Unexpectedly gay Paris

It was a bright hot summers day as I cleared passport control at Paris CDG airport. My hosts had given me detailed instructions, and so made my way to the train wandering somewhat aimlessly past the numerous people collecting for “deaf” charities (pro tip: they’re everywhere, its a scam, don’t give them any money).

There I took the RER to the elegant and efficient Paris metro, which in turn took me to the colourful 18th arrondissement where I was staying a mere stones throw from the infamous Moulin Rouge.

I had trouble finding the alleyway entrance to the flat, but thankfully one of the local muscle bound transvestite hookers on the corner gave me helpful directions. Interesting place Paris, I thought to myself, and made a point to say good morning to them when ever I saw them.

The local area has plenty more than helpful hookers to offer, so after I met my wonderful hosts and had a bite to eat, I went for a wander.

Have you met the French? My god they know how to party.

Next day, I was up bright and early and headed into town. My hosts very kindly provided me with some bus tickets and directions and I was soon by the river.

I wandered around pretty much aimlessly, enjoying the sunshine and the historic views, and generally soaking up the atmosphere. I watched people play Boules and even bought a game of Capoeira with a bunch of Capoeristas I happened upon.

They politely handed me my arse, but it was all good fun.

By early afternoon I had worked up an appetite, and while wandering the streets for food it became clear that something was about to happen.

Not being local I was initially slightly concerned I had wandered into something which could turn nasty (used to, as I am, the traditional Metropolitan police “Kettle and beat those inside into a bloody pulp” method of crowd control), but the appearance of street vendors soon put me at ease.

So, I bought a beer from one of the nearest Dibblers and found a spot to stand in the rapidly coalescing crowds.

It was not long before I saw the first rainbow flag appear, and I realised I had stumbled on Paris Gay Pride.

Awesome.

The rest of the afternoon was a blur of elaborate costumes and disco music – if you think Notting hill carnival but with more bondage you wouldn’t be too far off the mark.

I do recall having my nipples tweaked on numerous occasions (which I have concluded is a sign of affection), and among other things spending some time dancing atop a bus shelter to Gloria Gaynor in the company of a charming girl who’s name I totally failed to catch.

The parade passed and the Gendarmerie gently shuffled the revellers onwards to make room for the army of street sweeper trucks. Within twenty minutes the streets were spotless and one would have never guessed anything had happened there (pay attention UK, this is how you’re meant to do cleanup).

I followed the revellers for a little before my stomach asserted its desire for something other than beer and I went to find food, so I oriented myself in the rough direction of where I was staying and began walking.

The Parisians seemed to have used Pride as an excuse for some wonderful street parties, and I passed through several on the way back to the apartment.

The tower

The next day I engaged in a little more traditional sight seeing and headed down to the Arc de triomphe and the tower. The sun was beating down as I stood and pondered about how on earth people drive around the Arc and stay alive.

I shrugged and struck out in the direction of the tower.

Anyway, I made it to the tower, and the queue to go up had by this time stretched around the block. So, I instead went for a wander down by the river and the parks surrounding the Champs-Élysées for some lunch.

Later that evening my hosts had kindly invited me to join them for a family meal and a movie. So I chilled with them for a while before sitting and writing my post cards in the roof garden.

I lay on the roof in the summer heat listening to the sounds of Paris and watching the lights of the tower. I lay back and stared up at the cloudless sky and watched as the ISS passed silently overhead.

Too short a time…

After a last wander around, I said goodbye to my hosts and hit the metro to the airport.

I cleared security and sat down for some food. A text message alerted me that my flight had been cancelled. Perhaps I would be spending a little longer in Paris than I planned.

But thankfully my rule of only taking hand luggage saved me, and I was soon transferred onto an earlier flight.

As the plane taxied out I chatted to my neighbour. They had been there for a business trip and expressed a certain amount of envy at my weekend.

As the plane took off and circled towards home I watched the Paris landmarks dwindle in the distance and made a pledge to head back this way again soon.