The Inaccurate Tourist

24. Asterix

I am a rollerblading fool. I had two New Year resolutions this year -- chess and rollerblading -- and it's the season for rollerblading. In my last report, I had already ceased toddling back and forth along Les Invalides and did an exploratory tour along the Seine with Nancy and Antonio.

The next tour was on and through the streets of Paris -- a large step up in difficulty. We managed pretty well for the first bit, because we were guided by Jean-Paul. Paris is flat enough, and there are plenty of broad sidewalks and empty bus lanes, if you know the routes. If you don't know the routes, you're liable to end up on the endless narrow and cobbled streets that are very charming and distinctive, but not very easy to roll over.

But there is a subtle distinction between 'flat enough' and 'flat', which led to my spectacular fall. It only takes a couple of blocks descent, say for example at Saint Michel, going down towards the Seine. If somebody were to hypothetically make this descent without a sound grasp of braking principles, they might find that the bus lane empties into a busy street of traffic. If I were faced with the choice of entering cross traffic (certain death), or deliberately hitting a taxi to stop, I can honestly say I would choose the taxi.

I had prepared myself for the impending crash, so most of my energy was dissipated in my outstretched arms. Unfortunately, enough speed was left over to send my face against the taxi, my glasses flying and to leave me sprawled on the road.

I wasn't really hurt (although my glasses may never sit straight again). I had the shakes from the massive adrenaline overdose, and my chin was kind of bloody and my right middle finger hurt a bit. It looked and sounded sufficiently spectacular that a crowd gathered around and looked kind of sick.

We continued the tour through Paris all the way around the canal locks (where Amélie skipped her stones after illegally forcing her way through the barriers) and to Place de la Bastille. A band had set up with their instruments and amplifiers on one of the barges on the canal, so we watched them play while they went through the locks and into the underground tunnel.

Later that evening, when it was getting dark, we stopped at La Troisième Bureau for something to eat. I had carpaccio de canard for the first time -- thin slices of raw duck marinated in oil and herbs and served with a sauce of crushed olives. Absolutely amazing.

It was dark and I was dressed entirely in black, so we decided to rollerblade across the city back to the fourteenth arrondissement.

I deliberately didn't take any pictures of my swollen chin, because it wouldn't be fair to inflict that on you. I'm sure you'd much rather see this charming picture of Maria, who visited me with her boyfriend Aaron -- my second visitors. They're touring France and Greece in between graduating with their postgraduate degrees from MIT (that's Dr. Maria) and taking jobs.

I know Aaron a bit from school, but mainly from post-University grouse grinding days. This is the first time I'd met Maria, but according to French customs I got to kiss her on both cheeks in front of her boyfriend. Hahaha. We ate at a little French restaurant La Gitane, where I ate rabbit for the first time. Apparently, because rabbits have such little bones, it is considered courteous to eat it with your fingers -- the alternative is for everybody to wait for you to finish.

I won't bore you with the food-obsessed details, such as the cheese plate (wearing Aaron down until he admitted that he likes Roquefort) or the dessert (I had the cooked pears in Saboyan sauce -- an egg, wine and sugar mixture), or the coffee.

For Canada Day, I was feeling a bit rough from the taxi collision, so I didn't bake any cookies or hang up maple leaves or anything. I drew a picture of Canada on the whiteboard and hung an empty bottle of Canada Dry from the light cord (the Champagne of Ginger Ales is sufficiently known here). I didn't go to the Moosehead, but I took a picture from the last time Aaron was here.

I just went and found a bottle of Canada Dry to check -- it doesn't say "The Champagne of Ginger Ale" on it! It's logical, the French are already pretty sensitive about advertising foods named after a region -- you can't sell a wine as Bordeaux unless it comes from Bordeaux.

I also visited Parc Asterix on the weekend. This is a large theme park along the lines of Disneyland, but oriented towards our favourite French comic book hero Asterix the Gaul. The Gauls, of course, were the people that inhabited France before the Roman invasion, and Asterix's village wasn't conquered with the rest (following the fall of Vercingetorix) because they had a magic potion at their disposal that gave them superhuman strength.

The park was a combination of Asterix's village, and some of the places he visited (especially Egypt, Rome and Greece), with thrilling rides that weren't entirely related to the stories. There was also a 'Fake Paris' section to remind you that you were only an hour away from the real thing.

We stopped in Fake Paris for a sandwich, where my colleagues from Shanghai fell into one of the classic French Sandwich Traps -- when you order a ham sandwich, you often get bread and ham. And that's it (excepting the ever-present centimeter of butter, of course).

It was some visiting co-workers from Shanghai who convinced us to visit Parc Asterix in the first place. Although they had never heard of Asterix, they had already visited Eurodisney on the last trip. Frédéric and I had a good time explaining who all of the characters were, and I learned a bit as well.

Frédéric won a huge stuffed animal at the carnival. In fact, we all won stuffed animals by the end of the day, but this was the largest.

There was a dolphin show. I'm not sure what this had to do with Asterix, except that dolphins are fun and Asterix is fun. So let's all laugh together! It certainly gave us twenty minutes of dolphin-filled tricks to rest our feet.

You were not permitted to take off your shirt. The fellow in the forbidden sign is wearing an winged-helmet like Asterix, but looks suspiciously like Bozo hair.

Children (and adults) were encouraged to climb the menhirs.

And at the end of the day everybody was happy. I didn't take any snapshots of rides, not even the infamous Goudarix -- the seven loop rollercoaster. Fortunately, it's all on video, so you'll have to wait until it comes out at the theatre. By the way, Goudarix is a pun on Gout du risque (taste for risk) and the names of the Gauls, which typically end in -ix.

For those of you who would prefer that I used the generic "in-line skating" over the trademarked "RollerBlading^TM", you should be aware that I am using RollerBlade^TM brand RacerBlades. You should also be aware that the French refer to all carbonated beverages as coca, regardless of whether it is Coke^TM, Pepsi^TM, Fanta^TM, Sprite^TM or Orangina^TM.

Posted by The Inaccurate Tourist at July 12, 2002 12:00 PM