March 17, 2014

And then there was the French guy who kissed my hair {in Paris}

There is hardly a trip I have been on, without some kind of outrages, funny story that make my friends shake their head. But when I told people, what had happened to me in Paris with Philippe, they were staring at me with open mouths and then rolled on the floor laughing.

So who is Philippe, you ask? While I walked through Jardin des Tuileries a man came up next to me and spoke French. Now, my French is so aweful and I was so suprised that I didn't understand a word he said to me. He was quick in switching over to English. We started chatting and he walked with me through the beautiful gardens. We were quick in exchanging names and I also mentioned that this is my first time in Paris and I'm only staying a few days. I talk a lot. 

In one part of the Tuileries you find concrete blocks with hands on them. In various sizes and shapes. On one block is a tiny baby hand, which I find quite disturbing, to be honest. After hearing I had never seen these hands before, Philippe directed me to them. I asked him some questions, why these hands were displayed. He didn't know, he said. I asked him, to make something up. He did comply with my request and I regretted ever asking him. 
Not only did he make up a story to each set of hands, but he reenacted the scene by holding on to mine. That was as weird as it sounds. I was a little uncomfortable about this, but I also thought to myself: let's roll with it.
Our conversation had been pleasant up to this point, which was a reason I didn't run for the hills, when he held onto my hands just a tad to long.

I had planed to walk through the gardens, over Champs-Élysées and up to Arc de Triomphe which you can see in the distance while the Louvre is right behind you. Every major sight is in walking distance in Paris. Philippe walked with me some more. We talked some more. 
I got to hear I have beautiful eyes and that I neither sound nor look German. Whatever that means. He also told me he wants to see me again and if I had some time for coffee in the next days. During our walk he had tried to take my hands again or linked his arms with me. When we arrived up at the Arc de Triomphe, my French companion, informed me that he would need to take the metro to go home. Which was just fine with me. He assured me one more time, that he really wanted to see me again and handed me his phone number. 

He leaned in and I thought he would say his good byes the French way. Well, I was in for a surprise. Philippe was a head an a half taller than me. Instead of giving me small pecks on my cheeks, he gave me a hug and didn't let go again. Quite the contrary, he kissed my hair over and over, while mumbleing something to the tune of: you give what you can, I give you what I can. Less than two hours after we met! Ahm, no thank you!
He finally let go of me and walked to the metro. I was left puzzled right there on Champs-Élysées. Thinking, I would never see this guy again.

But the story is not over just yet. Bear with me here. 

The next afternoon I made my way to the Louvre and walked again through the Tuileries. Who, do you think, was standing pretty much at the same spot, where he chatted me up the day before?
You guessed it!
I proceeded to walk quickly towards the Louvre, but Philippe started one more attempt and asked me to slow down. I told him that my friends were waiting for me and that I was late and needed to hurry up. Needless to say, I don' have any plans to contact him.
I have to believe that this guy spends his day walking up and down the garden, hoping to get lucky.

There you have it. My Paris story about a French guy who kissed my hair on Champs-Élysées. 

1 comment :

Katharina said...

Was für eine Geschichte! Wenn du noch mehr in der Art auf Lager hast, könntest du ein Kurzgeschichten-Buch rausbringen! :D Ich würde es definitiv lesen :). Liebe Grüße, Katha