rock en seine.

The next day we awoke with the "bathroom incident" far behind us. We ventured out to procure a delicious breakfast at a nearby patisserie. Then we hopped aboard a train to the outskirts of the city, where we would spend the rest of the day at "Rock En Seine."


We lay basking in the sun under the open sky listening to India Arie and Kasabian and drinking one Heineken after another.

By the time the sun had set and the Raconteurs were taking the stage, we were good and jolly and had lots of new friends.

We left the concert regretfully, but perked up when we realized we were in the neighborhood of Bonne's ex-host family.






Their last name was Kramkimel, and we decided that the appropriate way for me to stop in and say hello, after not having seen them for five years, was to burst through the door, hold up both hands in the "rock on" sign, stagger slightly behind my sunglasses, then rasp, "LES KRAMKIMELS!!!! YEAHHHH!"

I would then proceed to play air guitar to the tune of their first names; "JEROME! OLI-VI-AHHH! YEAHHHH!!"

In our Heineken saturated state we had endless fits of laughter over envisioning our entrance, but managed to pull ourselves together by the time we reached their doorstep.

They were ecstatic to see us and immediately set out a buffet of cheese and crackers and crudites, which we devoured with gusto. After we had sat for a while catching up, and our stomachs had figured out what to do with the rare bout of solid food, we headed out again in search of more beverages, this time with Arnaud, the eldest Kramkimel child, in tow.

Arnaud had been 12 or 13 while we were studying abroad, and gangly and arrogant. Now he was still arrogant, but 17 and very cute. Bonne had a shameless crush on him.

I was just glad we had brought him along when it came time to leave the metro, and it was midnight and a gate had come down. Bonne and I started hyperventilating at imagining having to sleep in the photo booths, while Arnaud calmly pressed a button to his left side so that the gate began to rise again.

"Oh," Bonne and I said.

We found a bar with just the right energy. As most of the patrons trickled out in the early morning hours, a core group of us stayed on dancing, energy building to the point of shouting and banging on tables and drumming on plates.

We all tottered out together into the dawn and bade farewell, and Bonne, Arnaud and I, still buzzing with music, joined the commuters on the metro and dozed until we reached the grandmother's apartment.