou' sont les toilettes?".  Sounds hot doesn't it?  Next time I have foreplay,  I am pulling out a damn French dictionary and just start reading.  Seriously.

The cheese has fantastic taste.  Bitter, sweet, strong, light, sour, whatever.  Every cheese tastes different.  Makes me want to move to Paris and open a Quesadilla store their.  

The coffee got me annoyed a bit.   They don't have coffee like you and I have coffee.  In the U.S. you order coffee they bring you a cup (some bring you a damn Big Gulp 7/11 size cup) full of coffee.  In Paris, it all comes in a tiny little cup.  Like as in espresso.   I told the waiter "I want coffee coffee.  Like as in a cup for normal size humans.  Not in a cup for Oompa Loompas."
The waiter responded "oh, you want American coffee!".  Wtf? American coffee?  uh no.  Its called "The Rest Of The World Coffee".   
Even the coffee has strange names like "Cafe' au lait" or "Cafe' Noisette".   I don't speak a word of french but I am guessing they are named "Late Coffee" and "Noisy Coffee"?

The cool thing about the cafe' is everyone has the chairs outside facing the street.  Nobody sits at a table for 2 (or for 4) and looks at eachother.  This is PARIS!  The people here are much more sexy then me, don't look at me! look at them!  
Everyone sits and looks at people walking by.  
"Oh hey, check out the long legged brunette"
"Oh hey, check out the long legged blonde"
"Oh hey, check out the long legged horse hauling the overweight Americans"

I dug the whole "sit here, have some cheese and watch everyone walking by."  It's like as if you are waiting for something incredible to happen.   This guy my trip on his shoelace.  This lady may get mugged.  Someone ran a red light?  damn it I missed it!  I was busy trying to order some cafe' le Americian.  

The other thing about the cafe' is that nobody who works there speaks any English.  Being that this is Paris and its an international tourist attraction, you would think these guys would bother to brush up on universal language.  Nope.  All of France seems to have this "If you don't speak french, then we are not going to learn your language then".  Even at the Louvre, all the paintings and statues have plaques next to them that are in French.  Was the Mona Lisa painted in 1505?  Or was she born in 1505? or is this just item number 1505 and later I can bid on it in some silent French auction?  What the heck is going on?   Forget trying to find a damn exit at the Louvre too.  Everything is written in French.  "Oh here!  This says Sortir.  That means exit.  No! Damn it.  Its the painting called Le' Sortir.  Where is the damn exit in this place?  Someone give me a piece of this sculptures foot so  I can throw it at this giant glass pyramid I am trapped in!"

Nobody speaks English.  Menus:  French.  Maps: French.  Subway instructions on a wall in the subway station: French.  I tried asking for directions from a waiter and all he said was "I do not understand".  Those were the four words he knew in English.  "Do" "Understand" "I" and "Not".  
Finally, the people at the cafe' LOVE smoking.  I picked my smoking habit back for two days while I was there.  Just from sitting in these cafe's.  Everyone smokes.  If you don't smoke they know you are a tourist.  I might as well wear a giant "I Heart Paris" with a belt napsack and a camera.  I felt so uncool without a cigarette.  So naked.  




Then we explored the City:
The City

What a beautiful city.  Shall I say "Magnifique!".   I did not realize when we arrived that "Rue" stands for "Streets".  So here is yours truly, trying to find places by telling Hot Sexy Swedish Wife: "I read online about this great coffee shop.  I don't remember the name of the street, it was something-Rue.  Is there a Rue on the map?"

Too bad everything has "Rue" on the map.   At first glance I was like "Ok. we are here on the map.  Oh great, we are on Rue.  Perfect! The website said it was on Rue and we are on it."

Swedish Wife: "Uh, honey.  They are ALL rue.  Rue means street."

I had to play it off like "oh, I knew that.  yes. yes.  Of course it does."

She totally saw thru my bulls***.  Never try to pull off bull**** on a wife.  They are like Hirachio on CSI:Miami.  Try to tell her I did not break the wine glass and she will look at the trajectory of the glass on the floor.  She will look at the way the water has collected at the bottom of the sink.  She will look at my fragile, shakey, bleeding hands and then call "Bull****!"
I can never escape her.

So yeh, "Rue" had me called out on my bull**** first day there.    But the streets are beautiful.  All brick roads (which must be a really hard thing to walk down if you are in high heels and drunk).  Matter of fact, that should be an olympic sport.  Set off 10 drunk women in high heels down a side street in Paris and see who makes it to the end of the street first.  Entertainment if I ever heard of one.  "Oh, look at Madame Michelle!  She is leading the pack.  and -- oh no!  Michelle is now down in the gutter.   Le Michelle has eaten le shit."

We did get lost a lot in Paris which sounds cool to say.  "We got lost in Paris".   Much better then say "We got lost in Spanish Harlem".   But we did enjoy just getting lost and finding our way back.  We found an awesome ice cream shop on the island across from Notre Damn.  We found a chocolate store that has amazing chocolates.  We found cool little houses and shops and some friendly locals while at it.  

We did get lost coming out of the subway and walking in the wrong direction for about 30 minutes before we realized "uh.....I don't see a park!  I see a supermarket and what looks like it may be a french strip club".    We then realized we walked in the opposite direction.  Better for that to happen in Paris then say Bolivia.  










That's about it.  We did go to the Louvre and some parks (photos below).  Mona Lisa is really small.  I thought it would be some giant painting.  But no.  It is the size of a cereal box.  We saw some cool parks and some even Napoleons apartment.  His apartment was made with a lot of chandeliers (which makes sense, considering he probably couldn't reach the light switch if it was regular lights).  Below are some photos of some neat places we checked out (plus one movie poster which looks hilarious in French.  "The Momie".  Who doesn't want their mommy when Brandon Frasier is in a movie with you.)  

































Well, that's it about Paris.