One Writer's Inspiration Part 2 of 2: PARIS by Determination

After scrimping and saving for 75 straight weeks, our long anticipated day had finally arrived. We were going to Paris! With me on my second journey to France were my wife and three teenage daughters. Unlike my first business trip however, this journey was to be strictly a family vacation.

Our itinerary called for departing Orlando, FL at 12:05 AM, and unwinding in our Paris hotel rooms, along the awe-inspiring Avenue de l’Opera, by nightfall.

Travel plans changed however while we were in the air, delays that required we stay a night in the French town of Metz. While my family slept that first night, I stood at our hotel room window, gazing out across a sleepy town plaza to a darkened Metz railway station. My thoughts were of events experienced a few hours earlier, and of an earlier trip to Paris, as well as how both events could make for a great mystery novel.

Metz, France Railway Station

Two journeys merge:

Paris by Happenstance, Part 1 of this 2 part series, tells of my strange journey to North Africa in 1983. The perception for three American visitors to that country had been that we had become trapped in a terribly scary situation. Our distressing ordeal required an ingenious plan to escape this inhospitable nation quickly.

Having escaped, as disclosed in Part 1, proud hardly did justice for describing how we felt upon landing in Paris. We were in France, but our return flight to the States was to be out of Belgium, three days distant. That was a concern however for another day my boss decided. During the interim, we’d relax a few days here in Paris

Our English friendly hotel, viewing the magnificent 19^th century Paris Opera House, had been recommended, so by late afternoon we had checked in, showered, and were ready for a celebratory dinner. We dined in style at a charming sidewalk café on world famous Champs Elysees, enjoying cocktails on the rocks, with lots of ice!

During dinner we recounted events of a crazy African adventure, only instead of tears of fear we laughed about a very weird journey.

Following dinner we strolled along the amazing avenue, viewing awesome sights such as the Arche Triumph, before returning to our rooms to sleep like never before. The next morning my employer invited me to join him and his wife for a soothing massage, but I declined. I was not about to pass up an opportunity to walk the streets of Paris.

Leaving my travel companions back at the hotel, I stepped out onto Avenue de l’Opera, viewed the opulent Opera House, and then strolled south to the Louvre, Tuileries Gardens, Concorde Place, and walked along the iconic Seine River.

I had never planned to visit Paris, yet once here, I couldn’t seem to get this city out of my mind.

That evening, we enjoyed an extravagant dinner aboard the amazing Bateaux Mouches dinner boat, cruising the River Seine from Notre Dame in the east, west to the Statue of Liberty replica just beyond the magnificent sight of the Eiffel Tower.

As my boss and his wife decided to vacation in the French Riviera, I explored Paris on my own for one more day before boarding a train for Belgium, where I then met up with my return flight to the States. It was during my train journey, while looking at the plush green French countryside, taking in the sights of quaint little villages, that I began to concoct a new plan. I wanted my family to share in this awesome experience.

One Family's PARIS journey:

And so 18 months later, after pinching pennies and reminding three teenage girls daily that we on a strict budget, my family, in the summer of 1985, boarded a trans-Atlantic flight bound for Luxembourg. In hand were railway tickets for completing our journey from Luxembourg to Paris.

Flight delays however caused us to miss the last train to Paris, and the language barrier that ensued placed us on an alternate train, and on a text-book path for my novel’s plot.

Awake in the middle of the night, staring out across a sleepy town plaza to a mammoth, albeit dark Metz train station, with its tall dimly lit clock tower, Dennis, brother of murdered Jonathan Lynch, wrestled with understanding what little he had learned as to how his brother arrived in France.

36 years in the making, In His Brother’s Memory is a mystery novel inspired by true-life encounters. Dennis Lynch, an American alone in a foreign land and unable to speak the local’s language, is determined to resolve the mystery behind his brother’s death.

Click on Book Cover for Amazon Book Page

Mystery and intrigue unfold on the streets of Paris, and Metz: In His Brother’s Memory, a novel by Richard Lee Cronin.

One Writer's Inspiration, Part 1 of 2: PARIS by Happenstance

PART 1 of 2: PARIS by HAPPENSTANCE:

True-life experiences inspire my writings! With that said, imagine being stranded at Death Valley’s BADWATER BASIN during the dead of summer. At 282’ below sea level, this location is not only the lowest point in the United States, it is very often the hottest place in the northern hemisphere. At noon, temperatures here can climb to 115° F, and as the name implies, you dare not drink the water! Imagine yourself standing here for hours, dripping with sweat under a hot midday sun, with nothing to quench your thirst. In a blink of an eye you are suddenly inside a cool air-conditioned room, drinking from an ice cold bottle of clear spring water. Got that image? Okay, hold that thought while I tell you of why I traveled to Paris, France my first time.

To be perfectly clear, Paris was an Oasis! The city of light and romance became my air conditioned room and bottle of ice cold spring water. The bad water basin? That had been a port city in North Africa, a town of 5 million on the Mediterranean Sea.

Much like my fictitious character Dennis Lynch, I had never imagined traveling to Paris.

Meanwhile, back in the desert:

I woke at 8:00 AM Tuesday morning, October 11, 1983, to a loud intrusive pounding. I knew immediately the sound was that of frantic individuals knocking on my hotel room door, but I needed a minute or two to collect my thoughts. I was in fact in North Africa, I quickly reminded myself, and those pounding on the door were my boss and his frantic wife.

I had finally fallen asleep at 5 AM that morning, arguing with the person responsible for us being in Africa. The host was packing, and I had been trying to convince him that it was wrong to abandon us in an estranged land. My arguing however had fallen on deaf ears. After being jarred awake three hours later, I found a scribbled note laying atop my suitcase: “See you in the U. S. A., your friend, M.” My friend my butt!

The purpose in coming to this desert city had been to contract with the government to construct badly needed infrastructure. Our “hosts” were two individuals, a native of the land we were visiting and his partner, a Florida general contractor. A detailed itinerary had been mapped out long before leaving the United States, and that schedule did not include us being left to fend for ourselves.

NOTHING prepared us for our journey. From the moment we touched down in Africa, until that exact second of our departure, when the airplane’s wheels finally let go of the ground beneath to become airborne, NOTHING went as planned.

Remember we are in 1983. We did not have a cellphone, and as phones and televisions in our hotel rooms didn’t work, we had no contact with the outside world whatsoever.    

Hotel accommodations were, “at the poshest hotel”. During check-in, I was instructed that to reach the 4^th floor, and my room offering wonderful views of the Mediterranean Sea, I needed to take the elevator to three, then walk up one flight to the fourth. The number four button had fallen out weeks earlier, and a technician was expected soon, as he was flying into this city of 5 million from France. The button never was fixed while we were at the hotel, and we learned for those preparing us to do work in this foreign land that such was par for the course.

We were given a tour of a four story building still under construction in its fourth year. A steel framework was in place, but the building still didn’t have exterior walls. “Plan to bring your own equipment and people,” we were told.

Tuesday was day three of a planned six day visit to the desert city. Since departing Orlando, I had had little more than five hours of sleep. Exhausted, stranded in a foreign land, panic set in when my boss was informed the hotel could no longer honor the remainder of our reservation. We had to get out of the hotel, and as there was no alternate place to stay, it seemed only logical we needed to figure out a way to get out of the country.

My boss looked to me to do that, and I understood why. At dinner the night before, as we sat at a table of six, with three of us arguing why both hosts should not abandon us in a foreign land, the African partner said, “Don’t worry, Rick knows how to get you out of here!”

In fairness to me this requires clarification. Our native African host had been referring to a very strange meeting he and I had had earlier that day. The two of us drove into town so he could introduce me to my “personal contact in Africa.” Mohammed, I was told, would take care of anything I needed anytime. If ever in a bind, all I need do was to pick up a phone and call Mohammed.

One simply did not purchase or exchange airline tickets in this country, and so we felt as though we were in a bind! Using the front desk phone (our room phones did not work), I called my “personal contact in Africa,” explained our dilemma, and said we desperately needed three airline tickets, “today!” We’d be willing to travel anywhere north of the Mediterranean Sea. Mohammed assured me he’d be back in touch within 15 minutes.

Two hours later, still waiting for a return call, three stranded Americans sat sipping on warm (no ice) alcoholic beverages, conversing with a traveling French salesman we had met the day before. We had been warned though, by our African host, one of the jerks who abandoned us in this faraway land, never to talk with strangers. “You never know who that person might be,” he had said. Spies? Really?

The salesman, it turned out, offered us excellent free advice. “Go out to the airport. Look around at how things get done there, and I promise you, your way out will come to you.”

Three deserted American’s, having not much more to lose, arrived via taxi at the stifling hot airport at 11:10 AM. We were soon told all planes departing this day were sold out.

There were no seats, nor any nearby hotels. Unbearably hot, terribly disturbed, tired and frustrated, we three watched to view how things got done. While observing, we learned the international language of the airport.

Folded greenbacks, a thousand to be exact, induced a ticket exchange. At 1:05 PM our airport buddy rushed to where we were instructed to wait, grabbed our bags, and said we needed to hurry to catch a flight scheduled to depart at 1:10 PM.

We hadn’t yet cleared customs, but managed to advance quickly with a little help from additional greenbacks. At 1:35 PM we boarded the last bus waiting to transport passengers out to the plane. Ten minutes later, the door to our plane closed, with us seated inside. Our jet lifted off from a North African runway at 1:58 PM, leaving behind three would-be passengers, folks who for one reason or another had been told they would not be boarding this plane.

Before ever reaching cruising altitude, flight attendants delivered bottles of ice cold water to each and every passenger. In our rush to board though, I never inquired as to where this plane was taking us. So, after first downing an entire bottle of deliciously cold water, I turned and asked my boss: “Where are we going?”

I waited while he took another sip of ice cold water. He then smiled and replied: “Paris!”

Back home in the States:

I recorded in detail our North Africa experience. We were laughing by then, but it occurred to me that one day my journey might serve as inspiration for a story, perhaps even a Novel. 

I eventually penned a Novel in 1993, but its subject was not exactly about my time spent in Africa. Never published until this year, the Novel, ‘In His Brother’s Memory,’ was inspired instead by two events immediately following our Africa departure.

Part 2 of this MYSTIQUE Blog, ‘Paris by Aspirations’, to be published here next Friday, September 30, 2016, will share those two events that became the inspiration behind, ‘In His Brother’s Memory’.

Excerpt from my new Novel: In His Brother’s Memory

“Day 1: A Surreal Arrival. Wednesday, 4:36 AM:

“Jonathan’s body floated face down, arms outstretched, bobbing in murky water beneath that bridge.”

“Forty-four years young, Jonathan did not deserve to go before his maker in such a horrible manner, dumped in a river, an iconic waterway considered the world over as a symbol of love and romance.”

For additional details visit my Web Page:

http://www.croninbooks.com/MYSTIQUE.html