After a great first class flight to DFW, our Paris flight was delayed by just one hour. And, since we are now expert about all things Dallas-Ft Worth, we had plenty of time to relax, eat and get ready for our next flight. We opted to walk from Terminal B to D, a whopping 3 miles, but it helped burn off the Mexican food. Along the way, we discovered secret, empty bathrooms, which will remain secret. I will never be one of those bloggers who tell secrets to have my perfect finds be no longer perfect.

Of course, it's always an adventure when John and I travel together. I blame the fact that he was either excited to board or proud that he figured out where our seats were located that made him put his bag in the business class overhead and sit in someone else's lie flat pod. When we were finally comfortable in our Premium Economy seats, we settled into a somewhat turbulent flight over the Atlantic, and touched down in our favorite city only an hour behind schedule. And the speed in which we entered France was heart warming and I took all of my self control to not post in the fear mongering Facebook groups about hours and hours of back up at the border. It was perfect in December and it was even smoother today. But, the best part? Well, that was seeing the massive bus that had arrived to drive us from CDG to the hotel. The scammers asking "Taxi" are as annoying as always and I feel bad for anyone falling for their game. To pre-arrange a chauffeur is the only way to get into Paris and this time, with Victor (from Russia) behind the wheel, the adventure REALLY began.

I don't know of any skilled driver who could manipulate such a behemoth of a vehicle thru Parisan traffic like Victor. He spoke little English but using Spoken Google Translate had us talking like old friends, and we burst out laughing when he shoved his way into the bus only lane and exclaimed, "Now, we EXPRESS!" With our old friend working the front desk at our hotel, the welcome back to Paris was complete. Our hotel has the world's smallest elevator, only two people can fit, and don't even thinking of  adding three checked bags. So, I offered to run up the flight of stairs to meet the elevator and then send it back down. As I reach the top of the stairs, throw open the hallway door, it's then where my trip almost ends in a heart attack because - as always - my husband pops up where he isn't supposed to be. He's squeezed himself into the elevator car along with all our luggage and literally just laughs uncontrollably as I recover from my fright of seeing him grinning when the doors open. I have recovered, though and all our stuff is neatly (!) put away. We showered, freshened up and went out like Dolly Levi arriving to the Harmonia Gardens.

It was truly like coming home. We stopped at our boulangerie, had spritzes at a cafe and a croque-monsieur and then got lost in the streets like it was our first time in the city. The weather is glorious - the hellish heat of the past weeks has gone and a gorgeous breeze is flowing thru the city. Fighting against the jet lag, we came back, re-freshened up and went to visit our old friend Notre Dame before having dinner, wine and cheese. It was the quintessential Paris evening.

I have somewhat won the battle of the jet lag, but I am slowly losing this latest round. There is, as always, so much ahead, and as before, I sat thinking how lucky I am. John and I never thought we'd return to Paris like this, and to make these kind of memories back to back is probably one of the most unexpected joys of our lives. The coming days will make even more spectacular memories.  As we sat in a cafe, the door open to the street with the breeze making us summer shiver with joy, I texted one of my friends who will be joining us next week. "This is living," I said. And then, I took my husband's hand that was covered in left over ice cream and walked home, tapping out at over 17,000 steps. But it was not before giving him shit because the cafe where he raved about going with me for the best spritz of his life was obviously not one where we had gone together. I may not remember a lot of things, but I remember every place I've been in this glorious city. And as I end this train of thought, the sounds of the Parisian police cars are echoing from our window. We love that sound - it tells us that we are back. We know it has missed us as much as we've missed it.