I’ve lost my Father. Seriously. Lost him in Paris. In the wee hours of the morning.
He was jet lagged and it wasa big day of traveling. So, while the rest of us went out for a walk, he stayed here and fell asleep around 6pm. He got up before dawn and wanted to go out for a walk and to find something to eat, so I went with him. He thought it was 6:00am, it was 4:30am. We’re staying in the Opera District (2nd Ard.) so we walked by the Louve and along the Seine but everything is closed.
He wanted to come back and get more sleep so we turned around.
Crossing the plaza in front of the Louve, I noticed that there’s a clear view down to the Arc de Triomphe, we talked about how it was illuminated. I told him to hold on,I was going to take a photo. He said I’ll be over here and pointed. I took the photo, turned around. He was gone.
Not a soul on the street, I rushed to the intersection, nope, back to the plaza, nope. walked up to the Joan D’Arc statue on the way back, nope. Back to the plaza. It’s dark and kind of creepy, an occasional person walks by. I sit for a good 30 minutes. Nope. I walk back to the hotel (not easy to find, even with a map). Nope.
So, he’s out there somewhere. An 83 year old man, hopefully smart enough to ask for help. Hopefully, he will remember that he has the hotel business card in his wallet. Or he’ll remember my sister’s number and have someone call her.
I hope that he’s not scared. I am.