Goodness me it was hot on the Paris Metro. Back In May we were lucky enough to be treated to an unseasonably warm weekend, but this morning, several stops from destination, something didn’t feel quite right, more so than motion sickness. It was an unusual but not entirely unfamiliar feeling. A tightness in the chest, some sweating, some swaying, a kind of heat rising in to the diaphragm. This is not good my friends. I, am most definitely, going to throw up.

I told Jen that I needed to get off at the next stop, and you know when a few seconds feels like an absolute age. We seemingly crawled through tunnel after tunnel until we started to slow into the station. Me, semi hunched over, jabbing the door button with my finger with some urgency, until it finally slid open. Fortunately, the gods smiled, directly in front of where the train had come to a standstill was a bin. A clear plastic bag filled, empty bin. I had no say in proceedings after that, and with less than a nanosecond to spare, I heaved my lungs up in 3 relatively short but violent bursts, and then immediate relief. I felt dreadful about whatever poor sod was going to have to deal with the bright pink Pepto tinged litre of water I’d just yeeted into being, but right then I knew what needed to be done. And that, friends, was find a portion of McDonalds fries and eat precisely 8 of them. How did we arrive here? Are you sitting comfortably? Then I’ll begin.

The previous evening…..

Following on from my previous Paris blog, and the delightful Breton crepes, we headed back to the hotel to get ready for our big night out. The Moulin Rouge beckoned, and after much stressing about what to wear in previous weeks, we got glammed up accordingly. The outfit for me, was a navy and white polka dot Nobody’s Child jumpsuit, red Irregular Choice ruby slippers, and a red velvet belt for a bit of Moulin Rouge-ness. Away we went.

You’re allowed in about an hour before showtime, and I don’t know what I was expecting exactly, but the YouTube videos I’d seen made it look a bit grubby, and while its definitely not that in person, it’s maybe not quite as high glamour as you might expect. The lobby and gift shop is like a red velvet sanctum covered in framed Toulouse Lautrec prints, and it reminded me of a certain Yorkshire nightclub called the Batley Frontier. If you know you know…..

Jen had asked ahead for a table with more space, we were shown to a round bistro table for 2 set aside from everyone else and it was perfect. In a slightly elevated position just up a small flight of steps, we had a great view of everything. We sat back and watched the machine of the Moulin Rouge go about its dinner service ballet. Tickets for the Moulin Rouge are not cheap, let’s just stress this now. I won’t include the prices here, because there are so many variables, depending on show time, day, dinner, etc, but you can take a look on the Moulin Rouge website for all the info. We were both acutely aware that we are probably never doing this again, and some of the life choices we make in the next few hours, are probably driven by this and the spirit of “F it, its Paris”. Incidentally, and for the record, I regret nothing.

An option available to you pre-show is a big old fancy dinner. This is an extravagence that isn’t for the faint of heart, but after reviewing the menu, there was plenty on there that (for the money), I didn’t fancy, so we just bought the straight forward tickets. An hour before showtime, means all the people that have booked dinner are still eating, there’s a live swing band playing and it’s great to watch this throng of patrons and a veritable army of staff execute service. It’s so fast, they can carry so much, it’s like a bustling marketplace of drinks being delivered, champagne corks being popped and deserts being served. The atmosphere is pretty electric and, well, what do you do when you’ve pressed the “F it, it’s Paris” button? You order the 90 euro bottle of champagne. It arrives in an ice bucket, it’s popped and poured and you kinda feel a bit special. So special in fact, that with your fancy outfit on and the atmosphere, you might in fact have finished said bottle, way before curtain up. “F it”, says us, let’s calm down a bit, and just order the 70 euro bottle of Sancerre. Pretty sure that also barely touched the sides, but from memory, we did manage to eek this one out slightly longer.

The dress code is reasonably smart, but I can’t remember seeing anyone dressed particularly flamboyantly, just like you were going for a dinner somewhere nice. There were elderly couples waltzing together on the dance floor, a couple of hen parties, a group of what looked like American college boys, like a fraternity trip or something. The swing band, having maintained a tastefully low ambient volume during dinner, seamlessly started getting gradually louder and before the show started the dance floor was packed with people bouncing to Earth Wind & Fire. Everyone was up for it, because if you’re not doing something again in your life, you get involved right? The scene is exactly how you picture it, tiny bistro tables (extremely cramped in some areas), little red table lamps everywhere, a glimpse of slightly circus themed decor, and you can even see the legs of the Moulin Rouge elephant.

Then curtain up. And simultaneously the best and the worst thing I’ve ever seen begins.

The opening song (and heaven knows I’ve tried to find this on Spotify to no avail), is “Danse Danse Party Danse, Party Danse Danse”. And about 30 male dancers appear in spangly top hat and tails. We start laughing, and don’t stop for an hour and a half. Is it the wine you ask? Nope, it’s the batshit mentalness of it all.

There’s no photography during the show, so I’m reliant on memory from here on in. The highlights for me are the 3 Cirque Du Soleil style variety acts in-between the musical numbers. 2 Male acrobatic acts which were incredible, and a couple did a sort of ballet with a giant spinning metal ring. They were all graceful and strong and sexy and hugely entertaining.

The ladies costumes are incredible, the feathers and sequins, and the ones where the whole tail things light up, and the jewels and hairpieces, just wow. It’s the Moulin Rouge, so you know you’re getting partially clad ladies right? This isn’t a shock to anyone reading this is it? They break you in gently at first, everyone is showgirl attired but fully covered in the first numbers. Then from memory, these bras that were kind of strings of jewels so there was a little glimpse here and there, and then BAM, 40 pairs of unfettered norcs. After the initial, bloody hell that’s a lot of norcs, you kind of just don’t notice them to be honest, and I’m not sure what it actually adds to anything.

We however, were finding the whole thing hilarious. From Danse Danse Party Danse, to the loud voiceover that seemed to come out of nowhere and kept making us jump, saying things like “Dans le jardin d’amour” in a deep baritone. There are 3 principle dancers, and everyone kind of mimes to these backing tracks, but sometimes not everyone is topless, only some. We had a big discussion as why some did and some didn’t. Is there a grading system. Do your boobs not pass muster? Will we ever know the answer to these questions?

Imagine such routines as a kind of colonial grass skirts and African masks (erm…), but boobs, a lion tamer, and her lions, but boobs, Indiana jones type priestess thing, but boobs. This involved a giant water tank appearing from below the stage and a lady in a flesh coloured g string looking like she was in the full mufty diving about. Clowns, (yes I said clowns), but boobs. I still can’t look a clown in the eye, and I live in France, so this happens more than you might care to think. At one point, 2 dancers came out over the audience on wires and did a thing. Later on, a whole mezzanine level of extra stage appeared from the ceiling. It was literally like, what insane thing is going to happen next.

The Can Can, was completely brilliant thought, and just better than you can even imagine it being. I have nothing but respect for these brilliant women, how they manage to do this for multiple shows a day I have no idea.

Theres a whole segment where everyone pretends to be drunk, and 2 dancers inhabit the same oversized dress like conjoined twins. We were just like WTAF is going on now. Danse Danse Party Danse.

There was a huge finale where everything and everyone lights up, and to rapturous applause it was over. Is it a bit dated and a bit un PC, yep. Is it hilarious and mind boggling and insanely entertaining. You bet your ass!

We made our way back out into the streets of Montmartre, maybe about 11.00pm, and the place is thrumming with taxis and people and the start of the queue for the late night performance. The Moulin Rouge is part of a big entertainment complex which houses bars and nightclubs, and we were far too hyper to just get a quiet drink and go to bed. First port of call was the big Irish bar right next door. They actually had Jack Daniels (praise be), and there were several 40euro rounds consumed in there to begin with. Then, 2 huge doors opened in the back, and a nightclub space appeared, and we were still in the woooooooo! phase of the evening. In we went, more drinks, and to start with some decent tunes so we were dance floor bound. I seem to remember bellowing along to the theme from Friends at one point….. This space however, got somewhat predatory as the night went on. In order to get to the bathroom, you had to go up about 3 steps onto another level and hang a right. These steps had become uncomfortably full of groups of men, meaning you needed to forge a path through them every time. I got grabbed and twirled by some random. I politely gave him 2 twirls before he got the friendly, 2 pats on the shoulder and a turned back. Why do guys think this is OK to do btw, and why did I not feel like I could just tell him to take his hands of me. Like is the wedding ring I’m wearing not enough of a clue. Ugh!

This didn’t dampen our spirits though, but the place started to get a weird vibe and the music had taken a turn, so off we went.

This is where we should have gone to bed folks. In the weeks leading up to our trip, I’d spotted a 90s themed night at the Moulin Rouge’s nightclub La Machine. We laughed that it didn’t open until midnight and we’d be long in bed. Oh, how we laughed.

We laughed as we paid our 19euro admission fee. We laughed as once again they had no Jack Daniels, like in the bars from the previous nights, so we settled for brandy and cokes, and one round was 52euros. The drink was absolutely awful and I can still remember choking it down to the sounds of Jenifer Lopez.

We were on a mezzanine overlooking the dance floor, it wasn’t too busy, and there remains some fairly horrific video footage of us bellowing along to Pretty Fly For A White Guy that will never see the light of day, but what a flaming epic night out. Like top 5 best nights out of all time. I do not recall what time we left, and I apologise for once again being a truly dreadful influence. If you’re my friend you will know that it is a rare night when I am not the last one standing, and I apologise for nothing, you love it, you know you do…..

Montmartre was still buzzing, we took some increasingly drunk photos and went back to the hotel and passed out.

The next morning…..

I woke up with a start and very gently opened one eye. I’m actually OK I thought. Then I sat up. I am very much not OK. I made it to the bathroom. I drank a litre of water and had about 6 bright pink pepto tablets over the course of half an hour. They did not fix it. Jen was still asleep at this point and we had plans to go to the big flea market so I was going to need to get a grip. I looked in the mirror and I was puce, I don’t even know how I put my shoes on. But we forged ahead, and onto the Metro we went……

TTFN,

V x

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