Bonjour,
Well here we are; a newish couple deciding to go “all in” and travel together through Europe for the next 6 weeks. 24hrs / 7 days a week of just the two of us navigating the badlands of Western Europe. One of us can get emotional at certain times of the month, and this ramps to being almost unhinged when they get hungry. So good luck to Krys in managing my emotional fluctuations (she’s as stable as a rock).
Our relationship has survived the first few days and we are currently on a train shooting between Paris and Bordeaux while nursing hangovers from last night’s overindulgence. The child in the seat behind has just stopped kicking; just before I showed Krys my “emotional side” so early in the trip. I’d assume turning around and telling a French parent in a mangled translation that I would like to slap their child would not present me as quality “future father” material. I remain a work in progress (or to be more accurate “a works that has just been started”).
We started in London for 3 days where everything I told Krys in terms of what to expect was the opposite. As we were landing I had told her to be prepared for the nightmare that is Heathrow, with the never ending customs line and a 50/50 chance of lost luggage. Plus even though we were heading into summer, the weather would be ordinary. Well we landed to a customs queue of 4 people, our baggage already on the carousel, and a perfect blue sky 30deg day. She is already learning a key lesson – to ignore most of what I say.
While in London we went to the usual sights; The only unsettling piece was Krys’ fascination with the torture room in London Tower – I think I’ll just do the washing up with a smile from now on rather than risk having my sphinchter squeezed out my nose. The Whisper Wall in St Paul’s cathedral was also interesting. On the 2nd level you can turn, whisper into the wall and another person at the opposite end of the dome can hear the whisper clearly by having their ear to the wall. Was a bit hard to figure out what was Krys’ voice to start with, until I could clearly make out someone talking about the inadequacies of their boyfriend………
We were also in town for the Queen’s opening of the new parliament. While the pomp and pageantry is impressive (including row upon row of horsemen guiding the queen in her gold, horse-drawn carriage), I fail to see how rows of men in restrictive uniforms and funny hats on horseback would be effective when it comes to modern warfare. I’ll back the flame throwing drones any day.
Then it was on to Paris, and it didn’t disappoint. An incredibly beautiful city full of amazing sights, food and of course wine. The Louvre, Notre Dame and Eiffel Tower were beautiful, although at my advancing age and waistline some lifts and some escalators would be appreciated. And apart from the sights, the streets are full of florists, bakeries, fruit and veg markets, cafes and book stores. The Parisian attitude to tv programming also should be commended. Channel 35 of free to air tv certainly provided some effective educational content for any child curious about the birds and the bees. And perhaps some moves for me to add to my repertoire, if only I could add some more flexibility into my hamstrings…….
The language has been ok; we have the basics down apart from a slight mis-step for the first few days – Krys very convincingly told me that ‘you’re welcome’ in French was ‘deriere’. I believed her for two days even though the use of the word would draw some quizzical looks. But after one look too many, the phrase book revealed that ‘deriere’ actually meant ‘ass’. So when French people had been thanking me I had been looking them in the eye and saying ‘ass’. Not surprising I didn’t immediately bond with the locals.
But last night was by far our most interesting. We set out to see ‘Moulin Rouge’ in the naughty area of Paris. An 11pm show meant it was a late start, and some Metro works meant the train dropped us a long way from where we needed to be, and at the dodgiest part of town imaginable. Think of a Parisian Claymore after dark but 100 times worse (with apologies to anyone who actually lives in Claymore). Hordes of dodgy men lean against shuttered shops and leer at anyone who walks past. Tension and humidity hang heavy in the air, with a sense that at any time a thinly contained threat of violence could erupt. This was not a place to pull out a Lonely Planet and a compass to plot our next transportation option so after walking in confused circles for 15 minutes (I just kept muttering to Krys ‘just keep moving’) we basically leapt into a passing cab to safety.
Once we got there, the Moulin Rouge show was amazing; and not just for the endless row of boobs on show (although they were impressive – not that I was looking – I was just impressed with the athleticism of the performers). The dancing, costumes, live snakes, acrobatics…. the whole show was like a topless entertainment feast. So after the show we decided when in Rome, seek out a strip joint. That’s where our night got really interesting.
We stumbled on a place where the doorman gave a convincing ‘nice place, ladies half price – you won’t get harassed like other clubs’. We got inside to find that he was at least partially right – there was no chance of being harassed when there was a total of 4 other people in the place, with a centre piece being a disinterested, gravity ravaged older lady half heartedly walking around a pole. It was impressive to see one of the other couples in the place indulging in a lap dance though – with the man getting wriggled on by a lady who had even less teeth than rhythm while his obviously bored wife sat patiently beside him – she took the term ‘understanding wife’ to a level I didn’t think was imaginable.
Within 10mins we had been moved; apparently we had been seated at a lap dancing table and Krys was not as understanding as the lady next door. So our spot was taken by a 50yr old awkward looking Sri Lankan man who began to enjoy his lap dance. At this point, we had had enough (this place was terrible) so went to leave only to realise that we had left our umbrella at the lap dancing table. It was raining hard outside and we needed it back.
So it was quite a dilemma – is it allowable to interrupt a lap dance to retrieve an umbrella? I thought not, but Krys saw a window when the dancer had briefly climbed off our Sri Lankan friend to reposition for the next stage of her “performance”. With a subtle ‘while you are up’ Krys requested the umbrella and after rustling through coats, bags, dresses, and bras, the umbrella was returned. Obviously we made a hasty exit.
So now we are on our way to Bordeaux. Surely this will be a little more sedate than our Parisian experience.
Au revoir and derriere.
Trent and Krystal
smallthoughts 