The flight from Lisbon to Paris was mostly unremarkable. However, I shall make a few remarks anyway. Lisbon airport is the height of efficiency. You go to one kiosk and retrieve not only your boarding pass but also your luggage labels. Then you proceed to the line to check your already labeled luggage. Once we arrived in Paris our bags were among the first to appear on carousel. I told Tom fate karma was rewarding us for not going ballistic when they failed to get our luggage to Lisbon with our flight. On this trip to Paris for the first time we landed at Oily rather than Charles de Galley. What a pleasure Oily was, no immigration bags in hand we were out of there in 5 minutes and in a tax to our hotel.
Our hotel is situated right on the Seine just down the street from Le Depart and is fine for its purpose. We do not have a view of the Seine and the internet connection is flaky so aren't entirely thrilled with the digs. All accommodations up to now have been superb and this hotel was not Nancy's (AAA) first choice. I asked for the change to have a better location. So we checked in, unpacked our bags for the last time, and headed out to Le Depart.
I have to say the waiter that served us was "almost" the rudest waiter ever. At first I thought I was feeling this way because we were coming from a place where absolutely everyone treated us with such kindness, but then I thought no, he is lacking heavily in the social graces category. Disappointed because after all Le Depart is our spot we left much sooner than planned and headed over to the heart of "Rive Gauche" where we've had many dinners together, with Michael and Sandy and also Eddie and Kathleen. This is where there could be a little old lady chugging along in her best form of dance with a jazz quartet for the tourists coins. Love Her.....
We sat down and Café de Paris right near the street, ordered our dinner and waited to see if she would show up.
She did not appear, however, while we were eating just a few steps away another little street band set up and a young woman began sing. She was wonderful and music (both American and French classics) filled the air while we ate. The crowd was growing and spilling into the street making it impossible for any car to pass through because no one would move and people were dancing in the streets. People were eager to throw money into their instrument cases. Then she introduced a very elderly gentleman. He had a washboard hung around his neck, with a cymbal hanging off one side and a cow bell hanging of the other. He played all expertly while he serenaded the now huge crowd with the classic ballad "Kingston Town" ("sad to say I'm on my way.... won't back back for many a day.....) you get the picture
After many songs we reluctantly called it a night and went back to our hotel for the evening.