Charles's post reminded me of the most memorable aspect of our mad dash across Paris:
[Note: It takes more than 1.5 hours to walk from Montparnasse to Gare de Nord. Walking fast. Do not attempt to do this with a 2-hour window between TGV trains.]
I was walking along the Boulevard de Sebastpol, trying to keep up with my husband, Speedy Halloran, when suddenly a teenager on a bicycle jumped the curb and came straight at me. He was going super-fast, which is odd since he had at least 15 feet to hit the brakes, so perhaps he had no brakes? I dunno.
I ducked to the side, and he twisted, and he missed me. But he nearly hit the French lady behind me. Charles began to curse him out, shouting, but then retired from the field of battle. Why?
The French lady, who was wheeling a potted plant in a baby carriage and towing a small, fluffy dog alongside, opened her mouth and let loose a string of what I can only imagine to be gutter, potty, devilish, angry French. It was like the Opera, only including words I don't know and don't wish ever to be screamed at me.
Charles and I kept walking, and we agreed that since she was so formidable, she could take over the chastisement, thankyouverymuch.
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