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As one friend noted, my web journal morphed into a travel blog there for a while but I like to finish what I begin and hence, herewith is the last instalment of my travels in Europe...

Paris provided us with great highs and a few lows. The high for me was, in fact, the day of our wedding anniversary. It truly is immensing comforting to be known as well as my husband knows me. That morning he hugged me close in our bed. and whispered,
"It is just another day, cindi. Everything is all right."

Special days are often tough for me for reasons I simply cannot explain. But, his acknowledgement relaxed me immediatelely. We walked endlessly that day - over the bridge to Saint-Germaine, onto the Tuileries Gardens, to the Latin Quarter, Ille de St. Louis, past Notre Dame and back home to the Louvre district. Half an hour later we were in a taxi to the Bastille district for a special dinner to cap off a truly wonderful day together.

As fate would have it, the very next day was to prove challenging. I awoke with a very sore throat and depleted of energy but in the afternoon we headed down to Montmartre and before we wandered back down to the Metro, we had cocktails at a nearby bar. When we found ourselves crushed into the carriage, my defenses were down and whilst I mentally noted the young gypsy girl beside me and was aware I was in danger, I remained unaware that I had been pick pocketed until the following day when I reached for our passports at Gare du Nord to present to the British officer there.

There is no other way to say this. The gypsies are running amuck in Paris and a girl like me with blond hair and looking unlike most other travellers on the Metro is in danger. It was not the only incident and I was often watched intently at close range and followed. Without my husband there right beside me, God knows what would have happened to me. But, I remain impressed by the manners of the French. The handsome and gallant Phillipe at Gare du Nord assured me that we could exchange our tickets once we had replacement passports and he did everything for us that he could as did the Consulate official in Paris.

I must say that this is where our D/s relationship really shined. My infamous 'sensibilities' had been rather put to the test and I was in a fragile state. My husband took the situation over completely and arranged everything. We only had one final test to pass and that was to convince the Consulate to do in two hours what they normally do in two days. I worded up my husband, knowing the state of mind of Consulate people like the back of my hand that he must make them like us. It was critical.

He was doing well but the woman in charge had been busy all aternoon and she told him to call her at 4.15 pm to see if they were ready, but she doubted it. We would probably have to come back tomorrow. He tried a couple of strategies and nothing worked. I smiled at the girl, expressing my understanding at how overworked she was, but would it be all right if we waited at the Consulate, just in case? It did the trick. At 4.45 pm we had the emergency passports in hand and we were back in business. My husband is excellent in an emergency but I was able to offer the crowning jewel in our defense. I thought we had made a good team. (By the way, the thing to know in such a situation should such similar bad luck befall you is to remain at the Consulate. Never leave. If they can't see you, they can't sympathize with you. You need to stay and look a bit pathetic and in need of saving.)

I enjoy very much the civilities of the French. I thrive on all the "Bonjours" and "Au Revoirs" and "bon vacation" and so forth. Each time we stopped for food we seemed to make a new, albeit short term friend and that was fun. I noticed and enjoyed these exchanges in the streets, particularly in Toulouse. Toulouse is a darling town to visit and I am delighted to say that I was nearly picked up there. For a woman of a certain age, being picked up is always loads of fun.

Needless to say, as a girl with Welsh and Irish blood running through her veins, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the United Kingdom. We spent what precious little time we had there in the -Cotswolds and the city of Bath and I found the small towns enchanting. Moreton -in- Marsh was my favourite town, but all the towns were fabulous.

It was time to come home. We were ready to unpack, to sleep in our own bed, to see the children and to return to our regularly scheduled programming. Watch this space.