PARIS -- Yesterday, I said we planned on hitting the road from Strasbourg to Paris at 8 a.m.

That didn't happen.

The bad part about blogging right before I fall asleep is that my restless mind keeps editing my work in my dreams. That, and the hectic nature of yesterday's adventure meant that I got about four hours of sleep. I couldn't even take an Ambien, since I didn't have the requisite "seven to eight hours to dedicate to a good night's sleep."

So we checked out and left the city center by about 9:45 a.m., and once again, the Google Maps let us down. It sent us in the wrong direction, but within a few miles, we righted our course and found the A4 toward Paris.

Driving on the French highways proved to be a much more fun experience than the Authobahn, if you can believe it. Not only were they straighter and wider, they also contained far less traffic. With rolling hills and courteous, less insane drivers, France felt like it was made for our new BMW. I spent most of the time driving between 90 and 100 miles per hour, and kept up nicely with the Renaults, Citroens and Peugeots.

We made excellent time as we approached Paris. We were burning through gas, however, and European fuel is about $8 a gallon, I think. I say I think because it's in liters and Euros, and I didn't take the time to do the math. I just know that from Munich to Paris, we spent about 150 Euros on gas. That's a staggering $227. Ouch.

Anyway, at about 30 miles outside Paris, the roads opened up, and I knew I had one more chance to "bury the needle," so to speak. On a long, smooth straightaway, I cranked the 328xi Coupe up to 135, when the electronically-limited engine said, "That's enough, young man." The car basically refused to go any faster, though it was clear it had room to grow. I slowed down and prepared to coast into Paris.

And that's when the Google Maps failed me again. We had diligently kept track of the mileage and expected our exit to arrive as we approached the city. It didn't come. Finally, as traffic grew more hectic, I spied an exit that partially matched what we were looking for. Mistakenly, I took it. I spend the next 90 minutes trying to undo my mistake, but the streets are terribly marked and on ramps are scarce. Finally, I found a Parisian couple who gave me alternative directions in, and at 4:45 p.m., we found the hotel and the parking garage. I had hoped to be checked in 1 p.m.

Our alleged three-star hotel is actually worth about 1.5 stars. The room is smaller than the postage stamp we stayed in last night. The sweaty, smelly desk clerk informed me that breakfast isn't included, and for proof, I should check my receipt from hotels.com. I just said shrugged and unloaded my bags.

The plan for tonight was supposed to be the Trocadero and the Eiffel Tower, and I'll be damned if I wasn't going to make this day turn out right. Exhausted and more frazzled than yesterday, we set the evening in motion.

Fortunately, the Hotel Claret is about 20 feet from the Bercy stop on the metro. The Trocadero stop is on the same line, and we figured out the system instantly. A mere 20 minutes later, we stepped off in search of dinner, and wound up overpaying for some underdone beef in an otherwise cool café.

The rest of the night went better. We walked to the Eiffel Tower, which is brown, not black, like I had thought it was. By now, night had fallen, and the tower was brilliantly lit and wonderfully spectacular in person. We stood in line for about 45 minutes, but eventually made it up to the second level, which they say is the ideal vantage point for viewing the skyline of Paris.

The view was grandiose. For a single spot, we could see the Arc De Triomphe, The Louvre, The Seine, Napoleon's Tomb and more. Even though the weather during the day warmed up to a sunny 58 degrees, nightfall brought cold and windy conditions, and after an hour, we walked back down the hundreds of stairs. I feel vindicated that we had the gumption to see an historic icon after another zany day on the road.

After I post this blog (it's 11:04 p.m. right now), I'll take an Ambien, get my eight hours of sleep and head out to Versailles. We're definitely taking the train, as I'm done driving in this city until we drop off the car at the airport on Wednesday before we fly to Madrid.

In the afternoon, we'll go to the Rodin Museum, and at night, take a cruise down the Seine River. I have full days planned for Monday, Tuesday and Wednesday, too. I just hope that from here on out, this trip settles down a bit. I'm not sure I can take much more "European Vacation" style antics.

A few random observations before I hit the hay in this shady hotel:

If Munich smells like an old man, French people drive like one. Polite (until the Paris city limits, anyway), we witnessed dozens of drivers leaving their turn signals on long after they changed lanes. It's like a nation of speeding grandpas on the A4.

Parisians, thus far, are a mixed bag of polite and snooty. While I'm trying to speak the best French my five years of college, high school and middle school training gave me, most of the Parisians just reply to me in English. The biker couple who gave us directions to our hotel was wonderful. The stinky desk guy at the Hotel Claret was a jerk. We'll see how our other interactions go.

I have the best cell phone reception I've ever experienced with either Verizon or AT&T. My AT&T Blackberry gets less than one bar in my own home and drops calls all over Milwaukee. But here, it hasn't been less than a full boat from the moment we landed in Munich. The calls are crystal clear. I'm wondering why us Americans are getting the shaft while the Europeans experience cell phone utopia (don't answer that, I worked in the PrimeCo PR department in 1997; I know how Milwaukeeans feel about cell phone towers in their community).

The high price of European gas must be taking a toll on buying choices here. We've seen a ton of subcompact cars on the road, but only a handful of SUVs, minivans or trucks. It's noticeably different than driving in Wisconsin.