In October, 1968, I was a member of an elite team of French language scholars my l’Ecole Militaire decided to ship to Paris from Albany, NY, for a week to hone our nonexistent French language skills. Once ensconced at the Hotel de l’Alma, we 15-year-old Cadets gawped at the bidet in one kid’s room like Neanderthals looking at a Philco Transistor Radio. (This was, as it happened, the intellectual high point of the trip.) We concluded its purpose was to throw-up in when you drank a lot of cheap wine, which we proceeded to do. We further concluded the hotel owner’s unpleasant demeanor was down to anti-American sentiment. Adventures ensued, including the rescuing of one Cadet from a tatty brothel off the Avenue de la Grande Armee into which he’d innocently stumbled sans so much as a sou, discommoding the formidable Madame, who was cross indeed. Other culturally enriching things occurred, as well.
© 2024 John Oliver
Substack is the home for great culture