There were more local villagers who came to our Bastille Day party than could fit at one dining table, so we needed to add an extra table from our downstairs apartment. Three men from three different countries carried a rectangular table up three flights of narrow spiral steps. We good-naturedly grunted our directions to each other “back up, go forward, ouch, turn, turn more, put it down, shit, twist, one more floor” in our respective languages. Somehow, it worked. I must say, While I am quite useless speaking any language but English, I’ve always had a talent for moving furniture, so I represented the USA with great skill and dignity in this soon-to-be Olympic event. Many bottles of wine later, we repeated our table carry – this time returning the table down the stairs.
There were no injuries to my new friends, nor to the table, and it was one of the best parties I’ve ever attended.
We made many new friends among the dozen of villagers at the table including the local painter known to his friends as “No No” (we dress alike, see below) and the town judge Noel, whose friendship we may need before we leave.
Pas De Merde 