what followed was a flurry of documentation, permits, passports, visas, letters of recommendation and endless trips to 'The City', where the French consulate is located, which meant several traffic tickets, but also opportunities to visit museums and parks we don't get to that often... this busy period culminated with a final trip on August 14th to the International Airport , where I watched my son dissappear into the crowd of travelers....there was no turning back.
He had reservations at a youth hostel in Paris called 'The Three Ducks", www.3ducks.fr which was chosen solely because of his nickname for me. He calls me 'Ducky'. I expected to hear from him soon after his arrival, if not precisely upon landing, at least as soon as he checked in.... how was I to know that he would begin to explore the City of his Dreams the instant the airplane landed...? At the other end of the state, my sister called constantly:"Have you heard...? Has he called...? What if.....? "So, in a panic, I skyped the hostel, which by now, conjured terrifying images of drunken european backpackers somehow taking advantage of my helpless son. They told me that indeed, he had checked in but was not there at the moment, would I like to leave a message? My message:
"Tell him to call his mom, si'l vous plait?"
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