An evening in Paris

I popped over to Paris last weekend to watch the Tour de France. Saturday passed peacefully enough with my host, Anne, showing me the sights of Paris (and me trying my best not to order the Octopuses scrotum at a Chinese restaurant).

Sunday, however, was a different story. After watching the Britain (ahem), Mark Cavendish, win on the Champs Elysees I wondered over to Monmart. Alighting the Metro at Pigalle, I was greeted with the sight of Boulevard de Clichy, the red light district of Paris, lined with sex shops and strip clubs. I made my "hmm...interesting" face and walked along the Boulevard declining kind offers of "monsieur, three girls, only 5 euro". Having come to the end of the Boulevard I took a right for no apparent reason and ended up in a road full of posh street cafes. Finding it difficult to choose a cafe I sat down at one which had a three man (flute, trumpet, saxophone) band playing something which sounded like Siantra's Strangers in the night (actually it went more like, "strangers in the night...don't you dare fucking look at me") and ordered an espresso.

Sipping my espresso I embarked on my favourite activity in Paris - imagining conversations between random people. Two young men were sitting at the table next to mine (in Parisian cafes tables are so close together that when you break bread, crumbs will literally fall on the closest table) and having the following conversation:
Man 1: Things are going from bad to worse. My coffee was half a degree too hot today.
Man2: Yes, my bathroom did not have hot water tonight.
Man 1: The state is neglecting us. Forgetting we have rights.
Man 2: (throwing a fist in the air) We must revolt.
Man 1: Yes we must!
Man 2: Maybe we should check out the strip club first.
Man 1: Yes. That's a good idea.

Feeling a little guilty about taking up valuable space in an expensive cafe with only an espresso I asked for the menu and, in a bout of ill-advised bravado, ordered a plate of snails. When the snails arrived (at which point an American couple close to me got up and left in disgust) I gave them a curious look and tried to figure out how to eat them. This was clearly not an easy task- a green preservatory liquid was oozing out of the shells and I was dipping my bread in it but I refused to believe I was paying so much money for some green tasteless liquid. I sneakily tried to google "how to eat snails" on my phone but the young revolutionaries were looking at me and saying, "look, look he's trying to cheat". I made another stab at the snail, picking up the shell and turning it upside down (not a good idea if you don't want green goo on your jeans) at which point the waiter, unable to bear my incompetence anymore , came up to me and, in quick french, showed me how to operate tongs and picks to eat the snails. By this time the revolutionaries were laughing their heads off and, after devouring the snails (which, for the record, taste like fried mud) I called for the bill with a quick exit in mind.

I eventually left the cafe but the wondrous inefficiency of the French meant I had to wait fifteen minutes for the bill which gave a Nigerian couple next to me (who didn't think I understood English) time to debate whether I was a "man or a boy". I didn't know whether to feel pleased about this and wandered off to find some frogs legs.

London #7

Came across this lovely bookstore while walking around in Marleybone this afternoon. Daunts Books is a beautiful Edwardian bookstore built almost entirely of wood. It specialises in travelogues and is described by The Telegraph as "the beautiful bookstore for travelers". Anyway, it neatly fits into London #7.

London # 8

This is the first post on this blog which embeds a movie. This means one of two things: (1) My ability to express myself in words has continued on its downward spiral or (2) I expect today's technology to be sufficiently advance for this video to download in the time it takes me to eat a piece of fried chicken.

In any case, this video which Sryon took while we were hopelessly lost on the tube pretty much sums up London No. 8 - Buskers on the Underground.

London # 9

Pubs with names like "Ye Olde Cock Tavern".

London # 10

I shall soon be leaving London for a lengthy period of time to live a foreign land where I don't understand the language (see how I make Belgium sound exotic). At anyrate, I thought I'd have a few post about things I like and dislike about the city. So here's Things I like about London #10 - Signs telling you which way to look when you step off the pavement.

2nd Spot

I once explained to somebody that there is a bizarre rule of etiquette in professional cycling which mandates that even a severely injured challenger do his best to complete a race even if he comes second. This allows the winner to say that he was challenged by a genuine competitor. The idea being that a cyclist's greatness is measured only by the ability of the opposition he defeats.

The notion is of course not exclusive to cycling and today Andy Roddick showed us why. Someone who has lost in the 30th game of the fifth set in a Wimbledon final could only have been playing the very greatest. With Federer entering the Championships on the back of a French Open win and with no Nadal to thwart him, the general feeling was that barring a British miracle in the form of Andy Murray, Federer's march into the history books would be an unchallenged and uninspiring affair. Roddick made a mockery of this theroy and everything else that had been said about him being a has-been and, in doing so, confirmed Federer's status as the greatest ever.

I consider myself privileged to have been able to watch a game which overshadowed last years Wimbledon final.

An Email

Its not often that a work related email at circa 10 pm makes me smile but the one below did. It reminded me of a friend. Only a handful of my readers will know why. To you guys, I point you to the subject line.

"From: Associate
Sent: Wed 6/17/2009 9:51 PM
To: Rahul Saha
Subject: 2 things

1. we do need to do an authorities bundle tomorrow morning

2. i need a reference - pls could you call?

thanks"