Some doors close quickly

We were expecting to have to scrounge in the kitchen for our breakfast because we were leaving so early, but the buffet had already been laid out for us, as sumptuous as the previous morning, lacking only the warmed milk. We bade farewell to Micheaux and were on our way.

A taxi had been ordered for us the previous night. It was right on time. We arrived at the station in plenty of time to meet the Triplets there. Antonia helped to work Olivia (age 7) into a state of frenzy over our destination -- Marne-la-Vallee, or Disney Parc.

JP, Jeff's friend, met us at the gate as arranged to help us experience a little French version of magic. JP was very gracious and charming, but it didn't start well. He was trying to arrange for us to store our luggage for free, but the clerk at the desk was very slow and we had to stand in line for close to 45 minutes. We tried to assure JP that we were fine, but he was obviously distressed, at one point saying, "I am embarrassed to be French." He hated it that this was our first introduction to Disney hospitality. The other problem in the park was dining. The quality of the food was akin to what is found in Anaheim and not French cuisine in general. We did receive exemplary service from a clerk in the Emporium, who not only found Darien the type of water bottle she was looking for, but also went off to fill it with cold water for her.

Euro Disney is like an alternative universe to an alternative universe, meaning its sense of strangeness is magnified. Everything is familiar, but different. One expects everything to be in a certain place, and sometimes it is. More often it is skewed a bit. Things are missing, so one tries not to let one's expectations rise too much. The seasonal staff are not trained to the same Disney standards as in the U.S., so interactions often are dreamlike. One knows what should happen, but it often does not.

Antonia and I were overly insistent on Darien riding Space Mountain. Halfway through the line she learned it did a 360 degree loop, at which point dread turned to terror. She rode with her eyes closed and did not get off laughing. It is a good thing that she did not ride Indiana Jones, which is nothing like its Anaheim cousin. It also does a 360.

We almost had Disney overload from lack of food, but finally found a place we could all agree upon. One word of advice to the French: stick with what you are good at, and leave your hands off our barbecue.

We didn't want to leave too late, so at 10:30 we went to catch the train. It was on the platform, its doors open and waiting. Antonia stepped on -- and the doors closed. Darien and I remained on the other side. The doors wouldn't open. We pantomimed through the glass window. I had Antonia's cell phone and Darien had her wallet. We stared as the train pulled off. We frantically jumped on the next one to leave fifteen minutes later. We didn't quite know where we were going, and we were sure Antonia didn't. I thought I would see if she was waiting for us at the next platform stop. She wasn't. I vowed to check every stop until we arrived in Paris. Darien was afraid I would get stranded as well. At the next stop I stuck my head out the door and looked both ways up and down the platform. There she was. "Antonia!" I shouted. "Get on the train! Get on the train!" She leaped and made it. Whew. We giggled hysterically all the rest of the way to Paris.

In spite of some misadventures, we had a great time -- thanks, Jeff and JP. Anytime you want to use the library, just let me know.

We didn't find our new apartment until after midnight -- 18 Rue de la Folie Mericourt. It is owned by two men named Pascal. One of the Pascals -- Pascal Un we call him -- stayed up and gave us an extensive tour, even though we just wanted to sleep. The apartment had a kitchen, bathroom, several bedrooms, and most appliances other than what was needed for laundry. It is impeccably tricked out. "Just what you would expect in a Parisian apartment owned by two guys named Pascal," observed Antonia.

I am convinced that the reason the French are in general thinner than most Americans are that they haven't invented elevators yet. We are on the sixth floor.