Sex on an orange rhino

If you are ever looking for accommodation in Paris and you want self catering, be careful. There’s this thing called Digital Lock, for which you need a smartphone, an app and a signal. If you don’t have a signal, you’ll be stuck outside. In our case, stuck outside in a courtyard in the rain. When I say ‘courtyard’, I mean a small space open to the elements, a pool of water like a pluvius at the entrance.

Eventually things started to work because the pair of us have different phones and while my Android was having none of it, Mirinda’s iPhone saved the day by unlocking the door to the windowless apartment.

It was actually pure happenstance that I’d loaded the app on Mirinda’s phone. This morning I accidentally discovered that, in order to finalise the booking we needed to confirm our identity by scanning Mirinda’s passport and uploading a selfie of her. She hadn’t been awake long when I snapped a photo of her and appeased the booking system.

I’d loaded the app on my phone then, because of the selfie, also loaded it on hers.

After all the kerfuffle, I was thinking we wouldn’t be staying in the apartment. This has been the reaction in the past. However, we found a convenient key on the coffee table, which helped a lot. And the apartment was very nice. The lack of windows was a worry but, for the time being anyway, Mirinda decided we were staying.

Mind you, the very long, rain filled walk to Paradis Latin almost finished us off.

Actually, there was a lot of walking today. We couldn’t get a taxi to take us to the station first thing and the buses were either too early or too late, which meant walking with the parrot bag. Mirinda was concerned we wouldn’t make it, but we managed to get there five minutes before the four car train. A train which, by Ash Vale was packed solid, mostly by a newly reached 50 year old woman and her celebrating friends.

The noisy, celebrating women couldn’t find a seat and we had purloined two with a third blocked by the parrot bag. I tried hefting it up onto the overhead shelf only to have it fall backwards under my unsteadiness. This made the women laugh. I thought that was rude. So, when the train hooked up at Woking, adding another eight carriages, I didn’t bother telling them they could get off the floor and head up the train.

This was not a problem at St Pancras, where the Eurostar staff once more proved how thoughtful they are. Spotting my walking stick, we were whisked through, winding up in the waiting room a full hour before departure.

Normally we would have grabbed something from the café inside but, because we’d added a hefty buffer to our journey, we decided to grab something at Pain Quotidien across the way from departures. Mirinda decided to have the pain perdu, remembering the last time we did this back in 2021 when it was delicious. That was a bit of a mistake.

They’ve changed the pain perdu from something quite sublime into a sugary hell. Mirinda struggled through it but she swore never to have one again. On the other hand, my crocque Monsieur prepared me perfectly for our trip to Paris.

The last time we visited Paris was, sadly, back in February 2020; coincidentally, the last time I shaved. Due to the pandemic and subsequent rules, we have not returned to the city we love so much. Then, a few weeks ago, given we’ll be heading for Sweden soon, Mirinda said we should treat ourselves to another trip to the Marais.

And one of the things Mirinda suggested we do was get tickets to the new show at the Paradis Latin. Which we did. And tonight was the night we were going.

After a brief stop to establish base camp in the windowless apartment, we headed out for what was supposed to be a half hour walk. The idea being to stop somewhere to have a snack before getting to the cabaret for the 9:30 show. Sadly, this did not allow for Mirinda’s inexplicable and sudden lack of direction skills.

She normally has an excellent sense of direction but tonight they abandoned her. She is trying to ‘be like water’ but, due to various things was, in her own words, more like a raging fire. Subsequently, we were rapidly winding down the complete wrong way. Fortunately, we managed to get back on track and joined the back of the queue outside the Paradis, for a half hour wait in the rain.

Some of the tables at the Paradis Latin are quite small and the seating seemingly impossible but, luckily, we didn’t have anyone next to us, so we could spread ourselves out. Not so one poor man who managed to squish his two metre frame into a space meant for a particularly small mouse. How he watched the show from the back of head is anyone’s guess.

The new show was called L’Oiseau Paradis (The Bird of Paradise) and delivered the promised “…unforgettable moment of enchantment.” It was fantastic. Mirinda said it was one of the best things she’d ever seen.

From songs to acrobatics, from jiggling boobs to big hunks, the show sparkled from start to finish. Highlights included some comic displays of dexterity with darts, a knife, hammer and airgun, a sexy revolving stage where a woman had simulated sex on the back of a small orange rhinoceros and, an amazing pair of dancers in a bathtub full of water.

Forget the big ones in the north, the Paradis Latin is pure magic. This was our second visit, the first being back in 2014, and it has only improved. A must-see.

But, like all good things, the show ended, and we headed back out into the rain. Mirinda, tired of walking, decided we should try and get a taxi back to the apartment. Chance would be a fine thing. We eventually gave up and walked back. Her patience was reaching critical mass when she decided we’d try and find one of those legendary cafés that remain open into the wee small hours, even on a Sunday.

Le Ju’ was more or less on the way home, so we settled into a seat, ordered drinks and tapas and had a wonderful end to our first day in Paris. The parapluies outside, though purely decorative, were somehow quite apposite.