April 30: I was walking clockwise from Avenue Kleber around Place Charles de Gaulle (also known as Place d’Etoile) in search of the tunnel that would lead me under the busy roundabout that surrounds the Arc de Triomphe. I found the tunnel at Avenue de la Grande Armee and descended into the corridor, which was surprisingly deserted of people. There was a nicely dressed Frenchman about twenty paces ahead of me. He paid no heed to the sign in French that was posted on the partially closed gate, but pushed it open and kept walking.
I followed him. As I walked deeper into the empty tunnel, I realized that following a man I didn’t know, through a deserted tunnel, in a foreign country was not exactly a smart move for an American woman traveling alone. And feeling confident that I would scream for help if something did go wrong was ridiculous. Who would hear my screams in an empty tunnel? I had arrived in Paris only a few hours earlier and now marveled at my lack of decision-making skills. I needed to wake up. I chalked up my actions to jet lag and promised myself to pay better attention to what was going on around me.
Finally, I spotted the stairs leading to the memorial and climbed them. The blue sky opened above me and the massive stonework of the Arc de Triomphe towered overhead. The monument was jammed with tourists who had obviously arrived from the more popular underground tunnel. I weaved past the tourists holding cameras in front of their eyes, dodged those getting their picture taken, and somehow made my way the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier. Bouquets surrounded the plaque, Ici Repose Un Soldat Francais Mort Pour La Patrie 1914-1918. (Here lies a French soldier who died for his fatherland.)
The soldier buried beneath the eternal flame had lost his life at Verdun, the most devastating battle of World War I.
When I returned to my hotel after visiting the Arc de Triomphe, there was an envelope waiting for me. Earlier in the day, I had called a friend of a friend who worked at the American Embassy to let him know I had made it to Paris. His schedule didn’t synch up for meeting that day, but we made plans to meet for lunch when I returned from Verdun. During the conversation he told me he had located a contact at the American Battle Monuments Commission and would send over the information he received from them. William hoped it would be helpful since it provided updated times for most of the tours. I spent my night in Paris preparing for the next round of transportation that would get me to Verdun – a train to Nancy and then a bus to Verdun. I read through the ten-pages that Robert sent and learned there was only one tour that departed at 2 o’clock from the Verdun Tourism Office for the battlefields on the right side of the Meuse River. I needed to get on that tour.
creative meander 
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