They called it the Moulin Rouge. They said it was a famous place with great entertainment, so I bought some tickets before I left, like a good tourist, including train tickets from Bordeaux to Paris, the Louvre, Notre Dame and then of course the Moulin Rouge. If you are daring, you can refer back to my blog a few years ago to a little experience I had in Bordeaux:  Ze Flench Vin.  https://srcarson.com/ze-flench-vin/

So, after recovering from my last wine – dominated event in Bordeaux, I jumped on the fast train and landed in Paris.  I really hated to leave Bordeaux, actually, but then I had tickets to these places in Paris and that would be a waste not to use them.  Plus, I had to see what I could, drink lots of French wine and of course, see the Moulin Rouge after all those museums, Cathedral de Notre Dame, Arch de Triumphe, etc.  Mon dieu!

So, I enjoyed all the cafes, and of course, trying to talk to the French people in broken French —some enjoyed my attempts to converse in their language, and some well, just didn’t.  Either way, it was fun just to sit at the café and drink your little espressos and watch all the young ladies ride around the streets in motor scooters, allowing their silky skirts to blow in the wind, similar to Marilyn Monroe.  Yes, they were beautiful young women, not sexless things or its.

So, then I took the subway up to Montmartre, and figured out how to get to the Moulin Rouge.  On the way to finding a place to eat, I was interrupted on my gastronomic quest about ten times by people who would pop out of doorways with multiple locks on them and ask me, “Monsieur. Would you like a woman?”   Of course, I thought, what a question to ask?  So, I said, “Yes, having a good woman as a companion is a great honor to a man.”  “Great, they said, Come with us, and it only costs 100 Euros for an hour.”  Oh, so that’s what they meant.  So, I told them, “No, I don’t pay for a woman’s company, they must pay me.” that must’ve cooled their engines, or at least I thought.

So that response stopped some of the people pestering me.  But others persisted.  After about the ninth proposition by these low – lifes, I was responding to them in a few short Russian or Navajo words I know, demonstrating that I couldn’t comprehend any of the junk that came from their mouths.

So, I finally arrived at the front ticket booth of the Moulin Rouge.  Much to my chagrin, the line seemed to be a mile long, in front of the ticket booth.  But then, I realized I had a ticket, so I thought I could bypass this onerous waiting line..

So I confidently went up the guards at the front of the line and showed them my ticket.  He laughed and said, “Oh monsieur, 1000 people in the line there just like you with the same ticket.”  Then, he ignored me.  So, I pulled out 20 Euros, and he already had his palm straight out before I pulled it out of my wallet.   Anyway, that seems to get me right in to the front of the damn place in 30 seconds!

While the thousands waited outside, I was in the Foyer of the Moulin Rouge theater.  There was about 10 of 15 of us waiting before they opened the theater doors inside.  I was the only American, it seemed, and the rest of the small crowd of ‘VIP’ clients, as I was apparently now labeled, were well – dressed Russians.  Well, the ladies were wearing high heels and sexy dresses that clearly failed at covering their shapely legs, but I didn’t notice the men.  But these cocky Russian men were a little too obnoxious and the French employees were having none of it.

They opened the doors to the theater to let the VIPs (including me) into the empty theater.  But the Russian men yelled, “We are Russian aristocracy and own much land in Moscow”, or something like that, and therefore “so my group must go in first always!”  The French men looked at them, laughed and said nothing, then walked to me and said, “Monsieur, come with us, you will be the first to enter the theater, and you can pick any seat you want.”

Never piss off a French man who works in the Moulin Rouge, I think.

So they refused to let the Russians in, until I picked my seat.  So, I went to the front of the theater and picked the table right in front of the main stage, and of course, right in front of a champagne bottle and glasses.  Amazing seat, I must say.  And I was chuckling inside because the French people had no tolerance of arrogant clients.

Before the show, they sat an Australian couple next to me, husband and wife, and I don’t know who else.  And the show started and oh my, the dancing girls were doing their kicks and struts, and I don’t know what else not more than a meter or two in front of me. Very classy I might add, and well-choreographed.  But the Australian wife, would not let the poor husband look at the excellent artistry and talent these ladies displayed.  She kept saying, “Harold, what are you looking at?”  Or, “You don’t have to stare Harold!”   I thought, damn, let the man enjoy! It’s not like he’s going to jump up there and dance with them or meet them back stage!   Why did you come with him then, if he can’t enjoy?  So, I offered poor Harold lots of champagne.

And the professional dancing girls with their smooth long legs, and yes, I could see goose pimples on them from my vantage point, smiled at me while they danced and I smiled back.  And then, when one of them made a small mis -step, she laughed and the other girls released small giggles that people in the back could not hear.  But I did.  So, I took my glass of champagne and toasted her, and she blew me a kiss as the performance ended, or perhaps she blew a kiss to the whole crowd?

Turns out, her name was Francine, and she said told me she was a medical student at the Sorbonne, earning money during the summer. And she said, “Carson, you are funny, and a gentleman, and since you are American, you aren’t familiar with the area, so after the show, some of the girls and I will go to a nice quiet restaurant with reasonable food and great wine. The owner gives us discounts. Would you like to join us? N’est-ce pas?”

So, it was a nice evening in Paris.

© 2020  SRCarson