Something smells like cheese

So we're lost in Paris. Not lost, really. We know where we are; we're exiting a tunnel next to the Samaritans building by Pont Neuf, the famous old bridge.



The problem was that we were aiming for the Louvre. We somehow ended up in a tunnel which exited blocks behind the museum, couldn't turn left for several streets-- because the French designate one-way streets with utter callousness -- and then finally found a road to turn left on, which on my map went straight to the Louvre, but in reality went underground. To Pont Neuf -- and if you know Paris, this makes very little sense (and the tunnels really come out of no where, with little signage. No wonder Princess Di's driver had such, uh, difficulty).

So after driving in circles, and up and down underground, we found ourselves sitting at a light, before the bridge, hoping to turn right back towards the museum.

But then, the smell hit. My mom suggested it smelled like cheese; I countered it smelled like someone had eaten smelly cheese, gotten sick and farted it out... Michelle thought it might have something to do with the construction happening right next to us. We all agreed on this: it stank. I was gagging.

The light changed. We couldn't turn right -- damn one way roads! -- so we crossed the bridge. Stuck in traffic half-way across the bridge, the smell returned. It was following us... It was us. Pedestrians crossing the bridge made faces as they passed us; even they could smell it.

At this point, my dad realizes he's done something to the clutch while waiting on the ramp exit to leave the tunnel, burning something to cause that smell.

Creeping slowly across the bridge, tourists looking around as they pass the car, wondering
My god, what is that awful smell. Thankfully, we soon found a Louvre entrance, and Michelle and I exited, saying we'd be more than happy to take a cab back to the hotel if my parents didn't want to come back and pick us up... in the now stinky Audi.