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When my husband decided to take early retirement, we moved to Florida. On our anniversary, three days after moving in, we sat on two of our 140 cartons and drank a champagne toast, vowing that before the year ended, we would treat ourselves to something special to mark the occasion.

At first, we had no idea what that special something might be. When we completed the unpacking, furniture shopping, builder's adjustments, and designer projects, we began to plan what we would do for the rest of our lives. We wanted to use our new freedom to fulfill dreams we had for "someday" -- that time of life when we had no jobs or family responsibilities.

A heady sense of excitement began to fill each morning. For the first time, we could do whatever we pleased. The sale of a house up north and the purchase of a smaller one in Florida left a little money to fund dreams.

"Let's go on a trip," my husband said. "Out of the country someplace. Anywhere you want."

I hesitated. I needed my own permission to spend a lot of money on something that was not a necessity. This was out of character for me. It required a shift in mindset to put myself first instead of my family, but finally I gave in.

Choosing the destination was a no-brainer. Ever since I studied French at age 14, I had wanted to go to Paris. My teacher, a native of Paris, taught more than language. She gave the class her love of French music, literature, and food. When she spoke of Paris, she spoke with her eyes, her hands, and her heart. From her, I caught the feeling for everything French. Years later, at Epcot, I watched a movie on France. As the camera panned the French countryside, Saint-Saens' Organ Symphony (#3 in C Minor) swelled in the background, music that still sang in my heart and evoked Paris whenever I heard it. My infatuation with Paris was renewed. So, at the end of that September, we landed in Paris.

The French Statue of Liberty, a smaller version of the one in New York harbor, welcomed us as we rode by taxi to our quaint hotel, La Bourdonnais. We dropped our bags and inspected the room. In the closet, a huge number of bath towels had been provided. Very strange! In America, you get two per person.

We rushed out to explore what we had been told was a perfect neighborhood -- pretty, convenient, and safe at night. A few blocks away, we turned a corner and caught our first sight of the Eiffel Tower, its majesty soaring above a base almost a block wide. Cable cars transported riders up the tower's legs. In photos I had seen, the tower looked like an Erector Set toy, but the real Eiffel Tower was gigantic and awesome! I felt that if I closed my eyes, the whole thing was a dream that would disappear, but it did not. It was real and I was in Paris!

Mornings began with a delightful continental breakfast of rolls -- brioche and chocolate croissants -- and strong coffee or the richest hot chocolate I'd ever tasted. Over the next few days, we rode a double-decker red tourist bus around the city, getting off and on as we chose.

Inside the magnificent Notre Dame cathedral, we joined other visitors who whispered or prayed. My husband cracked up when he saw a sign at the entrance: "Beware of pickpockets." Across the street, we ate hot butter crepes sprinkled with powdered sugar prepared by a sidewalk vendor who wrapped them in waxed paper for us to eat as we strolled.

We walked the broad boulevard, the Champs Elysees; then under the Arche de Triomphe, to the tomb of the Unknown Soldier. From there, a series of streets fanned out like the spokes of a wheel. Many bridges, domes, and monuments were painted gold. We took a boat ride on the Seine under some of the 36 bridges that span the river, making lovers' wishes as our guide urged us to do. As Jews, it amused us to know that the number of bridges was twice chai.

On escalators, we rode to the top of the Pompidou Center, a museum that looks as if it were made of see-through colored plastic pipes. In the distance, Sacre Coeur rose like the top of a wedding cake. We visited the Marais, the Jewish section, and ate lunch there.

Twice we visited the Louvre. We rounded a corner in one of the galleries and I gasped. At the end of the corridor, framed by a great arch, stood the Venus de Milo!

At night, I showered in a bathroom with tiled floor, walls, and ceiling. The drain was in the center of the floor. There were no curtains or shower doors. I used a hand-held spray that ricocheted off my body on to the tiled ceilings, walls, and floor. What a mess I made!

No wonder so many towels had been provided! Every time I showered, I laughed hysterically.

On the last day, we went up to the top of the Eiffel Tower. We looked out and saw the gold-tipped places we had visited shining in the sun. When the trip was over, I had my souvenirs, photos, and trip diary to carry with me on the reluctant trip home. I felt as if I had been to another world, another time. I had left my 200-year-old country and visited a city 2,000 years old.

I had retired and fulfilled a lifelong dream. I was blessed to have been able to do that. Afterward, we were full of new dreams and possibilities. That's what retirement is for.

Toby Rosenstrauch, an award-winning columnist, lives in Boynton Beach, Fla.