More French Kissing

During the same trip to France mentioned previously, my traveling companion and I hopped the TGV to the ville of Tours, which has a university and a proximity to many beautiful chateaux. After a day of tourism in which we biked 22 miles round trip to the chateau Villandry (oh, I was so proud of myself, so very proud) we returned to our hotel to shower and change before heading back out for a much needed dinner. Dinner was delectable and slow. I remember warm goat cheese. I remember tuna. In my life, I find I mostly remember the bad times, but I also remember the food.

What I can't recall as vividly comes to me this time around with the help of the journal I less-than-religiously maintained during our 10-day French vacation. Recorded for posterity are things like the French university students drinking in American fraternity style (sort of) at the bar we went to later that night. "One of them did a shot consisting of him leaning backward on the bar and having the bartender pour a swig down his throat," I wrote. "Well, this being France, the bartender leaned forward and kissed the guy square on the mouth, where he had been expecting alcohol."

But that is not all the froggy lip smacking I am here to report to you today. That very same evening, a young man from that group of university frolickers walked over to me and asked to kiss me on the cheek. I slapped both hands over my mouth to protect my virtue, then leaned into him with a flushed face. When in Rome, I figured. Except that in Rome, I might've been offering up a totally different cheek.

And then there was a line. No freaking shit. A queue of Frenchmen waiting to kiss my cheek. Methodical and quick, one after the other, no liberties were taken. I won't say that somebody didn't offer to demonstrate a real "french kiss," but I quickly put the kibosh on that native tongue. It was sweet, though. All of it. How could I not love them, these boys smelling of Pastis on a cobblestoned night in May?


Anonymous Motherhood Uncensored said...

Ha. That's hilarious. Did you charge? Or just quickly go scrub your face for 10 hours with noxema?


7:21 PM  
Blogger Karen said...

Seriously, I wish that I were you.

Although, there was something like this incident at my bachelorette party, but there was money involved...oh yeah...

11:25 PM  
Blogger Mom101 said...

I've had dreams about this very thing. and here you are, having lived it. Do you do this just to torment me?

1:06 AM  
Blogger Michele said...

Great story! Nothing that exciting here. Does kissing the governor when I was 9 count?

8:22 AM  
Blogger mama_tulip said...

That sounds hopelessly romantic. I'm a teensy bit jealous.

When I worked the counter at McDonald's I had a drunk guy come in and ask me if he could suck on my nose.

It wasn't nearly as romantic as your story.

8:23 AM  
Anonymous lildb said...

I love the evocation of warm, perfumed spring air. Parisian spring air, no less. How's the song go - April in Paris? So you were off by a month. Ehh. Not too shabby an experience for your writer's storage locker, despite that.

11:16 AM  
Blogger Andrea said...

You had me at the food.

Now THAT'S a kissing story.

11:53 AM  
Anonymous Amy (binkytown) said...

I commented on your last post about a french man who kissed me- he wrote me letters after I got home and your new post made me determined to find them last night at 10 when I should have been asleep! I am going to find them and post them if I can. Thanks for the memories!~

1:40 PM  
Blogger GIRL'S GONE CHILD said...

Take a number, boys. Dem cheeks are in demand.

2:33 PM  
Blogger Jen said...

You make me want to go to France! Not for the stranger kisses, my husband can do that... but for the pure amazement of a beautiful historical, classic city.

5:40 PM  
Anonymous Jenny said...

Ok, you've just described my idea of heaven.

8:12 AM  

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