Spicy Italian Dreams

"Sir???"

"Excuse me, sir????"

"Huh (startled?!) ... yes?"

"Would you like a vegetable or chicken dinner?"

Still coming to consciousness, the bent-over flight attendant extends his arms toward me, his hands beneath two foiled-covered dishes. Should I question the type of vegetable in the non-vegetable dinner, or beg explanation of the chicken dinner's accouterments. I don't, I am still struggling to remember where exactly I am, and why this kindly young Indian man asking me what I would like for dinner.

"Uh.... chicken is fine. Thank you."

Woken 35,000 feet above the North Atlantic, I am handed a tray with nearly ten small dishes and what looks like an empty soft tortilla. Staring at me is my neighbor to my left, a short, overweight, dark-skinned, thick-mustachioed man. He's finished his meal, and seems to hope I choose to accept my meal, find it distasteful, and offer it to him. The aromas arising from my tray are unfamiliar to me, but not unappetizing. Why would I find my meal distasteful? I am a well-heeled traveler and know airplane food standards have made leaps and bounds from the days of microwaved meatloaf. No, my friends... I suppose my neighbor thinks I might find my meal distasteful because I am aboard Jet Airways, an Indian airline company, bound for Brussels, Belgium. Perhaps, he hopes, red curry disagrees with me.

For those who haven't already stopping reading, perhaps I should start at the beginning.

Luca Cantini, the head coach of the Reggio Emilia Hogs contacted me in early December. His team, located predictably the town of Reggio Emilia, Italy, was in search for an offensive line coach. It seemed a great opportunity to build my resume and put into action my first true coaching position, but I balked on the offer. I was determined to find a job in football in New York. I had recently moved to the Upper East Side in New York City to be closer to my girlfriend Meaghan, and the last thing I was prepared to do was pick up and move again.

Football work in was New York proving difficult to find, mostly due to my lack of contacts in the area. I was unhappy with my job at a few nightclubs in the city, and I began to reconsider the benefits of taking a position again overseas. A call from my old team, Les Flash de la Courneuve in Paris really sparked my interest. Their new head coach Dexter Davis, a former NFL player and coach, contacted me around New Year's, inquiring on my interest in the Offensive Coordinator with my former team. I was overwhelmed by the offer, and told him I was extremely interested. This call showed me my destiny might lie back in Europe, this time as a coach. Unfortunately, the Flash decided against officially offering me the position and signed a QB from the University of Georgia. The opportunity had past, but I realized the possibilities that were presently afforded to me, a paid coaching position in Europe.

I had stayed in contact with Luca, gaining insight on his team, and the small, north-central Italian city of Reggio Emilia. Luca was an extremely passionate and forthright with the positives and shortcoming of his organizations. Luca orated the Hogs were not the richest team in the largest market, but a closely-knit organization with a love for game of football that was beyond anything I would ever see. The end of January was approaching and Luca again approached me with the offer and deadline. I believed he sensed my hesitation the first time I turned him down, and repeated insisted his team needed an Offensive Line coach badly, and I would be well taken care of.

The Hogs would pay for my flight to and from Italy, as well as rent me an apartment near the city center. I would have internet, cable, a local cell phone, and a car at my disposal. I would receive a salary, but as Luca put it, we biggest benefit would be to live in the most beautiful part of the most beautiful country in the world, Emilia-Romagna. I would fly over as soon as possible to work with the team in preparing for the spring season and opening game March 20th against the Bologna Warriors.

After much contemplation, soul-searching, and other hopefully insightful thoughts; I made a decision that to many of does not seem difficult. I decided to accept Luca's offer, and I was to leave for Italy on February 6th.

So after a tough, heart-aching, see you soon to Meaghan in New York, I flew into Raleigh to collect my football possessions and re-pack for a four month trip back to Europe. Two days later, I am awoken high above the North Atlantic with a noseful of turmeric spiced-chicken and a new adventure ahead of me.

I hope you decide to join me, whether on the ground here in Italy, remotely through this blog/email.

34-13, Solid Win Over Cougars

The Flash de La Courneuve improved to 6-1 with a victory of the St. Ouen Cougars 'samedi soir', 34-13 infront of a modest crowd of about 1,500. It was different starting the game in the daylight, and gametime tempature was in the mid-fifties. This was the first game since the Molosses victory the team played an all-around good football game. We still had many penalties and alignment mistakes, as well as horrible refereeing, but Jeff connected on three first-half touchdown passes, including a 70-yard bomb on the our first offense play to Marc Soumah.

I am nursing a bit of a sore shoulder, and only played the first half. It was the first rest I've had all season , and I was only taken out after we had gotten ahead 21-7. I hope to be fully recovered by the big EFL game against Berlin in 3 weeks. Most of the team stayed after the game and had drinks and sandwiches in the team clubhouse to celebrate the win.

I will attach photos as soon as I get them.

Jeff and I caught a ride from Davide, or 'petit' tight end, into downtown Paris after the game. We were dropped off at the end of Pont Neuf, and headed to a Canadian bar named the Moosehead near St. Germain that I knew would be showing the Final Four matches. With the six hour time difference we caught the Michigan State v. UCONN game, but the bar closed at 3 a.m., so we had to move it on to a late-night bar named Le Pomme d'Eve to watch the UNC v. Villanova.

Note on Le Pomme d'Eve: Le Pomme d'Eve is built into a former holy wine cellar of the 12th centurty Gothic cathedral St. Etienne-du-Mont. From the photo you can notice the dungeon, cellar, catacombish feel even with neon liquor signs and a mirrored dancefloor. We had to descend 10m below street-level just to enter the bar. The drunk Canadians that showed us this hidden spot, introduced me to the bar's manager, George, who gave me the history of the Le Pomme, with Jager shots, and at 5 a.m.

With the amount of traveling I've been doing over the past month, it was great to get out again in downtown Paris for a late-night out. Even though I woke up with cotton-mouth!

McKeon - 1, Мосва - 0

A half-melted riverbed stretchs out before me in the low, blinding 8 a.m. sunlight. I have to squint my eyes as I glance at my bleary-eyed roommate and our three 'guides'. Where I am?Through blurred vision I see the monolithic towers of the capital in the distance. We haven't slept in 36 hours and are a long way from the flat in Paris. Welcome to Moscow.

The Flash de la Courneuve qualified for the international 2009 Eurobowl competition, which similar to UEFA Champions League (European soccer) crowns an international and continental champion. The Flash is in Pool A with the Moscow Patriots and Berlin Adler and Round 1 of pool-play sends the Flash to Moscow.

We fly from Paris-Orly to Moscow-Domodedovo via Berlin early Friday morning. Visa are checked and baggage is claimed and after a 1.5 hour wait for the coach (chartered bus) to show, we finally arrive at our hotel just north of the downtown area for dinner.

Note on entering the Motherland: It is not easy task for a foreigner to enter Russia. As an American, it is nearly impossible. My passport was shipped home to the U.S. and a proxy service paid to expedite the visa process. Forms must be filled out, stamps must be stamped, backgrounds must be checked. Of course this could have been taken care of months in advance, but I have come to expect nothing more from the French but a halfhearted effort when it comes to deadlines and red-tape. Fortunately, we received our visa and passports three days prior to the departing.

Stepping into the hotel felt like I walked into a old James Bond movie. Not Sean Connery or Roger Moore's James Bond, but one of the cheesy Timothy Daulton films from the 80's. A concrete structure decorated with too many flagpoles topped with golden eagles. A grand reception and staircase, but elevators past inspection and hallways uncomfortably narrow. The bedrooms just a step above Soviet barracks.

Dinner was served in the restaurant/mess hall. Beef borscht accompanied by a meager salad and stemware filled with slab of vanilla ice cream.

Note on Borscht: Hot borscht is a hearty soup with many common optional ingredients, depending on the cuisine, including various vegetables (beans, cabbage, carrots, cucumber, potatoes, onions, or tomatoes), mushrooms, and meats (chicken, pork, or beef). It is more akin to a stew than most soups, and may be eaten as a meal in itself, usually with thick dark bread. Filling stuff but I can't seem to shake the images of gaunt soldiers fighting over the last potato in their borscht. Ill-fitting uniforms rolling around the ruins of a burned down canteen at the Battle of Stalingrad. Eerie.

The offense and defense met for close to an hour after dinner. Following the meeting, a group of players ventured out into the night. We soon were exploring the snow-dirt covered mini-malls surrounding Olympiysky, the Olympic Stadium built for the 1980 Summer Olympics. After being refused entry to a few bars, due to most of my teammates attire (and possibly skin-color), we called it a night and headed back to the hotel.

A quick breakfast of strong coffee and cold eggs met us in the restaurant, and we were all out the door for the 'grand' match against the Patriots. The field was not far away, but the congested highway made the journey an hour long. The stadium was similar in size and scale to our home field, except for the heated field turf. Normally used for soccer, they roped up goalposts, and taped down yard lines, and hash marks for the game. European football at its finest.

The game was sloppy affair. The Russian team had massive players, but few athletes and experience. Our offense had no trouble moving the ball, but two fumbles on the first two drives kept us off the scoreboard in the first quarter. The Russians could only capitalize on the turnovers with two fields goals and led the match going into the 2nd quarter 6-0.

Limited again by penalties the Flash only scored once quickly before the half, a short touchdown pass from Welsh to 'le petit' TE. The halftime score a disappointing 7-6.

The second half was a completely different story. The defense completely shut-down the Russian offense and forced a couple interception. The offense came out and scored a long TD pass early in the half and never looked back. Two more scores in the third and early fourth quarters put the Flash up 28-6, the eventual final score.

Post-game there was time for photo-ops between teams, and the Russians were extremely friendly sportsman after the match. I had a chance to speak with the coaches of the Russian team for a bit after the match and he gave me a Moscow Patriots sweatshirt and jacket, of course with Cyrillic lettering.

Quickly back to the hotel and then out for the team dinner in restaurant where we had a banquet room rented out. The team celebrate and ate with beer, food, and cigars. The meal was another meatless-borscht entree, and main course a potato and beef in mushroom sauce. Beer was on the house, a Russian lager in Cyrillic (Russian alphabet) so I cannot type it. It was happy event, because of the win, regardless of how badly we played.

Most of team then took the chartered bus down to the Red Square, which we reached at about midnight.

Note on the Red Square: The French call in the "La Place Rouge." Literally meaning "the Red Place." Lit up like Christmas, it was nearly deserted when we arrived. But gorgegous in the chilly March night air.

Red Square is the most famous city square in Moscow, and arguably one of the most famous in the world. The square separates the Kremlin, the former royal citadel and currently the official residence of the President of Russia, from a historic merchant quarter known as Kitay-gorod. As major streets of Moscow radiate from here in all directions, being promoted to major highways outside the city, the Red Square is often considered the central square of Moscow and of all Russia.

In front of the Kremlin is Lenin's Mausoleum, it serves as the current resting place of Vladimir Lenin. His embalmed body has been on public display there since the year he died in 1924.

We entered the square near St. Basil's Cathedral on the eastern end of the square. It is very often mistaken by Westerners for the Kremlin, whose buildings are in fact situated across the square from the cathedral. Arguably the most recognized building in Russia, it is an international symbol for the nation and for the city of Moscow.

Note on St. Basil: This stunning cathedral is named for "Basil the holy fool." Originally an apprentice shoemaker in Moscow, he adopted an eccentric lifestyle of shoplifting and giving to the poor to shame the miserly and help those in need. He went naked and weighed himself down with chains. He rebuked Ivan the Terrible for not paying attention in church, and especially for his violent behaviour towards the innocent.

The State Historical Museum of Russia closes in the square to the west. I think the building is much more impressive then it's name. The northern side of the square is occupied by the GUM department store, also known as the Upper Trading Rows.

After wandering around the former stomping grounds of Lenin, Stalin, and millions of Cold War rallies, a large group of players, hailed sign-less cabs to take us to a Club London.

Note on the cabs: Warned by our fixer Christoph, the cabs in Moscow are unregulated and known for ripped tourists off. I secured a 400 rubles charge for the trip to Club London and am glad I did so. The driver had no identification, meter, or signage. Other players paid over twice as much to get to the same place we were headed.

Note on Club London: The DE of the Moscou Patriots owned this club and invited us there after the game. Unfortunately for me, this was the same DE who punched me twice in the helmet in frustration during the game. Luckily for me, he was drunk and glad to see me when we arrived.

The club was hopping when we arrived at nearly 1 a.m.. We bypassed the line and entered to the supercharged Russian pop and techno beats. The ratio of women to men was unbelievable and I felt like I was at a supermodel after party. I left with the impression there is no such thing as an unattractive Russian woman in Moscow.

Jeff and I had our fill of Red Bull and Russian vodka and by 3 a.m. we found ourselves across the street from the club at a Asian 'diner' with three new guides. Katerina, Julia, and Alena some friends we earlier in the night and offered to show a view of Moscow we couldn't leave without seeing.

We hopped on the spooky Moscow, under lit metro and exited at a station somewhere outside of the city center. It's now close to 8 a.m. and the sun has broken the horizon. Our guides, obviously lost, are rapidly conversing in Russian, and Jeff and I are sobering up. We start walking along what looks to be an old fairgrounds, but what do I know... it could be a concentration camp for Americans. Where are we? Jeff and I know the team bus leaves our hotel for the airport sometime around 11. Three hours to find our way back.

The metro took us back to the Red Square, which now looks immaculate and completely different in the morning sunlight. We catch and couple vendors setting up shop and get 'early-bird' deals on t-shirts. High-tailing it to another metro station, we are greeted by early morning Muscovite violinist and the downtown metro. After a picking up a couple of bottles of 'authentic' Russian vodka we stumble into the team breakfast, stuff our faces, then duck back into the rooms to pack up and jump on the bus.

Too exhausted to share our story I pass out for the whole plane ride home.

Thank you Moscow... you get a bad rap.

Loss @ Amiens...

Jeff didn't play. The back-up quarterback is skiing. Running backs are fumbling. I sensed it in practice that week.

It was our first road game in over a month, and all week we had a pitiful turnout for practice. Apparently in France, the third week of March is a winter holiday week. Many players and their families flee Paris, hitting the slopes or spending time with family outside of the city. Jeff injured his ribs when being tackled on a scramble against the Elancourt Templiers game a two-weeks earlier. Our back-up quarterback Yohann, was in the mountains skiing the entire week. William, our third-stringer, rarely has gotten much attention in practice. Although his is a great guy and competitor, William is not a natural athlete, much less a quarterback. But William is the starting QB for the game against the Amiens Spartiates, a formidable opponent a 2.5 hour bus drive north of Paris.

We just never came out of the gate offensely. The defense did a decent job stopping the Spartiates quick French QB and ex-NFL reciever Jermaine Lewis. We turned the ball over three times in the first half, and the offense sputtered repeatedly in the second half. Still with less then two minutes left, the game was tied 20-20. Amiens recieved the ball on their own 30-yard line and began a drive consisted of draws and inside handoffs that brought the ball all the way down to our 10-yard line. A field goal attempt bounced off the inside of the goalpost, and thru the uprights. Amiens won the game 23-20, and rushed the field as if it was the Super Bowl. Apparently not too many teams in France beat the Flash.

The attitude post-game was unusual. I couldn't tell if it was indifference or confusion of how to react to a loss. I was frustrated. It is hard to have a game-changing performance from left tackle.

Our next game is a EFL Eurobowl game in Moscow against the Russian Champions, the Patriots du Moscow. We have one week to pull our act together, hopefully we can do it.

Lausanne and The Parisian Rug???

The four-hour TGV ride to Lausanne from Gare de Lyon passed quickly, and I noticed the countryside change drastically once we entered Switzerland. Flat farmlands gave way to rolling hills and then a tremendous Alpine valley all within twenty minutes. The train station was in the middle of of the city and I was surprised at how large and metropolitian Lausanne appeared. Cedric had left me with the impression of a small town, with little excitement. The scene the three of us walked into was a bustling downtown at lunchtime. We hopped onto the city's brand-new, automated metro-line and one stop later, we were nearing Cedric's flat in the Espace Flon district of Lausanne.

We dropped our bags off at the flat, grabbed a quick Thai lunch and headed down to the Lac.

Note on Lake Geneva/ Lac Leman: Known in the French-speaking world as Lac Leman, Lake Geneva is the most beautiful lake I've seen if my short, lakeviewing life. I probably looked like an idiot to the locals, gape-mouthed and staring out across the lake. The scenery didn't change, it was just breathtaking. Lausanne borders the lac to the north, while the French Chablis Alps border it from the south and the Bernese Alps close the circle the east. The sky was clear that day, and the only thing that broke blue air and azure lake water, was the white-capped Alpine peaks miles away.

The lakefront of Lausanne is full of activity with Swiss and tourist alike trying to soak up all of the sun the March sky can part with. I myself took a petite siesta along the lake wall, while Cedric caught up with friends he hadn't see in the his past months in Paris.

Jeff and I decided to wander around for a bit, so Cedric and his live-in girlfriend Celine, headed back up into the city by way of the Metro.

Note on Dr. Crutch: I vaguely remember being on crutches, and how helpless and frustrated I recall being. I feel awfully for Cedric, and understand how difficult it is to get around, especially here in the mountain-side city of Lausanne.

After a few hours of sauntering down the Ouchy lakeside and walking back up into the heart of Lausanne, we made our way back to the Flon district, showered up, and headed out into the old town to meet up with some former teammates of Cedric's.

Cedric has played with teams in Lausanne and Bern and we had a chance to meet and drink with quite of a few of his teammates whom had shown up to welcome their crippled friend back into town. I do not recall the name of the first bar, but the bartender's were friends of Cedric's. The group of 12 of us had a steady flow of huge flagons of beer, and Sambuca shots coming to the table for the next couple of hours. Everyone is Switzerland speaks English very naturally, so the conversation was great, and Jeff and I swapped stories of the infamous Dr. Love with his Swiss friends.

The night continued at a former employer of Cedric's a bar named Centrale Park. At this point the night got a little foggy for me. I skipped dinner in the rush of gettting out the door, and my tolerence is not what it was in my glory days. Somehow we all ended up at a new club named Punk! is the Flon nightclub district. I had been ready to leave for sometime, when Jeff informed me we had been invited to a late-night meal with some people he had met at Punk!.

From this point on, all I can recall is being asked to remove my shoes and wear the provided slippers to protect an antique Persian carpet (Jeff insisted it was a Parisian rug), and finding a couch to crash on.

The next day, we were to put on a football clinic in the neighboring town of Yverdon-les-bains, so found our way back to Cedric's flat, hopped on the metro, and met Baptiste, a player for the Yverdon-les-bains Ducs. Baptiste drove us the 30km or so to Yverdon where were unloaded at a school gym, and met 30 young men ready to learn about American football.

Note on the clinic: I woke that morning still tasting Sambuca from the night before, so I wasn't all bright and shiny, looking forward to running around a gym talking about football. I really hadn't put much thought about what I was going to go over with these guys. Cedric said most of them were very new to the game, and that I should stick to the basics. I had about four hours with 15-20 guys to go over the basics of offensive and defensive line play. The time flew by as I went over the basics of stance, start, steps, and different types of blocks. Drive steps, zone steps, kicksteps, and then punch work. I surprised myself with how much I enjoyed teaching and correcting these guys on techniques I have been using for over ten years now. Before I knew it was five o'clock and we called it a day.

We finished up and took a couple groups photos. The guys were extremely grateful and attentive, and had some great questions about further physical training advice. I really had a great time, and am glad Cedric and Patrick LaCroix set this up.

Afterwards, Patrick, the Ducs' coach, invited the three us to dinner at a local steakhouse. The night's menu was a choice of 400g beef steak, bison steak, or 'cheval' steak. 'Cheval' steak is horsemeat, and Cedric jumped right on it. Jeff ordered the bison, and I was boring and chose the beef steak. I tried some horsemeat, and it was a bit tougher and had a strong distinct flavor, and happy I didn't order 400gs of it.

We were to head back into Lausanne on Saturday night, where there was a massive Red Bull Crashed Ice event taking place. I had read about online, and we intended on getting back from Yverdon on time to see it.

Note on Red Bull Crashed Ice: Imagine a temporary luge or bobsled track running through the middle of the medieval district of Lausanne. Competitors are decked out in ice hockey gear and race to the bottom. It is nuts! Check out the embedded video.


Unfortunely the 40,000 people in attendence had taken all the parking near the city centre, so we missed the finale. We grabbed a couple drinks at an Irish pub with a few of the Yverdon players who had come into Lausanne to party that night. The pub was near the tracks that had begun to be dismantled immediately following the race. I had my own photo op, and I had a feeling if it was a night earlier, I would be going down the track on my bottom.

Note on Lausanne nightlife: Lausanne is the club, disco, and nightlife capital of Switzerland. Tektonic house music blares at every bar, and the younger crowds flock to the Flon district wearing their tightest jeans and craziest haircuts. This is the most European scene I have felt on this trip to Europe.

After the Irish pub, and a stop through at Centrale Park, we headed to one of the busiest club I had ever seen, the D!Club. Cedric knew the doorman, so we didn't have to wait in line or pay the cover. I was still feeling rough, from the lack of sleep and long day. Cedric and I left Celine and Jeff to enjoy the club but I still didn't lay down until it was past 2 a.m.

Sunday, we slept in late. The entire city shuts down on Sunday, as all the Swiss head to down to the lake to get a bit of R&R. I wanted to see the reknown Lausanne Cathedral, an ancient Gothic structure the was perched near the top of the city. Celine had never been to the top and was interesting on coming along when I told her it was supposed to be the best view in all of Lausanne.

We made it there a bit before closing time at 4:30 p.m., and promised the gatekeeper to the tower we'd be quick up to the top and down. Cedric waited at the bottom of the Cathedral as Jeff, Celine, and I climbed the 300+steps to the top. We spent well over the allotted ten minutes at the top gawking at the surrounding landscape, and were scolded when in French when we left.

Jeff and I returned to the lake front for a last bit of view and exploring the port of Ouchy, and surrounding entertainment as the sun went down.

The four of us, Cedric, Celine, Jeff, and I, all went to dinner that evening at a large brewery/brasserie in the old town area. Getting to bed at a decent time Sunday was nice, and Jeff and I were on time for our train back to Paris the next day at noon, with time to spare.

I had a great time with Cedric and Celine that weekend and thanked them for there hospitality and friendship. Hopefully, it won't be long before I return to Lausanne.

Dr. Love Goes Down

Our dear roommate, tight end, and in-house unintentional comedic genius Cedric Charpilloz had a season-ending knee injury in the Flash's latest win. A tight, hard fought battle between France's two EFL Eurobowl teams, La Courneuve Flash and the Elancourt Templiers, the Flash prevailed 28-25. In the third quarter Cedric caught the ball on a crossing rout and was cut down from upfield by the Templiers cowardly safety. A cheap hit, it ended Cedric season with the Flash, and angered me. Cedric loves football, more than anyone else on the team, including me. It broke my heart to see it all end for him on that play. The Flash was struggling and losing at this point in the game, but we all pulled it together for Cedric and came out on top. Jeff and I were in no mood to celebrate the victory following the game and waited at the flat for Cedric to return from the hospital. The diagnosis was a partial tear of the PCL and a small fracture at the top his fibia. No surgery is required, but with the time needed to properly heal and rehabilate these kind of injuries, Cedric was surely finished playing tight end for the Flash this season. Jeff and I were already planning to go to Lausanne, (Cedric's hometown in Switzerland), the off- weekend following the game, but now we were going with him to help him get his things home. Doctor Love is definitely going to be missed by La Courneuve, and his two new American friends.

84-0, "Let them eat cake..." (Part III)

Finally in Part III of this epic blog I get to the game I intended to talk about. The Asnerie-sur-Seine Molosses are an across the town team in Paris, that was not expected to put up much of a fight, and they lived up to that.

From the get-go, the defense dominated the game returning a fumble and interception for scores in the first half, as well as forcing two other turnovers. Offensive we ran the ball all over them and even our 5th string running back scored a 60-yard TD. We have no reserve offensive lineman so I was forced to remain in the game for the duration.

The final was an 84-0 drubbing. We are now 3-0, but this was the first team performance of the year. Too bad it was not much of a nail-bitter for Victoria and my parents to watch, but a win is a win.

Cedric, Jeff, Victoria, and I all headed into the city after the game with my folks and grabbed a couple drinks at a touristy, over-priced bar near Norte Dame. All in all a good night.

Even though we stayed out late Victoria and I crawled out of bed Sunday morning to meet my parents infront of Sacre Coeur to spend the day exploring Montmarte.

I never get tired of walking around the Basilica, and the surrounding streets, although if one more starving artist stops me to as me if I want my likeness recorded by them on paper, I might break their fingers.

We stopped at Place du Tertre where my mother and Victoria did a bit of window-shopping. With its many artists setting up their easels each day for the tourists, the Place du Tertre is a reminder of the time when Montmartre was the mecca of modern art. At the beginning of the 20th century, many penniless painters including Picasso and Utrillo were living there.

After a banana and Nutella-filled crepe, we found 'Le mur des je t'aime' or 'the wall of I Love You's.' Written 1000 times in 300 different languages is the phrase 'I Love You,' along with this inscription.

"In a world marked by violence and dominated by individualism, walls, like frontiers, are usually made to divide and to separate people and to protect them from one another. On the contrary, The Wall is a link, a place of reconciliation, a mirror which reflects an image of love and peace."

We stopped to rest our weary feet, and quench a bit of thirst at the O'Sullivan's neighboring the Moulin Rouge. Then it was off to find dinner near the Bastille. The restaurant was another Rick Steve's selection and near the Bastille. Can't miss, right? Wrong.

We were the only customers in the entire restaurant, that should be a sign right? And I was pretty sure that our waitress was hammered. We kept hearing her drop and break things behind the bar. My lamb shank was cold on the inside, probably reheated. The only thing that saved the meal was my company and the quietly chuckling we did at our wasted server. I hope the poor woman did hurt herself further once we left. I guess Rick Steve's isn't perfect either.