Chapter 10: Pigalle

Pigalle is kind of the Hollywood district of Paris. I like to think of it as the fresh gum on the sidewalk that you don't want to step in (as you glance down at the last minute and almost break your ankle trying to avoid it.) Yeah, it's cool though. I got off the metro in my traditional fashion of "this looks good, I'll take this stop" and headed uphill where I found a one-legged pirate. No joke; this guy was a one-legged pirate. At least he looked like a pirate. Actually I think he was homeless and much nicer than any pirate you'd ever see. I found a little gift shop that had some cool things and I got a present for a special someone. The guy who owned it was an older Frenchmen who smoked cigarettes inside (there was a haze throughout the store) and had enchanted forests coming out of his ears with gnomes sneaking peaks at the outside world. He spoke very little English but he did his best to translate the meaning of the text on the cover of my present. I enjoyed our attempts for common ground. It began to sprinkle outside. I pretty girl popped her head in to say hi and then went on her way. I felt good. I wished him well and continued upward. Europe is so rad.

Up top I found a lot of Brasserie's (cafe's) and other stores. I sat on the corner of one and ordered a beirre blanche and tried my best to roll a smoke. Prologue to cigarette saga: I had purchased a bag of tobacco a few days prior because I wanted the full European experience. I'm not your habitual smoker (nor will I ever be) but that's how they tend to do it in Paris because it's much cheaper and every penny counts. Plus it's kind of fun - if you're not sitting on a windy corner fighting the rain drops splashing off your table anyhow - and if you actually know HOW to roll one...

After my beer I followed the street west to find a pretty cool old church and then a marketplace with all sorts of good looking foods. That was only a few blocks long and I shortly hit the end where I had a decision to either head uphill to who knows where, or turn back and head down to the Moulin Rouge. I chose wisely. When I got there I thought I’d at least find out what going rate for a show was these days. Turns out it’s dinner and a show for $150 and another late show (no dinner) for $99. F- that. No girl is that pretty. Most of Pigalle’s main drag consisted of porn shops and strip bars with hustlers outside trying to get you to come in and check out their girls. No thanks man, I got cigarettes to buy. These people would even follow me down the street for half a block after I told them I wasn’t interested. I guess we’re all feeling the depression nowadays haha. There was a good amount of cops around which was nice. Towards the lower end of the strip I found myself taking a panoramic photo and I noticed a lady across the street (one of those “hustlers” I warned you about) who was getting agitated. I was pretty far away so I thought there was no way she was actually getting angry at one of the 300+ tourists who take pictures in her general direction everyday, but I was wrong. She was yelling and throwing up her arms and then she spit at me! I was across street - way across – and she was acting like I was going to have to dodge her or something. I was pretty scared but hang on, it gets better. She went back inside and I figured I must’ve broken the law or something and that she must be calling the cops since I remembered about the sign they tore down the other day that said: “NO PHOTOS OF GHETTO STRIP BARS WITH TORN UP BITCHES OUTSIDE.” She came back out with a bottle of Perrier (thank God because I was parched) and started flinging the water out of it at my direction. I have that effect on people :) Stay off drugs kids.

I went off the strip and into the back alleys where I found a surprising amount of guitar shops – I mean a lot – every other store was a guitar store or a piano store of some kind. I wondered how these places didn’t drive each other out of business and why this was the first (and only) area in Paris I’d seen that had them. Then I wondered if the American cliché of sex drugs and rock and roll was the reason for it. Hmm...

In all honesty it was a bit to sexy and druggy and rock n’ rollish for me. I preferred my other adventures over Pigalle, but it was still fun - where else can I see chicks on PCP? I wandered south and caught these two trumpet players dressed as bullfighters doing a call-and-response from across the street to each other. I thought I was in Spain for a running of the bulls. Cool sounds. I ended up walking about a mile downhill to this huge church and took a few pictures. I met a girl in the park who was pretty nice too. This is about the end of my recollection for the day. I remember going back to the Eiffel Tower again towards the evening and staring up into the sky. That still topped it all.