Salsa dancing on the Seine with new friends and the random men who proposed to us. There are worse ways to spend a Paris evening.
Each Paris morning, my friend LuAnne and I people watch at an outdoor café while drinking café and eating pain chocolat.
On Sunday around noon, we found a secret staircase that led to a less-secret street, landed in the outdoor café du jour, and ordered croissants and café. (As it turns out, pain chocolat is served only in the mornings. Café owners take offense if you ask them for pain chocolat after 11 a.m.)
That’s when it started. A French woman with the mouth of a truckdriver got in my face and screamed (in French), “Keep your friends close but your bread closer!”
LuAnne: That’s not what she said.
Carolyn: She did too. Your problem is you don’t understand French.
LuAnne: Your problem is you make things up.
Carolyn: Well at least we have a handle on each other’s core issues.
The woman then entered the apartment across the street and yelled at us from her window.
Next, LuAnne and I headed to St. Ouen flea market, where a well-dressed man stole bread from us.
Keep your friends close but your bread closer.
I won’t make you jealous by telling you about every single detail of the rest of this most fabulous day in Paris. I will, however, note that we bought black market Metro tickets, contemplated stile jumping, befriended a Sacre-Coeur mime, spoke loads of Spanish, received a few marriage proposals, went salsa dancing on the Seine, snuck into a speakeasy called the Curio Parlor Cocktail Club, tried to break into a street toilet (“they’re very sanitary!” ~ LuAnne), saw a woman walk backward up and down the street, and drank piscos in Paris.
Oh, and we now refer to LuAnne as Joanna from Idaknow, the salsa-dancing capital of Vancouver, Canada, land of universal happiness and healthcare.
