Error processing SSI file Finally out in the city, I notice that every French car is about the size of a can of tuna. They’ve even got this one number called the Smart Car that you can parallel park horizontally. It’s basically a front seat with an engine. It makes the Mini look like a Range Rover.
And while there are regulated traffic signals in Paris, none of the drivers pay them any heed. Nor do they care about designated lanes or speed limits. Driving in Paris is like a blood sport. And when you’re jumping out of the way of these micro machine cars, you’ll invariably step in a pile of dog shit because the French take their dogs everywhere, yet feel no need to clean up for them. So basically walking in Paris is fairly nervewracking because you have to keep one eye trained on the sidewalk watching out for errant shit and one eye on the cars on the road hoping they don’t hop the curb and plow into you. But the curb seems to be the favourite parking spot for Parisians. I can’t count how many cars I saw parallel parked with two wheels in the street and two on the sidewalk. And in some instances, when there was no parking to be had on the sidewalk, they would actually park IN THE MIDDLE OF THE STREET.
But I have so much more to tell you.
	Molly only lives a few blocks from the Arc De Triomphe, so once I dropped off my baggage and freshened up (i.e. lathered myself in moisturizer to counteract the desert-like air of the plane), we went to do my first touristy thing in Paris.
From there, we headed down the Champs Elysees. Two Italian teenagers asked us if they could have their pictures taken with us to "capture zee beauty of France." So now, some Italian kid has a picture of me after a 11 hour flight. I’m sure that’s definitely one for the scrapbook.
Saturday I slept off a bit of my jetlag and then we went to see Notre Dame. Ironically, since they knew I was coming to see it, they put up some scaffolding so I couldn’t get a picture of the really cool arch over the door. Stupid paté-eating bastards.
This is the Hotel De Ville. You know that famous picture by Robert Doisneau ‘The Kiss at the Hotel De Ville’? Well, this is the place where those two crazy kids were playing tonsil hockey. Ironically, it’s not a hotel at all. It’s actually City Hall. Go figure.