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map-generator.net If individual travel days needed to be summed up using a single word, my third day in Paris would be described as Macabre . First Stop:  Cimetière du Montparnasse Statue in Montparnasse Cemetery by Christopher Levy I started my morning off with a brisk, but purposeful stroll through the Montparnasse Cemetery.  I confess, I rather enjoy visiting historic cemeteries.  I experience a macabre delight when gazing at the creepy faces of the statues guarding the mausoleums or when reading the more unusual names listed on the tombstones.  I even keep a list of names I like:  Verity Noble.  Gastone de Montague.  Desire Perineaux.  Ida Mae Butterfield.  Victoire Hope Wintingue.  This morning, however, I was on a mission that involved more than the reconaissance of unsual names. Built in the early 19th century, Montparnasse has become the eternal resting pla...

  I don't do surprises.  There are just too many unknown variables associated with surprises - and they stress me out.  In fact, I have never been good with surprises.  Most children eagerly anticipated Christmas, but not me.  I would look at the gift-wrapped boxes artfully arranged beneath the Christmas tree and feel angst.   What could be inside that slender, rectangular box with the velvet bow?  Is it a watch?  Pencil case?  What?  What is it?     I was fairly young when I began staging elaborate reconnaissance missions to determine the contents of the Christmas boxes beneath our tree.  I would wait until my mother was fast asleep and then snake into the living room on my belly, wiggling to a shadowy corner to unwrap each gift with the stealth of an elf.    Even today, as an adult, I am not good with surprises.  Whenever I buy a friend a gift, I am filled with t...

map-generator.net Several months before my trip to France and Italy, I entered into an email exchange with a series of press agents and academicians in an effort to obtain a private, curator-guided tour of Marie Antoinette's Private Apartments within t he Château de Versailles.  After providing my writing credentials and answering a questionnaire as comprehensive as any CIA screening, I was told a curator would be made available to take me on a tour of the apartments.  I was instructed to "reestablish contact a week before" my arrival in Paris to "receive a rendezvous time."  I printed the email and hung it on the bulletin board in my office, grinning like the Cheshire Cat each time I looked at it.  In fact, I spent the months leading up to my V isite Officielle imaging myself walking in the hidden rooms and corridors once traversed by my beloved queen, Marie Antoinette.  I felt like Alice in Wonderland - a humble human permitted entran...