Paris, September, 1969
I struggled with the folding iron door. The elevator would not co-operate. "Shit! I am not walking up six flights of narrow stairs!" I muttered as once again I slammed the lever down, sliding off my small backpack onto the floor.
"Je peut vous aider, Mademoiselle?" I glanced up, relieved that this Frenchman might save me from walking up the six flights.
"Well," I said. "I don't speak French but I sure hope you know how this annoying elevator works?" I moved my pack over as he entered the claustrophobic space and with ease, lifted the lever up, instead of down and 'Voila' the elevator started a slow, noisy climb.
"Floor Mademoiselle?" he asked in English… "Oh!" I laughed, "you speak English. Six please. Do you work here?"
"Ah, no, I am a guest like you." He paused, then added, "Are you available tonight for dinner?"
I thought it was a bit weird, that in two minutes he decides to ask me out to dinner. I could tell he was a lot older and my instinct was to turn him down. I was hot, tired, dirty, hungry and, I had been warned that Frenchmen were aggressive and not to be trusted. Before I could even respond he added, "I'm here on business, meeting clients this evening and would be relieved if you would do me the pleasure of accepting my invitation. Really Mademoiselle, I promise you a fabulous Moroccan dinner complete with an incredible floor show…..please let me collect you at 8pm?" "Oh!" — looking at my casual attire — "do you have something appropriate to wear, as blue jeans might not be acceptable at this establishment."
We are standing inches apart still inside the elevator on the landing of the sixth floor, and I am seriously thinking of accepting this crazy offer. Of course the fancy restaurant with a floor show was tempting as on my budget that was certainly not in my Paris plans. And, I loved new adventures! I had a skirt, time for a nap and shower, and looking at his face once more, I extended my hand. "I'm Joanne, from Canada, and as long as you expect just dinner, I'll see you at eight in the lobby."
I collapsed on my bed laughing at the whole idea! Paris looked so frightening, bustling and yet exciting. I had six days to explore as many areas as my budget would allow. I decided that this evening would be a good 'test' in handling Frenchmen, and navigating an evening in Paris on my own. I figured I could take the metro back to my hotel if I felt uneasy with my dinner companion.
I sat nervously in the tiny lobby waiting for my 'date'. Pierre closed the noisy elevator door and turning, saw me waiting, in my mini skirt and fancy top. His reaction confirmed that I was dressed appropriately for a night on the town. "Oh la la, Chéri, you look so different! So adorable…."
"Remember, Pierre, this is a dinner date, no 'hanky-panky.'"
"Please, what is 'hanky-panky'?"
"Sex, Pierre. No sex. I am sleeping in my room later tonight, all alone!"
"Mais oui, Chéri, pas de 'hanky-panky'" — and he held the door open for me, waving down a taxi like he did this every night of his life.
I tried to look calm and mature as the taxi drove through the streets of Paris. The night lights took my breath away, the sights were unbelievable. I could feel the pulse of the city as we crossed the Seine and headed out of the city centre towards the restaurant.
I stepped into the dark, mysterious interior and relaxed, seeing that it was indeed a fancy place. The intricately carved, huge brass lanterns cast a dramatic golden glow over the interior. I was introduced to Pierre's clients, a young Moroccan couple, fluent in English. The elegant young woman, Amina, wore a gorgeous traditional dress of emerald green silky layers cinched at the waist with a wide jewelled, beaded belt. She looked happy to have a young Canadian to share the evening with, while her husband, Hassan, talked business with Pierre.
The table was low to the thickly carpeted floor, surrounded by comfortable velvet cushions. Small silver trays of enticing food covered the table and immediately we passed each tray around, sampling the most delicious food I had ever tasted. Amina explained each dish to me, warning me if the offering was spicy or sweet. I devoured slivers of chicken stuffed into a light pastry, with ground almonds and topped with cinnamon. The minced lamb and mint in grape leaves were a favourite, as well as traditional couscous, and large fava beans soaking in olive oil. The textures and flavours were all new to my palate. Pierre looked happy at my obvious enjoyment. I switched to sparkling water, noticing that my wine glass was never empty and that I was feeling rather lightheaded even with the never-ending trays of food.
Throughout the dinner several musicians played traditional Moroccan music. Hassan explained that the instruments were common to the sound and rhythm of his country. The lute and bazooka dominated the bendir drum and small brass hand cymbals. The rhythm was intoxicating and grew louder and louder as several belly dancers glided into the room. Dinner guests all clapped to the strong rhythm.
The dazzling traditional dress on the dancers, with rich colours of burgundy, deep blue and gold embroidered details, flashed before the guests. The show was unlike anything I had experienced in my almost 19 years! The energy of the girls, the gyrating hips, the flash of dazzling beads, the excited shouting of the male diners encouraged the women to spin faster and faster. We were all clapping and cheering with the music. Eventually several guests jumped up and began dancing with the 'show girls'. Hassan grabbed my hands and before I realized it I was doing my best imitation of a belly dance. Seconds later a belt of sparkling beads was wrapped around my hips as I laughed and swayed to the music. Oh! The men diners loved the young tourist in her miniskirt with the traditional hip bedlah jangling in time to the Moroccan music!
It was like a fantasy, a dream.
I collapsed onto my bed, still laughing at the amazing time the evening had been. It was like a fantasy, a dream. My blistered toes from dancing too long and the three a.m. time on the bedside clock assured me that indeed my first night in Paris would be a lifelong memory.
And Pierre? He was a true gentleman, escorting me to my room, thanking me for being the perfect young lady, to introduce to his clients. I never saw him again that week in the hotel, but my own travel adventures continued to unfold!