Bob and Gayle's France Trip

Gayle Gets French Legionnaires Disease

Gayle Gets French Legionnaires Disease

Definition: Legionnaires Disease a rare ailment that generally strikes members of a small northwest Washington State hill clan made up of Norwegian, Dutch and California immigrants. The disease occurs when members of this enclave relocate to Paris and eat moldy cheese, sugar spiked desserts and drink cheap Bordeaux. Symptoms include a sore throat, a reduced euro blood count and a desire for reduced activity.

So now you know, Gayle is sick down with LD, predominantly having a sore throat and prolonged stays in bed. I have taken her off of cheese, dessert, wine but not middle east food. Naturally it’s Sunday and most of the pharmacies are closed. Every pharmacy in France must post on their window the location of the one open store in their district. Pharmacies are critical here. When someone gets sick it’s the first place one goes for medical advice. Does this sound familiar; the French assume there is a pill to cure any ailment. Oddly though if you watch French TV there are no drug commercials. All I can figure is that they learned this from the Americans, tourist by tourist!

In addition to sickness, pharmacists have large collections of pills and devices that are proven to remove cellulose, increase bust sizes, turn back the bio clock by at least 10 years and reduce that ones derriere. The latter could require an anti cellulose and shrinking bottom pills. Come to think about it, I need the anti, anti, bottom shrinking pill. Notice I did not mention a French preoccupation with weight loss. Gayle once said, “gees that woman has thighs the size of my arms.” Atkins is dead here!

Metros

Paris moves by way of the primarily underground subway system, the Metro. Rarely are you more than 2-3 blocks from a station. Now this is deceiving as many stations are 1-3 blocks long. If you read “Watership Down” it’s a regular rabbit warren of passages going up. Down, left (gauche), right. Inside these ceramic tiled dens, is a vast source of musical minstrels. We have heard violins, oboes, keyboards, and a nine member Peruvian band, which after a short discussion with a young lady about why we don’t want to buy their CD, represents most of the young people from their village. These conversations usually start when we stop and I take their picture. “Buy CD, American Souvenir, Remember Paris!” Also a small but prominent arm or oboe motion is made indicating that they accept donations. Thus you fellow bloggites, I do this for you, so you’re going to owe us big time when we return! Ha

There is a certain metro etiquette that Parisians strictly follow. Groups of teens are of course exempt from these or any rules. Men tend to sit erect, head bent downwardly scanning the feet of fellow travelers a row or two away. They have their arms clasped where the fig leaf would be if we were in the Louve. Women on the other hand, tend to look to the side, out the windows toward the blurred subway walls. I have detected brief fashion checks of the other women in the car. These Mademoiselles and Madame’s, have their arms crossed, purses clutched, in such a fashion that the fig leaf and fruits are guarded.

Now the bus are very different! We were sitting in the famous 69 bus that goes by most of the Paris biggies. Everyone was following metro etiquette when simultaneously I heard two couples speaking loudly. French speak very softly especially in tight quarters. I could understand what they were saying! Blessed English! In harmony they were saying, “It says here that inside that building is where Napoleon is buried”. Looking back, both couples had Rick Steve’s Paris tour books. We had forgotten ours, The man and woman couple, had the woman reading, that man numbly was nodding but not looking. Directly behind us was a mother daughter team, the mother reading the daughter staring at a bus stop billboard sign. The daughter replied, “there is that advertisement with that blonde women wearing a lacey nighty. I hate the way she pouts!” Looking back, the daughter reminded me of a Persian cat with their little pushed in noses. Talk about pouty! “The Orsay museum is a few blocks to the right…” Life goes on in Paris!

I have decided to post this less my local reader and sans pictures!

posted by Bob and Gayle @ 10:32 PM