Day 5: Le Bateau Mouche d’Amour

Arriving an hour before our train to France at St Pancras station, we find the place eerily still. That is because everyone in the know knows that these trains are like wild beasts, impossible to predict until they alight on one particular track ten minutes before they are set to depart, and it behooves everyone to wait until that magic moment to form a mob and storm the Eurostar. Even if a certain 2 year old has decided to take his shoes and socks off but moments before.

The ride once we crashed it was enormously civilized, and we took advantage of the policy of unlimited refills of our rosé. I also practiced the address of our hotel, and what to say to our taxi driver when we arrived in Paris. “S’il vous plait, nous conduire à St Germain des Prés, à l'Hôtel du Danube, à cinquante-huit Rue du Jacob.”

Moments after we arrived at the Gard du Nord, we were in the queue, waiting for a taxi. Suddenly, there was a parting of the line, and we were ushered through, with the explanation, “You have a family.”

This, by the way, was the way we were treated throughout Paris. So much for the reputation of the prickly Parisiens.

I told the driver, “Sivoplay, noo condwere a San Germahn day Pray, ah Lotel du Danyoob, a sickant wheat roodoo Jaycub.” And miraculously, he took us there!
Hotel du Danube we picked because it offered a reasonably priced suite, but Room #16 was big (for a European hotel room) with enough space for a cot for Mikey, and a little cheaper, so we went for that. The downstairs was pale green and the upstairs was tangerine toile, patterns and colors that only the French can get away with.

Mikey was asleep, after being absolutely perfect on the train, so we waited until he woke up to begin our exploration of Paris. Despite the quality of the double-decker tour the day before, we decided to its equivalent in Paris, the tour down the Seine on the bateaux mouches. We walked from our hotel halfway across Paris along the river before giving up and letting a nice taxi driver, who didn’t have a taxi, but a bicycle with a carriage in back take us the rest of the way to the launch.

The boy did not have a lot more interest in the tour than he did in the double-decker, though he did enjoy screaming at the top of his lungs (like everyone else) when we passed under a bridge. No, what inspired him was a little girl about his age named Simone. She was cute and chic, possibly Senegalese, and Mikey followed her all over the bateau, giving her hugs when she’d let him. Ian and I took turns chasing the two around the boat.

When we’d catch them in an embrace, those around them would smile and say, “Ah, c’est Paris.”

Sadly, the relationship was not to be, and by the time we were back on dry land, the aim was to find food. In no time, we were at a café on the left bank, and Mikey devoured a plate of charcouterie and we found our way home. Eventually.

Turns out it’s really damn easy to get lost in Paris, which isn’t necessarily bad when you’re not in a hurry.