I saw Napoleon’s hat. Two of them, in fact. Along with his tomb. And his white horse, it was stuffed!

What can I tell you, it’s all about the LIGHT! The clouds. It’s every painting you’ve ever seen, you know how the artists were inspired.

And the French people? Keeping up their rep as rude. They were even dismissive in the tourist office, where you’d expect they’d tolerate my Americanism.

But they’ve got their style and the city is vibrant and it’s inspirational in a way no other metropolis is.

We started off in search of sunglasses. I lost mine in a black cab in London. I leaned over to pay the bill, to put the money through the window, and after greeting Richard at the River Cafe I noticed they were gone. If I’d taken Uber I’d have been able to retrieve them.

Uber… It’s causing a revolution in Paris. As a matter of fact, tomorrow the cabbies are going on strike. When was the last time anybody in America went on strike? When we still believed in unions, before the rich got all the money and we were lost contemplating our navels. You can understand why there was revolution in France, when you view the palaces. There are palaces in the U.S. too, you just haven’t seen them, they’re behind walls. Friday night I was with a billionaire and a man who makes $50 million a year. At least the former worked hard, or his father did, he started his own business. The latter? America is heading for a dark space. Most people don’t know how bad they’ve got it, because they’re not exposed to the wealthy and all they keep hearing is taxes must be lower and you’ve got to let freedom reign. How much freedom is there when the government is spying on you and you’re so busy working you haven’t got time to think?

Unlike in Val d’Isere, few here speak English. Communicating is difficult. That’s the nature of foreign travel, the wasted time, while you figure out how to get where you want to. The Solaris sunglass store was a two minute walk away, but it took us half an hour to find it.

And after my visit to the tourist office, where I purchased a museum pass, I was off to the Musee d’Orsay, where all the Impressionists reside.

Inspired and depressed me all at the same time. To see Manet’s Dejueuner sur l’herbe in the flesh is positively jaw-dropping. This was the turning point, this was the depiction of modern life that outraged the establishment and paved the way for said Impressionists. I learned that at Middlebury.

But that was so long ago.

Did I live up to my promise?

Or did I get so caught up in tech, in making a living, such that I lost the plot and avoided the destination.

Culture runs the country. And ours is bankrupt. Without artists we’re nowhere, we’ve got nothing to live for. And ours are so busy chasing the buck with their uneducated selves that what we’re served is sans calories.

Monet’s Rouen Cathedral series. Van Gogh’s bedroom. Those paintings of Baudelaire and Rimbaud. Once upon a time, painters and poets ran the world. Or at least inspired it. Or catalogued it.

But now the only artists we’ve got are phony or wannabe. The latter saying their intentions are pure despite their efforts being substandard.

So it was bittersweet seeing the art. It made me want to turn back the hands of time. And chronicle feelings as opposed to transgressions. Emotions as opposed to digits.

And then on to the Army Museum.

I wanted to go to the resistance museum, but it was too far away.

But I was blown away by the history of conflict. How it was constant. How the weaponry was antiquated. How Napoleon Bonaparte conquered the Continent and then lost it.

I’m confused as to the proper path. Is it all about lifestyle and good times or pursuing truth?

Furthermore, in this connected world I’m suddenly fearful. Tweet against the government and they’ve got you on record, you’re a suspect. And you might fall in line, but it’s those pushing the edges who protect your freedom.

So I’m inspired. I want to go to the museum once a week back home. To commune with those who pursued their dream.

And I don’t want to wait forty more years to come back to Paris, like I did this time.

And I don’t want you to think I’m bummed out. It’s just that my head is a ball of confusion. I’m thrilled, but puzzled by the passing of time. More of my life is behind me than ahead. I’ve only got a short time left to make a difference.