First impressions

So when I landed at the CDG airport everything moved along quicker than expected. When I've traveled out of the country in the past, I'm usually required to fill out a customs disembarkation form. Not this time. In fact, when I passed through customs to get my passport stamped, I didn't even have to give a reason for my visit; just a quick "bonjour" and "merci" was all I needed to get me into Europe. Simple enough.

After following familiar passengers to the baggage claim, my check in popped out before I could even begin to worry if it stayed in Texas.

The dad had arranged for a cab to pick me up. His name was Mr. Linh and he would be waiting right outside of the baggage claim holding a "Diego" sign. Johnny on the spot (or should I say, Lihnny on the spot?). He helped carry my bags out into the 30 degree weather, knowing exactly where my destination was. Mr. Linh had quite a story: A Ox farmer from the age of 4, he had a

passion for the arts, which was quite contradictory to the traditions and aspirations of his people. As his family reared and broke in the 4-legged beasts, boy Linh would dream of the

day, in some way, that he'd perform in one of the biggest theaters in the world, in Vienna, Austria. Going against his parents wishes of carrying on and handing down the business that had supported generations upon generations of Linh's, he found the opportunity he needed to get his foot in the door by trekking all the way from the tropics of SE Asia, through the deserts of the Middle East, and finally to France, all by foot and hiker-friendly transport.

Actually, I just made all that up. That picture isn't even Mr. Linh. It's a picture that showed up on the internet when I typed in "chinese taxi driver." We didn't even speak more than a few words to each other. It was quite a peaceful drive to the family's residence. Here's a real photo I took:

Our 45-minute drive to Noisy-le-Roi was mostly foggy. A lot of cars are this size or smaller. It's rare to find any trucks or SUVs.

After being greeted by the mom, I was introduced to my first French pastry. I forgot what she called it, but it was the tastiest raisin-bread I've ever tried.

Afterwards I met one of the boys and was given a tour around the house.

More later...