We managed to find a cafe that was open last night. Sunday nights are fairly quiet in Paris, but it was the European Football Championship between Spain and Germany, so we found a sports bar that was open near our hotel, but only after walking quite a ways. Angie-sans-Zoloft and I are completely different travelers. She has her Rick Steve and Frommers books, and I have my sense of adventure. But I think we work well together. When I get into a jam with my wandering, she is there with a map or some piece of information, and when she is overwhelmed with the planning, I am happy to lead us on a walkabout. All is well.
We were seated very close to the television, which had a long crack running down it. I imagine it getting there when France was ousted from the championship, and an upset Parisian threw his glass at it. “Quatre s’il vous plaît?” I asked the bartender. “Oui, oui,” he replied, then asked me if we wanted dinner or just to drink, and of course I was lost. I know just enough French to have people begin to converse with me, then it’s “Parlez vous Anglais?” So he put us next to the television where we watch Spain defeat Germany. Our waiter said he spoke a little English, so when I asked him about a menu item that I didn’t understand, he hesitated and then said “That is a piece of meat.” That sounded good enough to me, so I ordered it, thinking it probably some kind of steak, and it was. The others got salad or a cheeseburger, and we enjoyed being in Paris together on a lovely Sunday evening, but that was soon to change.
It was near midnight, and St. Judy and I were on the Internet doing various things when Angie-sans-Zoloft came into the room and said Deliverance is on television. I knew I shouldn’t have, but we turn it on and watched it dubbed in French. Deliverance is a horrific film in its own right, a story of the cruelty of nature and humans in it, and both the book and the film touched a nerve in American culture that still aches today. But hearing the French-dubbed version disturbed me more than I can describe. Of course we began watching just before the climax, so to speak, of the novel, when the mountain man sodomizes Bobby and Lewis kills the other one. I knew the dialogue by heart, but when I heard it in French, I shuddered. This should not be happening, I said out loud. But it was like a car wreck that I couldn’t take my eyes off of. It was just wrong, and I won’t soon be over it. I slept fitfully last night, but thankfully, I don’t recall any dreams. What I do recall, and always will, is Wild Bill McKinney, the actor who plays the rapist, saying “Excusez-moi” during the scene. I shudder to even write it here. Paris disturbia.
Fortunately, today we did the Musee de Louvre, and I washed my mind of such things by seeing the amazing Victory at Samothrace, the Mona Lisa, the Venus de Milo, the Code of Hammurabi, and The Raft of the Medusa. My favorite, however, is Cupid and Psyche, which I happily share with you now. Tonight the ballet. La vie est bonne.
sounds like a great trip so far!! also, the further east you go, the closer you get to hong kong.
By: Liz on July 1, 2008
at 3:22 am