I’m Not Late I am Tati
I’m Not Late I am Tati
He definitely stood out in the park next to the Abbey Migne. Crisp cobalt blue overcoat and fine linen khakis among the Parisian students, orthodox Jews with their skull caps, mothers and children gesturing wildly with each other, one eye alert to their child’s antics. Alec, as we call him, was doing that watch thing again. Rhythmically shaking his arm, pulling back his coat sleeve and carefully drawing his cuff linked sleeves back exposing a gold Cartier watch. Then carefully drawing each layer back into their natural position. Another shake, another repetition.
After two weeks of surveillance, I knew that he was nervous, no, more than nervous, he was scared. Thinking back I should have called for support. It’s just too easy to loose somebody in the bent streets of Paris’ Marais district. It was the last time I would see Alec vertical. He had some serious friends!
Great, I still have another one of the falafels to eat. I snapped out of my Walter Mitty moment as we sat in this little park deep in the Marais. Today was primarily dedicated to people watching and one serious “quest”. Besides our taste bud tingling falafel/abbey moment we went for the ultimate splurge… a hot chocolate at Café Les Deux Magots where Hemingway and literary company hung out. Actually it’s more of a molten chocolate that coats the tongue and sends it to chocolate heaven. Heaven in six euro doses!
The Quest
Gayle and I have frequent “quest items” that we journey in search of. Today it was sheets for Dave and Linda and inexpensive toiletries for us. We were told that Tati’s was the place. Oui, it’s the Big Lots of Paris. No atmosphere, no service, no real order, just bargains! Once we had our bags and started our entry into the Metro, a lost Parisian stopped Gayle and asked for directions to Tati. Gayle, living in Paris, helped her quite nicely! Merci Beaucoup!!! Do I feel a book coming, “My Life in Paris Searching for the Perfect Dog” by Gayle Selby.
Toilet Training
Let’s be clear here, there are not enough public toilets in Paris. This being true, we invoked the Rick Steve’s method of using cafés for necessary relief. Now this is not a simple matter. After considerable thought and planning we have discovered the proper etiquette in this process. First you walk slowly by a busy café, looking through the people, the windows, into the back area. Find the toilet access door, which is often by the bar. It’s best to look as touristy as possible. Wear that silly hat, backpack, waist belt and camera. This makes you invisible to the French. Now drop out of sight of the café and hand your fellow traveler your touristy belongings.
Walk back to the café and enter via the most circuitous route. This walk is a bit different, you must walk erect, eyes forward, seeing no ones eyes, eyes darting left and right to find the portal of relief. Each step must be high as if you’re walking up a series of short steps. It’s more of a prance, a dance, something a French poodle would do after a bath. This is a walk of purpose in France, no one will hinder your progress.
When you access the toilet, a telephone booth with running water, finish your business and turn toward the sink. If you are lucky there will be a rod protruding from the basin with a colored oval object attached. It looks like that thing inside an older American toilet. Grab it with both hands and rub it slowly, back and forth, enjoy the moment. This is the French version of a bar of soap. Voila, you have now mastered the art of finding relief from all those coffee crèmes.
Note: This is late as we are having internet connection problems
Picture Set 1
Picture Set 2
posted by Bob and Gayle @ 1:53 PM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home