I had every intention of posting from Gerardmer, but it appears that when the hotel advertised internet access, they didn't actually intend for a guest to use it. I probably could have sought out internet access elsewhere, but our Paris pace set by my brother in law (BIL) continued. We visited Basel, followed the route de vin, drove to Strasbourg and watched the Prologue for the Tour de France.
The stories of mutilation of the French language were endless. I have no doubt that the staff at the hotel are still laughing over PerfectHusband who asked for the flowers to be turned on in the pool instead of the lights. Or the poor waiter who tried not to smirk when I said I was a cafe when I meant to say I would like a coffee. Or there was the endless argument between myself and PH about whether a "serviette" was a towel or a feminine hygiene product (PH didn't wish to embarrass himself further by asking for a feminine hygiene product when he just wanted a towel for the pool).
In the end, I was reminded of a conversation I had with my father when I first moved to Boston many years ago. We were joking about my Dad getting old and having to leave our small New England town to live with me in Boston. My Father replied that he would rather wander the streets of our hometown senile and homeless than live in Boston. That is how I felt about Paris. Much to my BIL's disappointment, I can not imagine myself living there. It is busy, dirty, crowded, rushed, and stressful. I applaud BIL's love for his adopted home, but it's not for me. Thankfully PH agreed fully and at one point when we driving around lost, he commented that he would rather live next to my parents on a dirt road than live in Paris.
Here is where I have been trying to post a picture to show that yes, we did have a good time despite being French speaking challenged. However, PH has pointed out that I accidentally took most of my photos at a very high pixel rate so I need to save them back to the camera and reduce the rate in order to post them as the computer keeps rejecting them. I'll try again tomorrow . . .