After dinner, we decided to take the metro to the Latin Quarter. We had to switch trains at Chatelet-Les Halles, the largest (and dirtiest) metro station in Paris, containing its fair share of crazies and vagrants. I believe this is the infamous metro station that I dubbed, circa my family's 2006 Paris trip, the "poop" station, so-named for its extreme lack of cleanliness. We were walking along, minding our own business, when a man LITERALLY jumped out in front of us, arms splayed, singing "I'm FLYING!" We quickly concluded that although slightly crazy, he was harmless. So we laughed along as he told us in a slurred voice that he was Jamaican and now lives in Paris, and wanted to sing us songs. We then attempted to move around him - not an easy feat when one is on a narrow platform, sandwiched between a wall and a train. Jamaican Man then decided that it would be a fun game to stand in front of us, blocking our path down the platform. So, one-by-one, Brittany, Michelle, and Michelle's two friends all managed to cleverly get past him. During that time, I was still hovering behind them, too shocked (and laughing too hard) to move, and afraid that his dirty hands would try to touch me. It took a good three minutes before I summoned up the courage to run past him, laughing hysterically (if not laughing, I would have been crying). Finally, I barely got past - when he apparently took a liking to us and started following us down the moving walkway. Between swigs of beer, he sang us showtunes among a myriad other, less-recognizable songs. We were fine, however - five girls versus one, extremely inebriated man . . . as long as he kept to his own personal space, we were fine. . . . Not so much. He then decided to lean in and touch Brittany's cheek with one extremely unsanitary finger. At that point, we decided we had no choice but to bid Mr. Crazy adieu. We had to outwit him with a plan - and fast. Finally, realizing that he had just been wandering around the metro station aimlessly, I asked him "Where's your train? You don't want to miss it!" He tipsily agreed, and wandered down a random train's platform while waving at us, presumably to terrorize another group of unsuspecting commuters. We got on the train and inspected Brittany's face, remarking how - having observed many a Parisian man urinate on the street - he probably had unhygienic bodily fluids on his hands. Brittany, in her usually open, relaxed demeanor, said "well, everybody poops!" "True," I countered, "but not everyone has Hepatitis B!" Fortunately, one of Michelle's visitors had an anti-bacterial wipe in her purse and we were able to wipe the offending bacteria off of Britt's face before we arrived in the Latin Quarter.
In the Latin Quarter, we took Michelle's guests to our favorite piano bar with our favorite Turkish bartenders, Takis and Ali. As soon as we walked in, we were shushed by the restaurant patrons. We soon realized that the bar was so quiet because the guy on stage was about to propose to his girlfriend. It was one of the cutest things we had ever experienced! After he proposed, the whole bar clapped and the pinao man sang a song in the couple's honor. We sat next to some British guys, and a very drunk British girl who kept stealing pictures off of the walls. The songs were classics - everything from jazz to "Grease" to Frank Sinatra - everyone joined into a rousing rendition of "New York, New York," and I had a pang of homesickness for the US. We were apparently having TOO much fun, as, amazingly, a (presumably Parisian) girl next to us decided to SHUSH us . . . in a BAR!!! Someone needs to get out a little more . . .
No comments:
Post a Comment