A few bumps in la rue

Unexpected weather and a minor encounter with the authorities.

It was pouring down rain, complete with thunder and lightning, when I awoke this morning in Paris. But the sun came out pretty soon thereafter. I checked the weather forecast before I went out at lunch: 0% change of precipitation for the rest of the day.

I had lunch at the winner of the best lobster roll competition in the USA or maybe the world. The staff was charming and very enthusiastic, so I didn’t delve into the fine points.

I ordered the Connecticut, which is their bestseller, and their own house made beer, some kind of pale ale. Can’t really comment on the ale, but the logo on the bottle was great and now resides in my journal.

The roll was delicious, as were the vinegar chips. May have to go back to try their other offerings.

Then I went to one of my favorite bookshops in France, the oldest English-language shop on the Continent, Librairie Gagliani. There were all kinds of admonitions, including the usual requirements to wear a mask and use the hand gel immediately upon entering the shop, and the not-so-usual ones, not to page through the books and not to spend much time in the shop, the latter two which I happily ignored. I did not dare to sit down, as I have done on previous visits, even though I was once told I was not allowed to browse through books while sitting down. I refrained then from asking what the chairs were for.

I guess I was feeling a bit feisty today, as I had just had a brief run-in with the law!

A few minutes earlier, as I was strolling down the rue de Rivoli, I had a sudden need for a bathroom. So I popped into the nearest hotel lobby and searched quickly for a toilet sign. I made my way down the stairs, all the while a man at the desk was shouting at me in French. I ignored him. He then dashed down the stairs behind me, yelling that I was not allowed to use the facilities. I ignored this, too.

What was slightly harder to ignore was the fact that he flung himself against the bathroom door and forced it open. I had no choice to but to fling myself even harder from the inside and swiftly managed to lock the door. I had visions of him waiting outside the door and/or calling the gendarmes, who would then arrest me when I emerged.

Then I thought to myself, what would be the charge? Trespassing? I doubted that the concierge, apparently alone in the lobby, could muster the energy to summon the authorities for such a transgression.

NOTE TO HOTEL: if it is forbidden to use the facilities, maybe you should LOCK THE DOORS.

Shortly thereafter, I strode out of the bathroom, up the stairs, and out onto the street. Dashed down la rue and into the nearest shop, which turned out to be . . . the bookshop.

I admit that I hid behind a column or two and bent down behind several large of stacks of books until I was sure the coast was clear.

By the time I had gathered my very conservative load of purchases, I was pretty sure I was not about to be taken into custody. Looked outside the big windows to see the rain coming down in sheets. So much for Météo Agricole.

I leave you with a few scenes from my lunchtime stroll.

The weekend awaits! Museums, galleries! The cheese-tasting Zoom course! And—wait for it! My father is twirling in his grave!—I APPLIED to go to church on Sunday!