At boarding time in New York’s JFK airport, they called an airport assistant to push me on a wheelchair right at the plane’s door. To avoid explaining my physical disability, I brandished a steel cane which was earlier cleared of some kind of explosive by the Homeland Security somewhere in the departure area.

I wasn’t too old to strut with that walking stick, but without it, people wouldn’t believe I wasn't in good health. My pallor, a result of long-standing severe anemia, was deceptively masked by my dark skin.

I was the first to board the plane. The crew members of Air France escorted me to my seat close to the aisle, a spot I chose so I could stretch my legs and walk in-flight to avoid blood clots in my legs during a six-hour transatlantic trip. They spoke French, but I insisted on English to which they cordially responded in a heavy accent.

On my arrival at Charles de Gaulle Airport, I had Benoit Geiger, a Frenchman and his Filipina wife eagerly waiting. Having friends like them was a big treat. In their small, fuel-efficient car, off we went to tour the city. I discovered a lot about Paris---a bit of its history, its genteel charm, and the pleasures it could offer its visitors.

There are many tourist attractions at center of the city. Among the most popular is the Arc de Triomphe which is a grand traffic stone landmark beside an awesome tree-lined garden commissioned by Napoleon Bonaparte, honoring the military achievements of the French people.