La Samaritaine est KAPUT

I have this wonderful hairdresser. Let's call him..., oh, I don't know, how about...Tad. He loves to travel, especially to French places. Paris. Montreal. Quebec City. He is enthusiastic. He shares. When I told him I was going to Paris, he brought in his DK France guidebook, his Streetwise Paris map, and lots of good recommendations.

One was to eat a salade fou, or crazy salad, made with duck and foie gras. Check. Another was to walk along the rue de Rivoli as the sun sets. Check. Go here. See that. Taste this. You just can't miss that. By the time Tad was done with me, I nearly wet my pants, he was that excited. And I promised to do everything he said.

The big one, the one other people also said to do, the one we planned for, was to visit the department store near the Seine called La Samaritaine, and go up to the rooftop restaurant and have a drink. This was the best view in all of Paris. Tad said so. Everyone said so. So off we go.

Me: La Samaritaine, sil vous plait.

Cab driver: mumble, mumble

Me: LA SAMARITAINE

Cab driver: MUMBLE MUMBLE

My Friend: La Samaritaine, ou crève.

Cab driver: LA SAMARITAINE EST KAPUT.

The Samaritaine is kaput, closed, no longer in operation, a mere shell of its former self. Too dangerous, the cab dirver said. It may open in a few years. It may not. A shrug of the shoulders and another dream dashed. And Tad has been so excited that we would do this. I felt so bad.

So I went shopping.

I got him three gifts for being so helpful:

1. A book about French cheese. French cheese is to die for. Stinky, runny, fabulous. Tad loves it.

2. French chocolate. Dark. rich. To die for. Tad loves it.


3. French cigarettes. Tad smokes. A lot. These are to die for.



And I bring my Paris treasures to him the next time I get my haircut. Only to find out he has had a heart attack while I was away.

He can't eat cheese.

He can't eat chocolates.

He has quite smoking.

Go figure.

But Tad is definitely NOT kaput!