“Careful What You Wish For, Harry”
This post is actually about bike riding in the Bois de Boulogne but before I get there, a little bit of backstory…
Last night at dinner I asked Harry what he thought of my blog. I had sent him the one about us arriving and getting settled into our apt. He said he looked at the first photo of all the suitcases and glanced at the caption and said ‘boring’, and stopped reading. I blanched.
“Really, you didn’t make it past the first photo?…..yikes. That IS bad.” and I shook my head.
“Mom, the thing is you need a HOOK. You have to hit your readers with something interesting that really pulls them into wanting to read whatever it is you are droning on about. From what I’ve seen so far, it’s not very titillating. You need some sex in there. Sex sells.”
..Nothing like some solid writing advice from one’s 14 year old son who routinely says he can’t stand reading.
Our conversation then turned to what we were going to do the next day. I said that I had read about this massive forested park that is close by and had ideas about taking the bikes and riding through it. That suggestion was met with lukewarm response from Team Testosterone but Roo was slightly intrigued to try the electric assisted bikes I had been raving about. (I love the electric assisted bikes here that you rent through the Uber app on your phone because they have a built in basket to carry stuff and with the electric assist it means for me I don’t sweat at all while doing errands, and I love that. I’m all about sweating at the gym, but when I’m out and about, trying to be french and effortlessly chic in my ‘I woke up like this’ outfit on my bike, sweat rolling between the boobs is not the desired effect.)
I explained to the guys that the park is 4x larger than Stanley Park in Vancouver (and 2.5x larger than Central Park in NYC.) It features several lakes, a waterfall, two botanical gardens, a chateau, a zoo, an amusement park, two horse racing tracks, 2 hippodromes (which I had to look up what those are…they disappointingly have zero to do with hippos, wink wink), a tennis stadium where the French Open is held each year and the Louis Vuitton Foundation.
Because I’m a tourist, I read about the history of the park. It’s long and fascinating as one might expect. (And I’m not being sarcastic for once.) It was a hunting ground and pleasure garden; Marie Antoinette had a bet with her brother in law about building a castle there in record time; numerous famous people were murdered there, and the first manned free-flight in a hot air balloon happened there. Napoleon III is mostly credited with its current state. Apparently he decided the city needed a park like Hyde park in London and so two vast areas of land were dedicated to making two giant parks on either side of Paris. And fun fact (or very boring fact according to Harry) no ruler before Napoleon III or after has ever created more green space in Paris. In his 17 years of reign he created more than 4500 acres of green space’ for princes and paupers alike to enjoy’.
Life in the park was written about by famous authors Emile Zola and Gustave Flaubert, and the park was the subject of many paintings by artists Eduard Manet, Pierre-Auguste Renoir, Vincent Van Gogh and Mary Cassatt. In the late 1800s the park also housed an ethnological garden, or what critics called a ‘human zoo.’ Groups of inhabitants from faraway countries were put on display for weeks in reconstructed villages of their homelands. Terribly un-pc but also really fascinating!!–Like a living National Geographic magazine! Or so I thought. My entourage however, was decidedly less enthusiastic.
Nevertheless I was keen we hop on the bikes and do a little rip around the park to check it out. It sounded rich in history, and beautiful and interesting and I’m always keen to do a little spin on trails without cars. Harry wanted no part of the adventure but I insisted he come get some fresh air and perhaps a little education. We woke up that morning and it was cloudy so I was further encouraged this would be a great day to bike because we wouldn’t be too hot.
Well, let’s just say, we were definitely not too hot. What began as a pleasant light sprinkle of moisture rapidly turned into torrential downpour. I was wearing white shorts and Roo was wearing white pants and he was very alarmed our appearance was about to become scandalous. Little did we know, however, that our ‘white tee shirt’ contest of the lower body was the least of our worries. A few pedal strokes into the forest we passed numerous groups of pretty sketchy looking individuals who we later ascertained were drug dealers.
The park was mainly devoid of people which made it all the more perplexing to see scantily clad women standing at trail intersections, or sitting in lawn chairs (under umbrellas when it started to rain.) We noticed many vans parked at the sides of the road (which the bike path ran parallel to) and all of the vans had their windows covered, and some had welcome mats. All had scarves tied around their sideview mirrors. It didn’t take long to figure out we weren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, and had ridden into what we now refer to as the ‘Bordello de Boulogne’. Van upon van lined the road with a little bit of breathing space between each one. The breathing space we later saw was where the Johns would pull in and park their cars before wandering back to haggle over prices and services with the ladies seated at the roadside or in their vans when the rain started.
As we biked along the path, it became a sort of reverse parade of sexy outfits, them remaining still, and us riding past. While I looked on with huge interest and curiosity, Harry looked the other way, and I thought poor Roo was about to have a panic attack. He was mostly okay until we witnessed an actual transaction and then he got a very angry looking face and expressed how entirely “offended” he was with “this whole prostitution situation.”
I, of course, couldn’t help but exclaim with unfettered glee that this was in fact JUST the sort of hook Harry was suggesting I harness for my next blog post. He looked at me under wet curls sticking to his forehead and said “This is without a doubt in the top 10 worst things I have EVER done.”
Hehehe….that tickled my sense of humor in the same inappropriate way I often find things to be hilarious that really shouldn’t be. Harry continued:
“Like honestly, Mom, this whole biking adventure of yours is THE WORST. And I thought shopping was bad!”
(At which point James gave him that knowing look of ‘See, shopping and long lunches isn’t looking so bad, is it?! Told you you should have been more enthusiastic about MY suggestions.’…)
So there you have it. I have now lost all rights with my family to plan outings. It was apparently the worst 2 hours they have spent of their lives. (Which had me pointing out just what wonderful lives they indeed enjoy which, no surprise went over like a lead balloon.) My efforts to point out some vistas I thought were pretty (see photos below) were met with disparaging looks and they were equally unenthused with the flock of geese we saw.
“Look guys! It’s Canadian Geese!!!” I called out in front of me to 3 bodies hunched over bicycles, rain running down their shoulders. Not one of them even turned their heads to look. Only Harry took his hand off the handlebars to reach behind him to flip me his own version of a Canadian bird.
