I am not a good traveler.
My wife, the Commander Supreme, can confirm this for you.
She knows that if it wasn’t for her, I couldn’t travel.
I’d never make it on to the plane.
This trip was not about Paris, Texas, or London, Kentucky.
No, this trip was about Paris, France, a cruise down the Seine River, Normandy, and London, England.
I recall the exact moment when this trip was pitched, discussed, and booked.
In October 2025, we were in Greensboro for our 50th college reunion. We were invited to breakfast at the home of my college roommate and his wife, Butch and Marian Sherrill. Our friends, Dan and Judy Callow were there too.
After breakfast, the ambush occurred. The trip was pitched. I thought wait a second, a few months ago we all returned from our trip to Alaska. Now, my pals are pitching another trip. Where is the economic recovery from that trip in your thinking?
Things started moving faster than a Frenchman swallowing a snail.
Next thing I knew, a call to Grand Circle was taking place.
Next thing I knew, we were signed up for this trip.
My wife and our cherished friends were all smiles—mission accomplished.
The morale of this story— be wary of a simple breakfast invitation with beloved friends.
From September 1 thru September 19, we were in constant motion. I find that you endure that constant movement because of your traveling partners.
In our case that meant the Callows and Sherrills. I don’t know how or why, but in our mental makeups, there is a tolerance, a patience, a give and take, humor, and wisdom that gets us through these journeys. Even in nerve plucking moments, our hearts guide.
For this trip, we worked with Grand Circle. The Callows and Sherrills have traveled multiple times with this company. This was our first trip with Grand Circle.
In my limited travel experiences with cruise lines, it all boils down to their personnel. Do they have the right people working behind the scenes, and do they have the right people in public? Fortunately for us on this trip, Grand Circle did.
For this trip, I selfishly had three goals—make it to Normandy and the D-Day beaches, the Churchill War Room, and the famous crosswalk where the cover for the Beatles’ album Abbey Road was photographed.
Thanks to my wife and our pals that mission was accomplished.
Trips like this don’t happen without brains better than mine doing lots of planning.
On Thursday, June 25, the Sherrills drove from Greensboro to Richmond. They spent the night with us. On Friday morning we drove to Maryland where the Callows live.
Outside of Frederick, Maryland, we had a delightful lunch and visit with the Callows son and his family.
After lunch, we drove to Highland where Dan and Judy reside. For the remainder of Friday and a good portion of Saturday, the Callow’s dining room became our “war room.”
Months ago, our reservations had been confirmed and secured with Grand Circle. This planning was figuring out our three days in Paris prior to boarding the ship, and our three nights in London after leaving the ship.
Previous traveling experiences, detailed lists, maps, computer apps, phone apps were all put to use to carve these days. I sat quietly and watched.
A final session on Sunday morning confirmed assignments and deadlines. These were not assignments for slackers. Success in Paris and London depended upon making reservations and purchasing tickets when necessary.
During July and August, phone calls, text messages, emails, and an occasional Zoom molded and shaped the itinerary. By August 30, we questioned how our packing was going, and on August 31, we were in motion.
The Callows had a direct flight into Paris from BWI in Baltimore.
As we all know the pricing of airline tickets can go from very reasonable to outrageous. To avoid the outrageous, it was cheaper by $1,500 dollars for Betsy and me to drive to Greensboro to fly to Philadelphia to Paris than attempting to do that via Richmond.
So on August 31, we drove to Summerfield where our oldest daughter, Lauren and her family live. We left our car in their driveway, and Lauren drove us to the Greensboro airport—a short drive.
The Sherrills live in Greensboro. One of their sons-in-law dropped them off, and once we checked in and cleared security, we met in the American Airline terminal and waited.
I’m impatient in waiting to board a plane. I don’t sit. I walk the terminal. I figure I’m going to be sitting on a plane a long, long time, so, I keep moving until the call to board is announced.
Our flight to Philadelphia kept getting delayed. Eventually the travel gods cooperated. The plane arrived, we boarded the EMB145, the pilot gave us an update, and we were off.
Coming into Philadelphia, thunderstorms were brewing. This line of storms didn’t impact our landing, but a storm did erupt over the airport. Fortunately, this line of weather moved quickly. Its impact on our departure was minimal.
No matter what airlines try, boarding a plane is a nightmare. The massive 787 was built to carry lots of passengers and their junk, but boarding is still a pain.
The Captain told us to expect a delay in departing. To his surprise air traffic controllers gave him the green light to go sooner than anticipated. With that he gunned the engines, and we were barreling down the rain-slicked runway bound for Paris.
I wonder what Charles Lindbergh might think about this big sheet metal monster compared to his Spirit of St. Louis.
Soon, the lights of Philadelphia and the east coast of America were gone. Darkness consumed this big bird in its flight path across the Atlantic.
On long flights, I never look at my watch or track the plane’s path. To me that only makes the anguish of the flight longer.
If the plane’s technology is working, I watch movies to escape the slow moving hands of time.
On this flight, none of the new move releases interested me. I watched Stand By Me, the first Toy Story, and a documentary about Lorne Michaels, the creator of Saturday Night Live. I know at times I dozed off. That dozing kept the clock moving.
Thank the good Lord for tailwinds. Those winds helped the pilot and crew to bring us into our approach for landing at Charles De Gaulle Airport sooner.
Departing the plane is more madness.
Once off, we regroup, get our bearings, find a restroom, and start working our way toward customs, luggage, and finding our Grand Circle representative.
With some luck, everything works, and soon Grand Circle personnel have us loaded with our luggage into a van.
We have a good driver who finds his way to our hotel without too much heartburn.
Check-in at the Hotel Le Bellune is seamless.
It is here that we meet our key Grand Circle contact person, our guide, Matt.
For the next fourteen days, Matt will be our pivot point. From France, Matt speaks impeccable English. More importantly, he knows how to work with people, all kinds of people, even wacky American tourist like us.
Later in the afternoon, we have a welcome, a briefing, and then a tour led by Matt of the neighborhood surrounding the hotel.
At the briefing, we are given our Metro passes, a listening device nicknamed “whisperer” and an overview of the game plan until we board the ship on Saturday.
With the tour of the neighborhood, our first lesson is about the bicycle lanes that run parallel to the sidewalks. Look both ways, lots of Parisians ride bikes.
Matt gives helpful hints about interacting with shopkeepers and restaurant staff. We see the locations for a grocery store, pharmacy, and a bank. Matt knows the neighborhood so he quietly points out places not to enter.
After the tour, we opt to have dinner in the hotel. We finalize our departure time for day one of exploring Paris, and then we head to our rooms and collapse.
Merci!
