Paris 11.11.2013
Without Prejudice
It's insane this place. The traffic, the noise, the politics, we eat Italian and watch the lesbian couple at the next table devour escargots and bruschetta, all fresh tomato and sweet lettuce. We eat pasta and Osso Bucco, tender enough to eat with a fork. The Italian waiter rubbishes the French as he fusses over us, he's been here twenty years. He insults the French loudly and they turn not a hair, he tells us France is over, done, no good and we smile our Australian smiles of polite indulgence and disbelief
And he insults louder, and we laugh, too tired and satisfied to care.
A black man from Senegal, tall and prowling waits outside for us, almost predatory, one hour he waits. He has Eiffel Towers to sell to us, he hopes, one for 18 Euro and he waits and waits while we inside our warm reverie laugh at the demented Italian waiter. The lesbian couple leave and I banish thoughts of snails and teeny frogs legs out of my mind. The waiter calls the French frogs but no one seems to care or even hear.
We put the Aunt in her wheelchair and she resists, wanting to browse the souvenir shops, walking with her stick. But the friendly man waves us into his shop, an American from Washington D.C. And I chat to him as the ladies devour his wares. He knows already we are Australians by our accents. He laughs at my jokes and self deprecation about us and Oz. My Aunt and Sister love the place. The souvenirs good and the jewellery and clothing excellent.
We stay a good hour, buying, calling to each other, in everyone's way and generally having a ball, this our last night in Paris. The two male assistants chatting us up in a friendly, please buy way. One says to be wary of pickpockets and I ask about the tall man from Senegal. He says he is fine. So we buy off him too. Towers that light up and change hue. Imagining them on our fake mantle pieces, back home, an exotic touch to Christmas, this year.
And as we pass under the Tower once again it lights up with flashing lights, almost like a Christmas Tree and it's beyond beauty, truly beautiful. We are enchanted and scramble to video it. The sparkling lights reflected in the windows of the Hotel and as soon as it starts it stops. But we have captured it on film and in our hearts forever. The night crisp, no stars, just the Tower lit like a Christmas tree and I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight.
Bon Nuit,
Jeanette, Jolie Jacqueline et al, x
It's insane this place. The traffic, the noise, the politics, we eat Italian and watch the lesbian couple at the next table devour escargots and bruschetta, all fresh tomato and sweet lettuce. We eat pasta and Osso Bucco, tender enough to eat with a fork. The Italian waiter rubbishes the French as he fusses over us, he's been here twenty years. He insults the French loudly and they turn not a hair, he tells us France is over, done, no good and we smile our Australian smiles of polite indulgence and disbelief
And he insults louder, and we laugh, too tired and satisfied to care.
A black man from Senegal, tall and prowling waits outside for us, almost predatory, one hour he waits. He has Eiffel Towers to sell to us, he hopes, one for 18 Euro and he waits and waits while we inside our warm reverie laugh at the demented Italian waiter. The lesbian couple leave and I banish thoughts of snails and teeny frogs legs out of my mind. The waiter calls the French frogs but no one seems to care or even hear.
We put the Aunt in her wheelchair and she resists, wanting to browse the souvenir shops, walking with her stick. But the friendly man waves us into his shop, an American from Washington D.C. And I chat to him as the ladies devour his wares. He knows already we are Australians by our accents. He laughs at my jokes and self deprecation about us and Oz. My Aunt and Sister love the place. The souvenirs good and the jewellery and clothing excellent.
We stay a good hour, buying, calling to each other, in everyone's way and generally having a ball, this our last night in Paris. The two male assistants chatting us up in a friendly, please buy way. One says to be wary of pickpockets and I ask about the tall man from Senegal. He says he is fine. So we buy off him too. Towers that light up and change hue. Imagining them on our fake mantle pieces, back home, an exotic touch to Christmas, this year.
And as we pass under the Tower once again it lights up with flashing lights, almost like a Christmas Tree and it's beyond beauty, truly beautiful. We are enchanted and scramble to video it. The sparkling lights reflected in the windows of the Hotel and as soon as it starts it stops. But we have captured it on film and in our hearts forever. The night crisp, no stars, just the Tower lit like a Christmas tree and I wonder what the poor people are doing tonight.
Bon Nuit,
Jeanette, Jolie Jacqueline et al, x
