Where in the World is Markmen Radtkiego?

Saw the Catacombs. Gruesome stuff. A family in front of me thought it would be a good place to take their 3- or 4-year-old. Needless to say, the child was terrified. I guess it builds character — besides, he’ll need something to talk to his therapist about. Leaving for Amsterdam in the morning by way of Brussels. I’ll probably have some pictures up this time tomorrow, but that depends on what Internet cafes are like in The Netherlands.

The first batch of post cards are in the mail, so if I like you a lot you should expect your’s to arrive in 5-10 days. Don’t worry if you don’t get one this round, there will be more. I never realized how tough it could be to get stamps in this country. My first attempt was to go to the post office. Unfortunately, the French seem to have some kind of bizarre socialist postal system where everyone can send a certain amount of mail every hour, because everyone just was just standing around inside the post office, and there was no detectable beginning or end of the line. I decided I’d take my chances elsewhere. I went downtown (by the Latin Quarter and Luxembourg Palace — Chalson, I couldn’t find L’Atlas); I assumed that one of the many copy centers or general stores/tabacco shops would sell stamps. A few of the stores politely said ‘Non,’ but at least two of them said something to the effect of ‘French or no sale.’ The moral of the story is that you are about to recieve the greatest postcards ever.

At least they drive on the right side of the road. (Did I mention that already?)

Oh, and to explain the title of this post: when I was eating dinner the music was switching back and forth between some French music and older American pop. A French song played for a while, and when the chorus came around the second time, I realized I’d heard the song before. It turns out it was Rush, but in French. That got me thinking that maybe Rush wrote all their songs in French, and translated them to English for an American audience. Are there any Rush fans out there who are 1) willing to publically admit that they’re Rush fans, and 2) able to answer the question?

When I was un petit garçon, mon papa tried to teach mon frère and I some French (or maybe he was trying to learn it — I’m sure he’ll post soon, so he can fill in the details). However, besides the few simple phrases posted earlier, none of it stuck. There was one sentence that he taught me that no 10-year-old boy could forget. The phrase, of course, is “Who cut the cheese?”, or “Qui a coupé le fromage?”

Now, I’m sure the idiom doesn’t translate, but every moment I’ve been in France I’ve been waiting for the chance to use it. Alas, my research has revealed that either A) the French do not fart or, B) the country of France has some kind of odor that is difficult to detect but somehow masks the smell of farts.

From this we can conclude that the French have no need for the concept of a fart, let alone a way for children to ask one another who farted. In addition, it can be inferred that French custom does not acknowledge “Whoever (WHOMever?) smelt it, dealt it.” (Perhaps the storming of the Bastille would have gone differently…) This is probably also why the French think their shit doesn’t stink. There is more work to be done to prove that it does indeed stink; but I’ll leave that research up to an unlucky undergrad (FROPpers, holla).

Q.E.D.

P.S. – I didn’t think it was possible to be polite and completely unhelpful at the same time.

Also, I promise there will be no more fart-related posts.

To Paris in a few hours, aboard the Eurostar. I'm too hung-over to deal with the French. Wish me luck.

Walked from Gosvenor Sq to my hostel. The hostel's near Paddington Circus. Very nice place (the internet area's not nearly as sketchy as the place I was last time; no fleas). Spent the evening with a friend of Lindsay's ... [Continue reading this entry]