When I said I was coming to Paris during the Olympics, half my friends were jealous and the other half warned that it would be crowded, dangerous and a big pain in the tush. (You know which half you’re in Amy C.!) We’ve been here since Monday and the only things that have gone wrong are completely unrelated to the Olympics:

• The plane was delayed 6.5 hours because our first plane got struck by lightning at the gate and the replacement that was sitting in the hangar had mechanical problems. We finally took off at 2:30 am Chicago time, got fed dinner, fell asleep and woke up for breakfast at 4:30 p.m. Paris time.
• The lock on the apartment door where we are cat-sitting Seuss is broken and we were locked out for over an hour while the concierge and her husband tried to help us get in. We finally sneaked in the back door after they used a secret method of opening the security latch.
• I am an old woman and my hip (or back or knee or all of the above, who knows at this point) are not happy campers.
• Oh, bonus negativity: It was really hot the first few days.

Otherwise, we’ve been having a blast. There’s no traffic. The museums are empty, but more stores and restaurants are open for all the Olympics tourists.

Tuesday we wandered around the neighborhood, went grocery shopping and just enjoyed being here especially because we got croissants from Pastry Cyril Lignac.

The real excitement began Wednesday with our afternoon of beach volleyball. USA! USA! We saw three matches — US vs. France women, Netherlands vs. Chile men, and France vs. Spain women. Apparently the French are not that good since they lost both their matches. The Netherlands won the men’s match. We couldn’t figure out why everyone was booing the Dutch guy until the man in front of us told us one of the players was a convicted rapist. Wish I would have known sooner!

The only problem we had was getting to the stadium. Since my regular route to the Tour Eiffel was blocked, we had to go around and the signage was less than perfect. Wouldn’t have been a problem at all if my leg wasn’t screaming. Oh well, we made it in plenty of time because neither Mary Jo nor I checked to see when it started. I thought 2 p.m. and she thought 2:30. She wins because she was half an hour closer to right. That’s correct: It started at 3. Didn’t matter because it gave us time to get a snack and enjoy the activities the French so graciously provided.

There is something very special about watching beach volleyball at the foot of the Tour Eiffel. I loved the human Zambonis and the kind workers spraying the crowd with nice, cool water. I would like to make a rules change, however. If the women have to wear semi-butt floss and tiny bra tops, then the men should have to wear Speedos!

We got back at about 7 p.m. and were very excited for cold showers and a leisurely meal. We headed over to Bistrot Le Poincaré, where we had a three-hour, one course, one bottle of wine dinner punctuated by cheers for the French swimmer Léon Marchand. The Trocadero is an Olympic venue so it’s blocked off, but we walked over there anyway to see the Tour Eiffel lit up through a tiny slit in the fencing. Still worth it.

Thursday, we headed back to the grocery store (which used to be called Casino but is now called Auchan). It wouldn’t be a vacation without a supermarche incident. This time, we got a piece of quiche from the deli, but it wouldn’t ring up because the code said 000000. We rang everything up and tried to pay. Oops, red light. The poor self-checkout helper couldn’t figure it out and finally re-rang up everything while speaking to us in French although it was clear we didn’t understand. I figured out this: “Zero zero zero zero — no!” Then she took away the quiche and we paid.

In the afternoon, we headed east to Belleville, a grittier, immigrant/soon to be gentrified neighborhood. for a cheese tasting at Paroles de Fromagers. All the streets from the Metro to the shop were closed to cars because of bike races, but we didn’t see anyone riding.

We did learn a lot and ate a lot of cheese and get to stand in the cheese refrigerator and cool off. nDid you know that a full wheel of comte weighs 45 kilos? Plus, we our guide, Joseph, was doing his first English tour. It was very sweet. He is a student of cheese-making, a course of study that takes at least two years to complete. I didn’t know that much about cheese, so in addition to learning about how it is made, the different cheese-making regions (of course the French name their cheese after the region and are very much into the terroir just like for wine), we also learned how to look, smell and taste the cheese and how different it tasted after we paired it with a complementary wine.

When we got back to the apartment, we were still stuffed full of cheese, so we hung out and indulged in more Olympics. Half-court basketball? Who knew? Anyway, Olympics on TV works well even if we don’t understand a word the announcers are saying besides, Allez blu! We watched a beautiful thunderstorm and hoped that it would help cool things off.

Friday, yes, it is cooler, so we decided to wander the Musée Rodin. We stopped at the boulangerie on the corner and grabbed sandwiches and quiche (no code 00000) and spent a lovely afternoon picnicking among the statues and visiting the (un-air conditioned, of course) museum.

For dinner, I thought we had reservations at Boullion Pigalle but it turns out we were on the waiting list. I’m still not really sure what the difference is except that we waited on a different line. It didn’t take very long before we were seated. The brasserie is known for its reasonably priced classic French cuisine and the fact that it’s constantly crowded. That it was, but that was kind of fun because we talked to our neighbors. I think everyone in Paris is here for the Olympics and all Parisiennes who aren’t working are gone. Anyway, the food was good even thought I ordered sea bass and got leek ravioli. I was nervous about ordering the ravioli because I wasn’t sure how creamy it would be, but it was yummy and so was my pea gazpacho.

MJ went all duck with a terrine for a starter and duck l’orange for a main. She reports that both were delicious. For dessert, I ordered lemon sorbet with vodka, which I thought would be a Limoncello sorbet, but, no, it was exactly as described: lemon sorbet floating in vodka. My leg certainly wasn’t hurting after half a bottle of wine and a shot of lemony vodka. MJ was surprised that the crème brûlée wasn’t as sweet as the US version. That’s the norm. Everything in the US is full of sugar. Our server was very good-natured despite how busy the place was. Of course, it erupted into cheers when Léon won again and we could here scattered Olympic events that people were watching on their phones.

I’ll save the weekend for the next installment when maybe Steven will also write about his whorlwind trip to Oakland.