Hiding from gypsy children in Paris

August/September 2012 Today I spent a few hours in an awful restaurant (and I use the word restaurant very loosely), in part listening to a child sing badly and continuously in French while her parents were clearly getting drunk (or they would have placed her under my wheels and begged me to reverse over her). This is a chain restaurant called Hippopotamus. It's a bit like Pizza Hut. I only went in there because it was raining outside, and I needed to use their accessible toilet.
Anyhow I ate something fried and then drank my second glass of wine while writing this. All my blogs on this holiday were originally typed onto my iPhone as I had the experiences, or later. At least in that restaurant those nasty little Romanian gypsy children wouldn't try to steal my phone. There are people sitting outside they could target first! These children are not pick pockets. That name gives them a Dickensian 'sad life' image akin to Oliver. These gypsy children are sneaky and sly and I have no empathy for them whatsoever. They have very nearly destroyed the image of several restaurants who have had multiple daily thefts from tables and bags. In Melbourne, people leave bags, phones, and money on tables outside cafes and restaurants with no concern at all. Here you need to wedge your handbag against your chair and a wall. You can't read your Kindle or iPhone at a cafe as the thieves sneak up, and thrust a piece of paper at you while their friend grabs your phone etc. They operate in little gangs but they just look like well dressed kids. However, the Parisians, who are incredibly adaptable and realistic, just accept them as Aussies accept blow flies. You simply never see a Parisian using their mobile and they all hold their bags in a specific way. While the thieves were annoying, again it is part of being adaptable and accepting the differences of countries and cities.  Plus it adds to the adventure of adventures!  

About Sandra E Brown

I withdrew from my Masters (Neuropsychology) to write a blog instead, and to teach English as a second language. Life is too short to be doing something you want to retire from at 65! I now live in Paris, France.
This entry was posted in Adapting to a new country, Disability, Food in Paris, How to live in Paris, Integration in a new country, Living in Paris and tagged , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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