Judy has never really loved traveling. She's a stay-at-home type of person. But, somehow, I've managed to drag her all over North America and even to some of the more interesting and beautiful places in other parts of the world.

When I broach the subject of a trip, Judy's reply is usually, "I'd really rather not."

So the way this has worked, especially since my retirement in 2009, is that I make all the travel arrangements and then tell her what day we're leaving, how long we'll be away and the type of clothes she's going to need.

There's griping and grumbling until she is finally packed and ready to go. But the moment we step out the door, the attitude changes and we're ready to have some fun. Once we hit the road, Judy often isn't that crazy about the idea of going back home.

It's a process that I have gotten used to over the years. Grin and bear it and it will all work out.

We've taken some amazing trips since my retirement began. We've been to Hawaii twice, cruised the Caribbean and sailed through the Panama Canal, taken a two-month driving trip that went coast to coast, visiting family and friends and numerous national and state parks along the way, and hit Las Vegas at least a half dozen times for gambling (video poker is my game) and family visits.

But the real adventure was a trip in 2014 that took us to Barcelona, Spain to visit my sister Judy and her husband Stuart, as well as their son Boyd and his family, who were all living there at the time. More to the point, the trip included a long weekend in Paris, France.

I got a great airfare by flying Air Canada with a short flight from Boston to Toronto, a non-stop from there to Barcelona and the reverse on the trip home.

Unfortunately, Logan Airport in Boston was down to one outgoing runway because of construction, and a heavy rain with fog slowed things down so much that our flight to Toronto was 15 minutes too late to make our connection.

Instead of winging off to Spain, we spent the night in a Toronto hotel and had to fly to Montreal the next morning to catch a flight from there to Barcelona since Air Canada had only one flight to Spain from each of the Canadian cities every other day.

At least the airline paid for our room and our meals. But they also managed to misplace Judy's luggage, which we found was missing once we arrived in Spain about 24 hours later than expected.

Judy and Stu had made arrangements for an overnight trip to Girona, a charming, old city about an hour's train ride from Barcelona. So we hardly had any time to settle in before heading for the train station. And Judy was not happy to leave without knowing where her suitcase was.

Girona was fun and interesting, although Judy was fretting about her luggage, which Air Canada kept telling us was on the way and would be delivered to our hotel in Girona.

The next day, we visited a very old synagogue that housed a Jewish Museum, which chronicled the history of the Jewish people in Catalonia and, in particular, Girona, before they were forced to convert or leave Spain in 1492. We were told there were still a very few Jews living in the area. But, somehow the museum survived.

A few nervous hours later, as we were preparing to leave our hotel to head for the train back to Barcelona, Judy's luggage finally arrived. It was a huge relief.

Of course, touring the city of Barcelona, eating in the wonderful restaurants and spending time with family was a joy. But, for me, the highlight of this trip was sneaking in the weekend in Paris in the middle of our two weeks on the road.

We took a high-speed train from Barcelona to Paris. I sat at the window for most of the six-and-a-half-hour trip, just watching the countryside pass by. There wasn't a whole lot to see but trees and farms and water, but I thoroughly enjoy the sights while Judy read.

The train hit 198 mph but was so smooth that it felt much slower, much to Judy's chagrin.

With only Friday evening and Saturday and Sunday to see as much of Paris as possible, I studied some of the tour books closely for weeks before the trip.

My main goal for this bucket list visit was to see the Louvre. I purposely found a hotel within walking distance of the great art museum. Happily, it was also just two blocks from a Metro stop.

We had wifi on the train and I went online to see what time the Louvre opened on Saturday. It was my intention to be there before it opened, to maximize our time there. To my joy and amazement, it turned out that the Louvre is open until 10 p.m. on Friday nights. Our train was scheduled to arrive just after 4 o'clock.

"Judy, are you okay with going to the Louvre tonight after we get settled in our hotel?"

She looked up from her book, smiled and said, "As long as you feed me sometime."

We taxied from the train station to our boutique hotel in St. Germain and checked in. It was everything you expect from a hotel in Paris - dark, heavy furniture, tiny rooms and old world charm. Perfect.

After unpacking, we set off in a light rain to walk to the Louvre. Our stroll took us through the small St. Germain business district and onto one of the many stone bridges traversing the Seine River. Just on the other side was the museum.

There was a short line to get in, mostly because of security precautions. But I had bought a museum pass online back in the states and we were inside in moments.

The place is huge, with massive galleries. But, like most tourists, what I wanted most to see were the portrait of Mona Lisa and the statue of the Venus de Milo. It turns out Friday night is pretty quiet at the Louvre and we were able to see everything up close and personal, including me taking selfies with both of those art treasures.

There is a mall attached to the museum and we wound up eating dinner there before heading back to the galleries until closing.

There was a special exhibit that you had to buy tickets for, but it was sold out for Friday night. I bought tickets for Saturday morning at 10 and we were back in the short line to enter the Louvre at 9:30 after a wonderful hotel breakfast of strong French coffee and some of the best chocolate and almond croissant you could imagine.

The museum was much more crowded on Saturday, but we had seen the most important pieces the night before when we were able to just                                                                                        walk up and enjoy them.                                                                        .

 

The weather had cleared nicely by the time we left the Louvre around noon. We strolled through the Tuileries, the formal gardens that link the Louvre to Place de la Concorde, and headed for the Champs Elysee and the Arc de Triomph before heading back along the left bank of the Seine.

It was a long walk and, along the way, we sampled the wares of one of the numerous crepe carts. A real treat.

In the afternoon, we headed to the Musee de Orsay, an art museum housed in a onetime train station and displaying the works of numerous grand masters from 1848 to 1914. As much as I loved the Louvre, I was very taken with the de Orsay - so much so that we did a second visit on Sunday morning.

I asked one of the docents if there was a good place to eat lunch nearby and she gave me a funny look, as if to say, "Hey, buddy, this is Paris."

We wound up eating across the street at a little cafe that features crepe suzette. It was sensational.

We were tired and decided to use our transit pass to take the Metro back to our hotel. We got on the right train, but missed our stop because I was too dumb to realize you had to push the door open yourself. By the time I realized my mistake, the train was heading for the next stop.

We got off, made our way to the platform on the other side and waited for the next train to arrive. When it did, the car was very crowded.

In the middle of the car was a couple with a tiny baby, who seemed to be looking right at me. I waved at the baby and he smiled. I then proceeded to play hide and seek, ducking behind my hands and bobbing up to look at the baby with a big smile.

He began to giggle loudly. Before long, everybody in that car was smiling and laughing. The mother looked at me and mouthed the words "grand pere?" I nodded and she smiled.

This time, I pushed the door open and, as we walked off the car, several people said, "Bonjour!"

That night, we ate dinner at the Le Petit Chaise, one of the oldest restaurants in Paris. It opened in the same spot in 1680 and the decor appears to have changed little in the interim. But the service was  perfect and the food was excellent, particularly the French onion soup and the dessert of vanilla creme brulee.

Sunday, we ate a late breakfast and wandered through some of the shops in St. Germain. I had booked a "Tour of Paris Lights" from home. We were to catch the bus late in the afternoon only a few blocks from our hotel.

But, somehow, I misread the directions and wound up lost as the time of departure got closer.

People in Paris had been unfailingly nice up to then. But the folks I approached to ask directions, including the bellman at a fancy hotel, were downright rude, apparently put off by the fact that I was speaking English.

Between us, Judy and I were able to finally decipher the instructions and found the bus in the nick of time. We were both getting hungry, but I was under the impression that the tour would end at the Eiffel Tower just after dark and we could find a nice place to eat.

The first part of the tour was a drive-by of Paris statues and sights. We were then dropped off for a trip down the Seine on one of the famous bateaux-mouches, the river boats.

It was a warm, pleasant evening and the hour-long cruise that began near the base of the Eiffel Tower was beautiful, floating past people dancing and partying on both sides of the river and seeing some of the great landmarks of Paris, including Cathedral Notre Dame, before the fire.

At that point, it was getting dark and I thought the bus would just drop us off across the road at the Eiffel Tower, where we had tickets to go to the top two floors. Instead, the tour continued - for more than an hour.

I felt like Gilligan. Our two-hour tour had turned into something much different.

Finally, at 930 p.m., we reached the Eiffel Tower. I looked at the prices on the menu of the restaurant in the tower and decided it was a little too pricey for us. We took the elevator up, looked out over Paris for a few minutes and both of us looked at the other and said, "Enough. Let's eat."

We took a taxi back to our hotel. It was nearly 11 p.m. and the cafe at the corner of our street was open and busy. We had stopped in there for coffee the previous evening after our dinner. It was too early for the French dinner crowd, the place was dead and the waiters were pretty uninterested.

But, apparently Sunday night at 11 o'clock is the right time to eat in Paris. The place was hopping.

We were whisked to a table with a smile. It was no fast food place, but the meals came out soon enough as we dined on hamburgers, fries and onion rings that were unusual and delicious.

Finishing dinner after midnight was a bit tough on the stomachs of a couple of old timers like us, but it was also a great experience.

The next morning, we ate one last croissant breakfast before heading to the airport for our flight back to Barcelona, where we spent another week enjoying the sights and the company of my family.

But, as much as I love my sister and her family, and as beautiful as Barcelona is, Paris was the most memorable part of that trip. I'd like to go back some day. But, if I don't, we managed to pack in plenty of good memories in a short time.