Friday, 22 March – Saturday, 23 March

We arrived at the airport with plenty of time to spare. Security was tighter than prior to September 11, but not a major inconvenience. Four or five of our group were selected to have their bags screened, but that only took a couple minutes. We all sat together on the plane – except for poor Nicole who had to sit half a dozen rows back for some reason, next to the "hot seat." So called because it seemed like the center of confusion or controversy for the hour we sat on the plane before take-off. They overbooked the flight by a single person and initially offered a $500 travel voucher, a hotel room and a seat on the next flight to anyone willing to surrender their seat. A minute or two later they bumped the voucher to $600. The passengers began to get excited as the amount kept rising with each passing minute. Someone yelled out, "Don’t settle for less than a thousand!" They said the "final" offer was $900… and then promptly went to a thousand and beyond. They finally got a taker (sitting next to Nicole) at $1300. We waited for them to remove a bag from cargo – which was a bit confusing since we heard him tell the airline employees that his wife would get his bag. There were several security-looking people who came back after he had left the plane, but no explanation was offered and they left.

The flight was direct and we arrived only 30 minutes late. Our guide, Hugues Gasparin (or "Hugo" for dumb Americans) was there to greet us after we passed through the seemingly non-existent customs. Unfortunately few of us slept well on the flight (and we lost six hours traveling east) – and our hotel rooms were not ready. We dropped our bags at the hotel in Pere Le Chaise, a district in Paris where Jim Morrison isn’t buried (he actually lives in my basement, but don’t tell anyone), and headed for the heart of Paris via the Metropolitain – their subway. I think many of us expected something quite different from the New York subways, but their system was quite similar. Okay, they have fewer lines and it’s a lot less confusing. You don’t take trains uptown or downtown, instead you take each train in the direction of its terminus. In other words, if the last stop towards the east is Gallieni and you want to go in that direction, you look for signs that read "Gallieni." Pretty simple. The same types of graffiti and grime exist there, and at peak hours, it feels just like being in NYC. One different is that the doors don’t open automatically, instead one has to either twist a lever or press a button.

One of the few incidents of rudeness (from the French, that is) occurred when I was slow to open a subway door (it was the first one I saw with a button instead of a lever), and a Parisian woman opened it for me. I said, "Merci" and she laughed derisively at me. Perhaps it was my pronunciation, or maybe it was my apparent helplessness. I won’t let it ruin my life.

We ended up at the Paris Opera House for an hour or so, wandering around the area shopping for souvenirs while Hugo picked up the other group, fourteen middle school boys from a private school outside Philadelphia and their teacher. Eileen and I went to a café where we bought hot chocolate and a cheese plate. Despite eating both meals on the plane, we were rather hungry. The food was underwhelming, but we were too tired to care.

After we withdrew some money from an ATM (while others went to American Express to exchange travelers’ checks or American cash), we met up with the group at the steps of the Opera House (fortunately by then a street performer had disappeared). There we learned that our first loss had occurred – Nicole’s camera – which she probably set down on the counter for a second while she was shopping.

Hugo informed us that the other group, heretofore referred to as The Evil Ones, had had a five-hour layover in Germany and therefore wouldn’t be joining us at the Louvre or dinner. I was so tired I almost envied their decision, but didn’t want to miss a visit to the Louvre. It was a good call on many levels. The Louvre is an absolutely massive building that stretches on forever. I couldn’t quite figure out how much of it is actually the museum and how much is shops and the like, but the structure itself is a marvel. Our visit was simultaneously too short to appreciate any measurable amount of the collections in the museum and far too long for us to have to walk and stand around while utterly exhausted. We couldn’t pass up seeing the Venus de Milo, the Mona Lisa, or Delacroix’s Liberty, but it wasn’t as great an experience as I would have liked due to the fatigue.

Incidentally, after so many people telling me that the Mona Lisa is quite small, I was rather surprised that it’s a normal-sized canvas. What did these people expect, a 50 foot tall portrait? Big doesn’t mean good, people. Unfortunately since everyone knows the Mona Lisa and Venus de Milo, they were the two pieces of art that you really couldn’t get a decent look at since everyone and their distant relatives were squeezing in to take pictures. Flash, flash, flash – despite the fact that the signs say everywhere "no flash photography." It seems a good time to point out that the majority of the rudeness we encountered on this trip came from (well, besides our traveling companions) other tourists and not the French. From out brief visit, that reputation seems entirely undeserved.

At the center of the Louvre is a lobby area highlighted by I.M. Pei’s glass pyramid roof. It’s a marked contrast to the more classical architecture of the rest of the building, and while I liked the like, I didn’t really care for the contrast. It seemed out of place. Then again, as we would learn from one of our tour guides, Oscar Wilde hated the Eiffel Tower – but ate lunch under it everyday… because he said it was the only place he could go in Paris where he wouldn’t have to look at it.

We barely mustered the strength to walk and walk to dinner, but the décor of the place was promising. Hugo had given a lukewarm advance review of the Southeastern French pizza that we were going to be served. After a simple salad, we got the pizza. It turned out to be wafer thin with cheese (goat?) and pieces of ham. Not my idea of pizza or French cuisine, but after scraping off the ham I was able to eat it. After a few minutes they brought out a mushroom and ham pizza and by Hugo’s request, a vegetarian pizza (zucchini, pepper, onion, tomato and corn). Then the desserts came – all with the same crust as the pizza! Different cheese as the next layer and then three varieties – banana chocolate, mixed berry and apple cinnamon. All were good and I scarfed down a bunch of all three.

Back at the hotel we discovered that most of our rooms were TINY. Not just small. They almost didn’t exist. Eileen and I had a double bed and about three feet of space on two sides of it. The bathroom was probably about 3’ x 6’ – you almost had to scrape against the shower door to get in (although at least this shower HAD a door, unlike most of the other hotels we’d experience). The good news was that the hotel was clean, and that’s all we really had a right to expect from a hotel in Paris. It turns out that the three girls had a big bathroom, nearly the size of our room. There was a bathtub, loads of open space, even a chair. I’m guessing their room was added recently having previously served as a storage area or something – it was just slightly too small to be two rooms.

One set of boys were cramped four-deep into a triple while everyone else was paired in rooms like ours. Ultimately we were too tired to care and slept like the dead. Oh yeah… the pillows! They were rock hard and just as heavy. A pillow fight might have resulted in manslaughter.

Sunday, 24 March

We awoke to the braying of the wake-up call (one of the few that we actually received on the trip) and found our way to the hotel cellar for a breakfast that consisted of a croissant, a small loaf of bread, a little jelly and butter, OJ and coffee, tea or cocoa. This would be the typical breakfast we’d be served – and it was actually pretty satisfying. In fact, they had the best coffee I had on the trip. There were met some of the crew from the other school but had no indication of what was coming. When we met Jill Shulman, the teacher from the other group, she identified her school (Haverford) and seemed shocked that we hadn’t heard of it. Uh oh.

Our tour guide for the day was Isabel, who drove us around Paris, showing us all the landmark sites – the Arc de Triomphe, the Champs Elysees, the Eiffel Tower, the obelisk and all the rest. She was extremely well versed in the history of the city, spoke perfect English and had a quick, dry wit. I would have preferred to have walked through some of these highlights (the pictures would have been better!), but in the interest of time we just drove past most of them, stopping a couple of times for 5 or 10 minutes to snap quick pictures. We did get to stop at Notre Dame for about an hour on Palm Sunday, but it was a bit disturbing to be there during mass – and hundreds of tourists using flash photography all the while.

The highlight of the day was the part of the trip I had most been anticipating – Versailles. Only some of the middle schoolers were with us – their teacher took half of her crew to the Louvre. I was a little disturbed that they would be with us without a chaperon, and my concerns would be validated later on. They gave us an hour to get lunch and Eileen and I picked a café where she got a cheese sandwich – and I, bewildered by the menu, simply ordered a cheese omelet. Absolutely everything seems to have cheese and bread here. We would also get our first order of pommes frites (so-called French fries), which we would subsequently get at virtually every meal… and they were always good.

Anyway, we approached Versailles and saw an amazingly long line – for the peasants, that is. Since our group was pre-scheduled, we were able to walk past hundreds, if not thousands of people and look at the decadent splendor of Louis XIV’s palace. Room after room of paintings, sculptures, incredible furniture – it was amazingly beautiful (okay, and ridiculously gaudy). Isabel led us from room to room explaining various themes and history. Our tour group seemed to grow as we moved on and she had to stop several times to admonish people for latching onto a private, paid tour.

I knew quite a bit about Versailles – I do a full class Power Point presentation on it – but I learned several things. Until I stood a few feet from the bed of the King, I didn’t understand what they meant by leading a life open to the public. In many of the bedrooms, there’s actually a railing which blocked off how close the public could get – where they could actually watch the king sleep. I also didn’t know that Louis was such a creature of habit that he did EVERYTHING at the exact same time everyday.

Our companions behaved themselves at Versailles, but by the time we got back on the bus, they were getting restless and started behaving like brats, harassing some of my group and just behaving rather immaturely. It wasn’t anything intolerable (yet), but it was very frustrating since their chaperon was miles away.

We then had our first opportunity to go wherever we wanted and we opted for the Musee de Invalides, a museum dedicated to military history that had once served as a hospital for veterans. We saw the crypt of Napoleon and walked through an excellent exhibit on World War II. We didn’t realize that the museum was closing or we would have seen some other exhibits that interested us. Running out of time was a theme that would continue through the trip (although better to run out of time than be utterly bored, I suppose).

Once again the Middle School teacher opted not to join us for dinner, so Hugo went off to put them in cabs to go to the restaurant that she had picked. When he returned with three of the boys, we wondered what was going on – apparently she had given him only a partial address. The first cab driver knew where the restaurant was; the second didn’t and wasn’t going to wander around Paris looking for it. Hugo called information but they had no listing. Eventually he would find the restaurant – the kids were there, but the teacher wasn’t! Since it was an expensive restaurant and out of his budget, he ended up taking the three boys to a moderately priced restaurant instead. By the time he brought them back to the restaurant, she was there.

Dinner was a big improvement – the restaurant was quite elegant (and we were terribly underdressed). The meal began with a delicious pastry and while everyone else had chicken, I had salmon. It’s my least favorite kind of fish, but it was cooked well. The dessert was delicious. This may or may not have been authentic French cuisine, but it was more what I had in mind at the start of the trip.

Since Hugo wasn’t back yet, we decided to explore the city a little. We walked for a long time stopping at a carousel right by the Eiffel Tower – and several of the group reverted to their childhood and rode the horsies. We walked to the Tower itself where some of us, Will in particular, bargained with the merchants selling cheap souvenirs. Half of the group went to the top of the Tower with Eileen, and I, being terrified of heights, took the other group to a café where I imbibed way too much caffeine. As we sat at the café we were sort of harassed by a troupe of pre-teen dancers. As we walked by them one kid did this neat jumping, spinning maneuver, and his friend said – in perfect American English, "Wow! A butterfly twist! That deserves at least a Euro!" We asked if they were American, but they insisted they were British and in fact were wearing shirts that said Great Britain. Apparently they were in Paris for some kind of contest uniquely titled the French Open.

After the two groups met up under the Tower, we navigated the Metro home and got a normal night’s rest having adjusted to French time. This was a fantastic day, perhaps the best of the trip. Naturally, the next day would be the worst.

Monday, 25 March

After the identical breakfast we had yesterday, we boarded the bus – only to realize that Charlie and Dave were still upstairs sleeping, despite the fact that I knocked on their doors and was told they were awake. Fortunately they had packed the previous night and we were able to leave nearly on time. We drove to Lisieux for no apparent reason (I think there was some church or historical site that Hugo offered to walk us to, but no one was interested). Many of our group tried to sleep or read on the ride there, but it was nearly impossible since the Evil Ones began to make their presence known with all sorts of immature behavior. Every five seconds we’d hear, "Ms. Shulman…" By the way, that should be pronounced as one word – mishulman – with the emphasis on the middle syllable. It became pretty clear that she had no control over them, and largely ignored their behavior. One of the kids brought a portable DVD player with speakers and was watching movies on the bus ride; of course we could all hear it. One of the kids asked Hugo if they could play music over the bus speakers, but we immediately made it clear that wasn’t going to happen. And then, unbelievably, we heard singing. Ms. Shulman, a 50-year-old, ex-hippie (evidently) was singing snippets of Judy Collins, Neil Young, Joan Baez. Off-key. Unsolicited. Her own kids were horrified. We were caught between amusement, bemusement and horror.

I should mention that they inhabited the back of the bus and we were in the front. The first couple bus rides saw her sitting in the front seat, oblivious to the behavior of her kids. At least now she was sitting in the back – although while she was singing her tunes she had headphones on. Needless to say she was paying no attention to her charges. We heard her say "Read between the lines" at one point, undoubtedly making the three-fingers gesture to one of her students. How appropriate.

We chose to eat in a lovely restaurant and found that no one seemed to understand a word of English. Eileen tried to help everyone but she wasn’t confident in her French and a comedy of errors resulted. The best moment was when Lindsay and Charlie ordered coke in French ("un coca") and giggled goofily after placing their orders. It was their first ever French utterances outside of "merci" or "bon jour." The waiter couldn’t help but laugh at our efforts – and his own inability to understand us. His laughter was not derisive in the least though, and we found the residents of Lisieux and all of the other towns we visited rather friendly. I didn’t see much on the menu that interested me (or I should say, that I understood). I ended up ordering steak au poivre; Eileen couldn’t remember what "poivre" was, so I rolled the dice. It turned out to be a pepper (as in salt) sauce that was a bit strong. Fortunately the steak was well prepared and I had a nice meal. Andrea braved the buffet and actually took an escargot. We watched as she pulled the snail from its shell… took a bite… and decided not to eat it. Too much grit!

And then the first major incident occurred. I should mention that Mishulman was carping about the fact that there were no garbage bags on the bus. Hugo had indicated that they shouldn’t bring anything messy on the bus (like a sandwich). The bus driver WAS selling soda and water, so I can see her point, but it really shouldn’t have been that difficult for them to hold onto a can or bottle until we stopped. So when we got back to the bus Andrew found some garbage near the back door. He took it inside and asked whoever threw it there to dispose of it properly. This resulted in an ugly confrontation between the Evil Ones and our group. Actually it was primarily between Mishulman and our group who retorted: "How do you know it was one of them? Maybe one of you did it. Maybe it was there before." It wasn’t there before, most of our group used the front door, and well, none of our group would have done it. Then two of my group informed me that the garbage was actually on the bus steps in the back – and Mishulman had kicked it outside! I told Hugo and he tried to get them to clean up the mess (without confronting her about this, of course), and this just escalated her tirade about the lack of garbage. She vouched for all of her kids and insisted that they didn’t do it – because they said so. Had the shoe been on the other foot, I personally would have picked up the garbage and made a clear statement to my group. Perhaps in private I would have said something like, "I know you probably didn’t do this, but…"

On top of the garbage incident, one of her kids was 5 or 10 minutes late getting back to the bus. Good old Covan, the one we pegged for the ringleader, he had been harassing Nicole on the bus from Versailles. Good old Covan, he who had $1000 money to spend on the trip. Good old Covan, who strolled back to the bus carrying a sandwich – after having been told by Hugo not to each bread on the bus. She gave him a good tongue-lashing (finally!) and then Hugo made him apologize to everyone on the bus. But they ignored the fact that he had a sandwich and at this point I wasn’t going to make matters worse. Covan became the whipping boy for her over the next day or two – and her entire crew started falsely accusing him of misbehavior. By the time the trip was over we sort of liked him, especially because of something he did the last night in Paris.

As we stewed about their conduct, we made our way to the Caen Memorial, a very nice museum that I don’t remember much about because I was so frustrated by what was occurring with our companions. When Hugo went to get the tickets I asked if there was time to go to the bathroom and he said, "If you hurry." I told the group. Ten minutes later Hugo was ready to go and a couple of our guys were missing. When I found out they were in the bathroom I got upset – not only had they not listened to the admonition, I didn’t want it to be our group holding up the entire group. In other words, I didn’t want Mishulman to have any ammunition. By the time I got to the bathroom, it was just Will in there. I poked my head in and hollered something at him. "Man, I’m dropping a D!" came the response. D for deuce or #2, evidently.

We walked through exhibits on World War II and the Cold War. The former exhibit I felt was more coherently organized that the one at the Musee de Invalides – and the Cold War exhibit had a rather remarkable component – a hydrogen bomb. Dave and I both had the urge to ride it, but security probably would have frowned on that. I don’t recall much more than that, except for Charlie’s indignation at a mislabeled picture of the Miracle on Ice, which was cited as occurring in Salt Lake City instead of Lake Placid.

Hugo arranged for the adults to meet to try to stem the conflict. Mishulman claimed that it was my group that was being rude and hostile to her kids – and in truth, there were times when we reacted to their behavior with nearly as inappropriate behavior. But for the most part any conflicts were over their inappropriate behavior. She felt it inappropriate for my group – and even my wife or me – to admonish them for inappropriate behavior… even when she wasn’t around. For example, I had told them not to shove each other when we were waiting for a subway train the previous night, and at other times we had told them not to behave in ways that would confirm the Ugly American stereotype. She didn’t seem to care about that. Her argument was that it was her responsibility and when students were left in Hugo’s charge, it was his. Of course he was busy being the tour guide and had limited English and even more limited authority over these kids. She did indicate that she thought their being disrespectful to the adults was inappropriate – but seemed very reluctant to accord to the same respect to the student members of our group! She spoke about having consideration for us and cited the fact that she too said "no" to her kid’s request to play music on the bus stereo because it would have disturbed other passengers. Unlike her singing, I suppose.

She also kept reminding us that they were middle schoolers, as if that excused their behavior. "Obviously, you’ve never taught middle school." Yeah, but I was a middle school student and if I had behaved like these kids, I would have been in serious trouble. By the end of the trip we witnessed her grabbing some of her kids by the ear and telling them to "Shut the ‘F’ up." In my life I’ve encountered parents and teachers who are inept at discipline, and although I’m still struggling with certain aspects of it, it seemed like she made every cardinal sin along the way.

We were pretty stunned by her position and held back some of our complaints (although we dressed her down in no uncertain terms). In the end, however, I decided we had to make nice and agreed to discuss things with the group and encourage them to say nothing other than pleasantries to the Evil Ones – and if they had any problems, they would come to me… and then I would go to her, a procedure she seemed adamant about.

We watched a film about the Cold War with powerful imagery from the post-war era. When two men kissed one another in celebration of war’s end, the middle schoolers started making comments. One kept making farting noises. We tried to hush them, but strangely enough Mishulman was nowhere to be found. At the end of the film the lights didn’t come on and we were in total darkness. They continued with their inappropriate behavior. I couldn’t stop myself during the film from uttering something like, "Would you grow up?" a line that NEVER has any positive outcome. But when the lights were out I came up with a far better line – in a full theater with people from many different groups and nations, I said, "Do you notice you’re the ONLY ones making noises and comments?" It actually shut them up.

So we moved on to Rouen, where Jean D’Arc was burned. That’s Joan of Arc, of course. When we got into the lobby I was at the desk with Hugo and Andrew when Mishulman started lighting into Andrew about some comment he supposedly made to one of her kids moments ago. Andrew tried to explain what he had said (she didn’t actually hear anything, she was taking her kid’s word for it, another recurring theme), but she wasn’t interested and started lecturing him. I summoned up an amazing reserve and gently pointed out that it had only been a few minutes since we had agreed that if we had a problem with a student from the other group that we would speak to each other instead of the student. Is it clear that this woman is the spawn of Satan yet? For some reason she hated Andrew – we thought it was pretty hysterical when she asked some of our group the name of "the one with the earrings." No one could figure out whom she was talking about at first until she added a description about his ear. She acted shocked that we couldn’t identify him because of his jewelry.

Some day I’ll have to rank her outrages, but one of the "best" was before dinner when she knocked on our hotel room. I was elsewhere and Eileen was getting changed. Eileen said, "Who is it?" and Mishulman barked, "Just open the door!" Now in slight defense of the Truly Evil One, there was a lot of noise in the hallway, and she probably didn’t hear Eileen clearly. And maybe some of her 12- and 13-year-old kids sound like women… but she repeated her demands and Eileen finally resorted to shouting, "I’m in my bra!" After Eileen got a shirt on, she opened the door. Mishulman was already walking down the hall, realizing she had the wrong room, I suppose. With a dismissive wave of her hand she uttered a quick, insincere "Sorry." It reminded me of my first day student teaching at Bridgewater-Raritan when I parked near the entrance only to have some teacher scream at me that "You know you can’t park there!" After I explained who I was I received an "Oh" and maybe a mini-apology… and I thought to myself, "This is the way he talks to kids?" Nine years later I realize that sometimes I slip into that absolute power mode – but when I’m wrong I profusely apologize… and I remind myself to try not to become That Person. Now I have a new That Person.

The hotel was a huge step up with a lovely lobby, more spacious rooms and comparably enormous showers – actually bathtubs with a spray nozzle – and incredible water pressure. Instead of taking the tour that evening to see the site of the stake and a centuries-old church, we opted to stay in the hotel for a group meeting and some games. I felt that after all the negative experiences we needed to clear the air and then have a group bonding session. Dinner in the hotel was pretty dreadful (a fish patty). Because EF has had complaints from dumb American teenagers about genuine cuisine, they’ve tried to Americanize the meals somewhat – and the result seems to be bad approximations of bad American food. It was all edible, just not all that good. I have higher hopes for Italy – if we just end up with spaghetti for a couple meals it would be better than this stuff. Since it will be a Hillsborough-only group, I’ll have the opportunity to shape the itinerary a bit more and as soon as I get back I’m going to call to make sure we don’t get meals like this one.

We had a pretty good meeting during dinner – many of the group wanted to vent, but I felt it necessary to cut them off after a few comments. They were all right to be angry about the behavior of the other group, but we couldn’t dwell on what had already happened. We had to bend over backwards to avoid conflict otherwise the trip would have been overshadowed by the Civil War on the bus. Since the meal was so bad, Hugo, Adam and I went to Pizza Hut to bring back some food. While we waited for the food (their large pizzas are the size of our small for some reason), Hugo took us to the site of the burning – a big rock – and the cathedral. The Rouen Cathedral (it may have had a different name) was breathtaking – Gothic spires made it look like something out of a fairy tale. And the town looked like something out of Willy Wonka – he referred to it as Tudor style, but not the Tudor style we’re familiar with in the States. It looked like what I imagine Bavaria to be. Very charming. I wish everyone could have seen it, but we needed some down time and the games were great fun. Lots of laughs. Little cliques had formed in our group, but not to any detriment. They all got along fabulously during Psychiatrist and Justin’s name game.

We did a lot of gaming on the bus as well through the week, from the old standby of Ghost to the celebrity name game. It whiled away the time pretty painlessly (except when we had to deal with the Monsters) – and provided Scott’s two finest moments, where he challenged the construction of a word that began with C-H-A-L. I say, he CHALlenged that word. And in the athlete name game he asked if Orlando Magic was a player. Bless the lad, though, since he had the sense of humor to laugh at his own brain farts.

Tuesday, 26 March

We had a short night of rest because the wake-up call was at 6 p.m. The problem with any tour that involves multiple cities is that you feel like you’re never getting enough sleep, never getting a chance to unpack, and spending way too much time traveling. I’m going to give serious thought to making future trips no more than two-hotel stays.

Despite the lack of sleep, today would almost have to be a better day. At breakfast there was little talk. Was it fatigue or the new politeness? We boarded the bus and headed to one of 14 American cemeteries on foreign soil, this one the largest as it housed 10,000 graves connected to D-Day. The French bequeathed the land to the United States in perpetuity for this purpose. The simple gravestones – mostly white crosses with a few Jewish stars thrown in) – stretched across the horizon. We read some of the names, finding soldiers from New Jersey, New York, Philadelphia, Maryland, etc. I didn’t expect to get very emotional despite the setting, but tears came to my eyes when I saw some of the gravestones which read, "Here rests in honored glory, A COMRADE IN ARMS, known but to God." I did my best to tune out the unchaperoned Evil Ones who giggled at the nearly naked monument, cracking homophobic jokes.

At my request Hugo stopped the bus along Omaha beach so we could pick up sand and see up close the place where the worst American casualties of D-Day occurred (where the opening scenes of Private Ryan take place). And I snapped a photo of Eileen "storming" the beach.

But the real highlight – and most pleasant surprise – of the day, and maybe of the trip was our visit on Pointe du Hoc, the site where a couple hundred American soldiers scaled the cliffs in an effort to gain a foothold on the French coast. As Dave explained it, the first wave was to signal the go-ahead after they succeeded, but the second group didn’t see the signal and instead went to Plan B – Omaha Beach. The vista was beautiful – and the dimpled landscape filled with craters from American bombs was a site to behold. The remnants of German bunkers were cool, some of which were open to tourists.

On our way back to the bus Dave asked, "Hypothetically, if I were to scale the barbed wire around the German anti-aircraft gun and straddled it for a picture, would you have a problem?" Not thinking he was serious I laughed and gave some noncommittal response that he took as the go ahead. He leapt over the wire and was about to straddle it when I called out to stop him from causing an international incident. He didn’t get the Dr. Strangelove photo, but there will be photographic evidence of him standing on the gun. On the bus Dave was grinning from ear to ear – and he remarked it was the happiest he had been in his life. For me, that moment alone was enough to wash away all the aggravation the Evil Ones could dish out.

When we arrived at our next destination, St. Malo, we were thrilled. St. Malo was a walled town that was destroyed by the Nazis in World War II, but rebuilt to look something like the streets DeNiro prowled in Godfather II. Cobblestone streets, stone buildings, flower boxes in the windows, and the friendliest folks we encountered on the trip. The town has more creperies, cafes and upscale stores per capita than probably anyplace west of Hong Kong. We had some fun spotting all of the different –eries from patisseries to fromageries.

The hotel was very nice as well. Five of the guys got to share a great suite with two bedrooms and a bathroom with two showers, while the girls got the coolest looking room that looked like an expensive apartment in Greenwich Village. All the other boys were in singles, which was a nice change. The singles aren’t huge but they’re clean and the showers worked well. The only not-so-great room was the one Eileen and I were given – and when we saw that the singles were bigger than our double – we made the low man on the totem pole, Scott, switch with us. He was gracious about it and when we promised him first choice of rooms and roommates at the next hotel, he was happy. Scott had commented the day before that he hated reading. When I visited him in his room and found him watching TV, he mused that he hated TV and wondered aloud why he was even watching. "I much prefer reading," he added.

Before dinner Mishulman had approached Hugo telling him that her group was going to opt out of tomorrow’s visit to Carnac to spend the day in St. Malo. For a change, I thought she was onto something and our entire group enthusiastically agreed. We were excited about the prospect of a day wandering this charming city, shopping, relaxing and just hanging out in beautiful St. Malo.

We had dinner at another hotel’s restaurant. We walked through some beautiful rooms to the back room – which was still very nice, but not quite up to the main rooms’ standards. And the meal was a disappointing steak hache, which we eventually figured out was a hamburger with tomato soup. Once again, a poor attempt at American food. Despite the dinner, this was another fantastic day. Eileen and I capped it off by beating Jeff and Justin at pinochle.

Wednesday, 27 March

We slept late for a change and had brunch at a creperie. It was nice to order something in English (and know what I was going to get). At Rouen, Nicole and Adam had ordered hot dogs only to find them absolutely smothered in cheese. At Lisieux, Justin and Andrew ate horseburgers – at least they knew in advance what they were getting since they knew the French word for horse. (They both thought the burgers were good.) I had a crepe with stewed apples while Eileen had a chocolate crepe. We walked around a bit before I went back to the hotel to write catch up in my journal – while Eileen went shopping. As I wrote earlier, the St. Malo shops are upscale – there were few of the trinket souvenirs one finds in Paris. We were tickled by this little white trolley that made its way up the street – at first we thought it was some kind of ride, but were surprised to discover that it was a garbage and recycling trolley.

Two more Haverford items – one of the kids lost his passport, so he, Hugo and Mishulman had to take a couple hours to get it replaced. Meanwhile her unchaperoned kids harassed the people of St. Malo and acted as saboteurs for the American image. At some point in St. Malo (I think it was last night) a couple of them bought pellet guns and were shooting at targets outside the hotel – including a dog. The owner saw them and raised a bit of a fuss, as one would expect. When Mishulman found out, she let them have it – according to her. Oh by the way, one of the perps was her own son – one of the three members of the Unholy Trinity, along with Coven and Tommy, who I may or may not get to writing about. She told me she had allowed them to purchase the guns (mistake #73) with the proviso that they would be packed at the bottom of their suitcases and not touched until they were home. We found out later that she also allowed them to buy knives (!) – there were switchblades, butterfly knives, hunting knives. I wonder if they got through customs. If there’s justice in this world, they’re still being searched.

We ate at the same restaurant again – I will say that the service was great and unlike the other restaurants we had an endless supply of cold water to drink. The other places charged 2-3 Euros for all drinks. The Euro is roughly equivalent to the dollar – and the size of the soda and water bottles is significantly smaller than in the States. Because we had underdressed yet again the night before – and because we loved St. Malo – we decided to make this night our dress up night. According to the group the chicken was better than some of the other dishes we’d been served, but not very filling – my alternate meal was pork, which I don’t eat either, so I had no choice but to buy dinner elsewhere. A group of us went to a restaurant for Soup de Poisson (Fish Soup with garlic sauce, croutons and cheese). It was good, but not as great as some people had raved. I don’t know if it was the restaurant or my taste that accounts for that.

Justin and Jeff demanded a pinochle rematch, but both fell asleep before we were ready to play, staving off for the time being the humiliation to come.

Thursday, 28 March – Friday, 29 March

On Thursday we ate breakfast in the hotel, and it was easily the best breakfast on the trip. The croissants were like buttah. Darren ate four plus three loaves of bread. It was an impressive feat… and he said he could have eaten more. At this point I have to admit that my chronology is completely screwy. I stopped taking notes and I’m having trouble reconstructing events. I’m just going to jot things down here as they occur to me – chronology be damned!

I know that Mishulman wanted to skip yet another scheduled event. She kept whining that this tour wasn’t her first choice and seemed to have idea what the itinerary was. Evidently she didn’t pay attention when the trip was explained to her and didn’t bother to look anything up on the EF web site – which made Hugo and everyone else wonder since she kept reminding us how much money her kids had why they bothered using EF. Why not just book your own hotels and get your own bus? I’m really just scratching the surface with this person, but I don’t want to give the impression that she overshadowed the positive aspects of the trip. She actually tried to convince Nicole to urge me to skip the castle visit at Chambourg – but because Nicole so disliked Mishulman, she lied and said, "Oh no, we’re really looking forward to Chambourg!"

Over these two days we visited the Chambourg and the Chenonceaux Castles. The former was beautiful and tasteful – and relatively modest, at least by comparison. Chenonceux was insanely huge and very cool as well. We also went to the beautiful Mont St. Michel abbey perched on top of a mountain. I think this might have been earlier in the trip but can’t reconstruct it. This was a lovely little tourist town as well and I wouldn’t have minded spending a little more time there, although walking up the gazillion steps was pretty exhausting. We also visited the thousand-year-old Chartres Cathedral; Mishulman wanted to spend extra time in the city and we compromised on 2 ½ hours despite the fact that it would hamper our ability to spend more time in Paris Friday afternoon. On the bus Hugo said, "It’s 12:05, so we’ll meet back here at 2:35." It took ten minutes to get to the Cathedral at which point Mishulman said, "So what time are we meeting?" He said, "2:35." She said, "2:45." He said, "No, we said 2:35." She said, "You said two and a half hours, that’s 2:45." I sighed and said, "That’s fine." We looked at the gorgeous cathedral with its endless stained glass windows and ornate decorations (which had been removed and hidden underground from the Nazis in World War II) and then wondered about the town. Had we not been to St. Malo, it would have been a lovely town, but it was just another town with upscale stores. Eileen and I ate lunch and impatiently waited for time to pass, ending up sleeping by the meeting place for 45 minutes in the sun.

We also stopped at a winery to learn how wine is made – it was pretty cool how they got rid of the sediment, freezing the end of the bottle, turning it upside down and popping out the frozen sediment. I originally told the group they wouldn’t be able to drink in France, but in a Carpe Diem moment I let them call home to ask for permission to sample the wine. I got the impression that it wasn’t the first time imbibing for some of my crew. Charlie, on the other hand, was acting drunk. It may have been psychosomatic, but he was flushed and later ran a slight fever. But he did get a cold shortly thereafter, so maybe it was the combination. It was a nice visit, although a certain other teacher whined to Hugo that it wasn’t on the itinerary and that we were "hijacking" the tour. I guess I should point it was on the way to our destination in the Loire Valley, and when we got to the hotel there was absolutely nothing to do in the small town.

So Pinochle round two. We were playing best of 3 and after winning the first game, Jeff and Justin and built a 75 to 1 lead. Riding a tremendous string of luck Eileen and I ultimately won 139 to 76. Jeff, who I taught last year, but didn’t know really well, turns out to be an incredibly funny person. One of his peccadilloes is to go ballistic every time someone wins a trick with an ace but getting no further points. "Bare ace!" he blares each and every time. He got so worked up at one point that he jerked his head back and slammed it into a shelf two feet behind him. Once we determined he was going to live we laughed pretty hard. It wasn’t a good night for the J&J team.

By the time we got back to Paris, we had to cancel our original idea of splitting up to visit the Modern Art and Impressionism museums. We headed to dinner, both groups, and killed time waiting for our seating at a ridiculously expensive flea market outside the Louvre. On the way to dinner, one of the babies (as Hugo called them) HAD to go to the bathroom (even though the restaurant was a block away). We waited for awhile and then Hugo told us the address when he realized we shouldn’t have to wait for them. We go to the cafeteria-style restaurant and stood off to the side since we didn’t know what to do. Hugo came in and began talking to the management – Mishulman worked her way up to the front, past our group, and waved her kids to get on line – IN FRONT OF US. My jaw was on the floor in shock. Did that really happen? We started grousing about it LOUDLY – and then Coven made his gesture. He hadn’t made it all the way up to the front (probably lighting some homeless animal on fire) and he had witnessed what occurred, heard our anger, and waved us in front of him. We each thanked him for his behavior; in retrospect, maybe we shouldn’t have. This would be the worst meal of the trip (nice of them to make this the last dinner!). I had thought the worst was past us, but there have been few times when I was angrier than this moment.

The last night we visited the Sacre Coeau site, a church atop a hill in the Mont St. Martre district of Paris. Along the way I noticed that some of our group were having conversations with their group – I overheard snippets of conversations where they were talking about how much they hated their teacher. When one of them said hello to Ken, he responded, "Hi, how are you?" the kid said, "Wow, you guys are so polite." It was nice to hear, although my anger was still boiling under the surface and at times I regret to say I let it affect how I was treating other people. At one point I even started to snap at Lindsay and Charlie – and there’s no way that happens in a normal situation.

We ditched the middle schoolers to visit the Mont St. Martre town where artists painted portraits and live music played in the cafes. It was the Paris we all probably had imagined, but most of the group were too tired and stressed out to enjoy it. I expected a long night for our final night in Paris, but was surprised to learn that most of them just wanted to go home. We decided NOT to wait the 20 minutes for Hugo to take everyone back – yes! We’ll never have to see them again, since they’ll be leaving at 4 in the morning! Or so I thought.

Saturday, 30 March

At 3 a.m., someone knocked on our door. I stumbled out of bed and it’s the night manager apologizing for waking me and asking me if I knew what room Hugo was in. I told him I didn’t think Hugo was here, since he lives in Paris, he’s probably at home. He told me Mishulman was looking for Hugo and was worried about the airport transfer arrangements. I told him that Hugo would be there shortly, that they weren’t scheduled to leave until 4 a.m. All this I knew because I had conversations with him and bothered to listen when Hugo made announcements over the PA on the bus. (I can’t believe I haven’t mentioned the fact that they would regularly talk while he was addressing the group, including Mishulman, of course.)

Fifteen minutes later, the knocking recurred. I opened the door to see, you guessed it, Mishulman. "I’m so sorry, but do you know what room Hugo is in?" I repeated what I had told the night manager – and what he had undoubtedly relayed to her (and his English was perfect, so she obviously didn’t believe him or didn’t listen). I was too tired to be rude to her, although I kind of regret the lost opportunity. It would have been so enjoyable to tell her that Hugo decided to strand them because she had been such a witch. Ah, if only.

Actually, it was pretty funny. I had gone to bed fairly early because I was in such a pissy mood, so the constant interruptions (we also heard wake-up knocks at 5 p.m. for another group – knocks because none of the rooms had telephones!) weren’t all that deleterious. I was actually laughing about Mishulman’s final indignity, thinking it was the perfect way to remember her.

In the morning we went to a flea market for final souvenirs. We didn’t realize there was a whole array of shops along a side street until it was too late to explore them, but we at least got a chance to have some street food. My steak sandwich wasn’t as great as one I’d had in Chartre (a Bolonais, which was essentially a cheesesteak – steak hache, onions and cheese), but hit the spot nonetheless.

The flight back was fairly routine, although Darren and Andrew were stopped repeatedly for security checks – they even searched Darren’s suitcase. The bus ride was much quicker than the bus to the airport, but it felt like an eternity. I awoke everyone when we got to Hillsborough and it was clear everyone was thrilled to be home.

FINAL REFLECTIONS

I had a GREAT time on this trip. I expected to see some awe-inspiring sites, and indeed I did. It was great to see some of the places that I’ve lectured about, but as I indicated above, watching my current and former students (and one future student) see history come alive was priceless. Despite all the entries about Mishulman and her crew, I’m already laughing about her unbelievable behavior. Although I dedicated lots of time to them, it’s the times that we spent in little groups (and the gaming night as a big group) that were even better than some of the planned itinerary items. Although I would have preferred a trip free of the stress caused by the middle schoolers, I think the adversity heightened the positive experiences.

And although they’ve grown apart somewhat, it was really special having six of my Model Congress/UN seniors have this experience together. All of them have been involved in my activities for their entire school careers and have comprised the core of an incredibly successful, highly decorated, soon-to-be-legendary crew.

Here are a few thoughts about each of my fellow travelers…

Ken – Although I didn’t get to work with him as a lawyer in Mock Trial or teach him in a history class, I’ve watched Ken grow into a paragon of responsibility and maturity. I didn’t spend nearly enough time with him on this trip. I’m eagerly looking forward to seeing his photographs.

Dave – As I said earlier, his reaction to Normandy were enough to make this trip worthwhile. Dave’s knowledge and passion about military history is almost frightening – it’s also a bit depressing that he knows more about this stuff than I do. Punk. And it was really nice of him to give his hat to Hugo; despite the fact that we gave him a wad of cash and a bottle of wine, he was genuinely touched by the cap.

Will – The ultimate fellow traveler! When our personalities and wills weren’t clashing I enjoyed spending time with Will. We’re probably too much alike to get along for any stretch of time. As probably the most experienced traveler in the group, his direction was always appreciated when things got confusing.

Adam – Seeing Adam have such a great time on this trip was almost as rewarding as Dave’s experience at Normandy since he was initially reluctant to go. Adam was quite the diplomat with the middle school – if they had had a normal chaperon, his efforts probably would have single-handedly have breached the gap. I felt sorry for him when for the umpteenth time he was served frites (he’s allergic to potatoes). He consumed nearly as much bread on this trip as I’ve had in my life.

Darren – His desire for American fast food eclipsed rivaled Nicole’s and although he doesn’t quite have the scope of Dave’s knowledge, his own repository of information comes close and also shames me. Darren’s dry wit had me laughing the whole trip.

Justin – In some ways Justin has changed the least among his peers on this trip – and in his case that’s a really good thing since he’s always been a good person with a good sense of humor and good taste. That’s right, four uses of the word "good" in one clause. Sue me. I like Justin so much that I won’t mention the pinochle yet again.

Andrea – No one in the universe could tune out more annoyances, distractions and noises than this one. She managed to read her book through every eruption on the trip. I also appreciated her positive attitude throughout the trip.

Charlie – Other than confirming the fact that Charlie is the nicest and funniest person in the world, I discovered the one person who probably has a lower tolerance to alcohol than me (since I haven’t had a sip of alcohol in something like 12 years). I also discovered that he has the worst collection of CDs in the universe.

Scott – Despite being surrounded by some the most sarcastic and cynical people on the planet, Scott remained upbeat and positive during the entire trip. He seemed to have a smile on his face the entire time. During the worst times when his peers were whining, it was nice to talk to him.

Lindsay – Although she likes some techno and thinks that MOST men are color blind, Lindsay may be the second coolest person in North America.

Nicole – Despite not knowing anyone on the trip, Nicole quickly made friends with a group of people heretofore known as The Clique. I have to confess I wanted to strangle her when she waxed rhapsodic about American food, but if French cuisine were what we were given, I guess I couldn’t really fault her! And though she lost her camera within an hour of our visit, she didn’t let that affect her enjoyment of the trip.

Jeff – Pinochle, pinochle, pinochle. That’s the stuff. I wish Jeff had been involved in one of the 47 activities that I’ve advised over his high school career because spending time with him was so perfect. Yeah, that’s perfect. I’m going to have to go ahead and ask you to watch your head next time.

Andrew – I don’t think Andrew was friendly with many people in the group before the trip, but at trip’s end, everyone loved him (especially Mishulman). Although he resented being Mr. France by virtue of his language skills, his help was greatly appreciated. I know the last day or two were really unpleasant for him and I hope that they don’t overshadow the good experiences for him. Lastly I hope he’ll consider improving his selection of reading materials…

Eileen – Indeed, the coolest person in the universe, my partner in everything, who had to put up with not only my public tirades and impatience, but my private venting. Although our time in Paris wasn’t the ideal romantic getaway (when saddled with 13 annoying, er, I mean, wonderful teenagers), it was the best vacation of my life.

If you’ve actually read this far, thanks for your interest.