There is a fountain in Paris that spews sparkling water.
Be gobsmacked. It’s the truth.
I found it in Promenade Plantée, an obsolete rail line that smart French people turned into a park. My friends Julie and Dorothy met me at Opéra Bastille and we hiked east to the Périphérique and beyond to Bois de Vincennes.
Plenty of charmant gardens along the way. Naturellement.
Plenty of architecture along the way, too.
I wonder which side is the wrong side of the tracks in this building.
An insect hotel. Even bugs need a vacance from time to time.
Voilà. Le pièce de résistance.
People stop by with water bottles to fill up on the sparkling water flowing out of the tap.
And if you are as gobsmacked as I was, you’ll need proof that this is indeed sparkling water.
The French translate only when something is so wonderful that they want you to know it. We filled our water bottles.
Now even though a sparkling water fountain is very French, the park has enforced some strict not-so-French rules. Like keeping your tatas covered.
And if you wanted to go jogging in this park, you’ll be advised against it by this strongly worded sign.
Joggers are merely tolerated. Like tourists.
A rebel. I will tolerate him.
It wouldn’t exactly be French without some history tossed in. Here are some remnants of this park’s rail roots.
At the end of your hike, when your dog’s are barking and your legs are finissent, you get to climb this bad boy to the Périphérique.
But it wouldn’t be a French park without a surprise and delight at the end.
Hey there Alice, Medor and… Look.
So you sit, watch the French Canadian geese squawk their nasally refrain and eat a crêpe to undo any fitness benefits you achieved with the walk. Then you look for the nearest Métro station to hitch a ride home.