L’Observateur : On the Dark Side Edition

Photo by Elli Shoemaker

I got caught in four heavy downpours this week, which produced three thorough soakings, two downed beers, an abbreviated tennis match, and a double rainbow.

A few weeks ago we went to eat with a big group at Dans le Noir, the restaurant where you eat in total darkness. When we arrived they took our order – I chose the “surprise” menu – and then the blind wait staff led us through a series of curtains into the pitch-black abyss. Apparently, when put into this situation, some people talk VERY LOUDLY and others not at all. I was expecting sensory-deprivation- tank psychosis, but instead took the opportunity to eat with my fingers and drink more than my share of the wine. Not that being in a lit restaurant would make much difference on either account, but this time I got away with it. The appetizer was some kind of Asian-y roll thing. The entrée was beef and something. Altogether not great food (nor was there a lot of it), but it was fun passing things around the table and trying to find my napkin when it fell on the floor.

The bike lane that runs on either side of Boulevard Magenta is the worst in Paris because it’s sandwiched on the sidewalk between where people cross the street/get off the bus and the actual sidewalk where people are supposed to, you know, walk. To survive the gauntlet, you have to ring your bell the entire way or face the likelihood of planting your front tire in a baby stroller or possibly up someone’s ass. So, out of frustration, I pedaled into the bus lane – in front of a car containing two traffic cops. After about three blocks of them honking and waving and yelling and trying to get me to turn around, I sidled back up into the bike lane. At the next light they pulled up next to me. She said [paraphrased], “I’m speaking French to you and telling you that you were riding in the bus lane and you can’t do that... and I’m thinking about giving you a ticket.” I pulled my earbud out of my left ear, looked at her like I was really confused, and said “WHUT?!” in a nice, thick Texas accent. She said, “Okay, bye,” and they drove off.

PSG did not get relegated.

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