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.