to Paris. From Charles de Galle (which I have absolutely no
recollection of now) I took the train into the city, switched to the
Paris Metro (a fraternal twin to D.C.) and got off at Saint-Paul, in
the Marais district.
The hotel was just two blocks away. I picked up the key from the desk,
climbed 5 flights (Who takes the elevator? Umm, me and Carol for the
next two days.) and collapsed on a twin bed in a small room decorated
in golden yellows and orange.
Carol appeared 15 minutes later, having been at the Musee d'Orsay. I
was so happy to see her, even in my sleepy state. And she had a plan
for our afternoon - the annual Gay Pride Parade was today and ending
at the Bastille, just a few blocks away.
OK! Let's go!
It seemed like the entirety of Paris showed up. The first big float -
really, a tractor-trailer with the side cut off, just the frame
showing, and bedecked with balloons - met an excited crowd. And
then ... That was it?
Not quite. It seems people join the parade as it goes. A mob partied
between each float, slowing the processional to a standstill at times.
So we walked the route, passing floats, brightly costumed drag
queens, shirtless gyrating men. Paris was having a blast!
Not to mention lots of balloons, some quite suggestive. Carol called
this a "Where's Waldo" photo...