Hard Rock Cafe Paris' Location
In those days I spent countless hours drinking and socializing, rotating from the downstairs Guitar Bar to the Upstairs Bar (with the bartender that was always my partner in social crimes!). The place was like a second home several days a year.
Jimmy Hall at the Upstairs Bar, Hard Rock Cafe-Paris
I simply loved the Hard Rock Cafe Paris, and in my heart I still do. Why? Many reasons, many memories, and many hours of thoughtful contemplation. Seeing the Beatles and solo Beatles on the tvs wasn't bad either. I also fell for a woman there once, but that comes later.
The first time I visited Paris' Hard Rock was on my initial trip to Europe and the French Capital, as a part of my late French-teaching mother's high school tour group. That alone would make it unique. (I was a youthful age 31, and one of a handful of chaperones.)
Lovely Paris, France
The whole group sang songs upstairs (like Karaoke), even The Village People! It was also Mom's first trip to France, after 33 years of teaching French outside of Atlanta. That made it special for us all. It also laid the groundwork for my more mischevious future adventures at Hard Rock/Paris in upcoming years - and even a return experience 8 years later with Mom on her last trip to Paris (weeks following the 9/11 tragedies).
Mom (middle right) and the women chaperones at Hard Rock Cafe Paris
I can recall almost every visit and hour at the musical cafe-museum, and especially the John Lennon "Let It Be" coat framed near the windows beside the boulevard-side of the bar upstairs. How insanely valuable it must have been. I wonder where it is now? Hmmmmmm....
John Lennon's Fur Coat/ "Let It Be"
People of all nationalities seemed to congregate there, including the loveliest Hispanic woman I have ever met or seen (from Mexico City) - whom I subsequently had the bartender to discreetly video over my shoulder and later talking with me (for a risque' magazine or two for he and his co-workers), the American woman (he photographed for me) from the Midwest that had to drag her husband of 25 years to Paris (as opposed to watching the Sidney Olympics back home), and the large German family I video-taped and talked with for 15 minutes around the bar before realizing they neither spoke nor understood English at all!!!
Pretty French and Swiss women were a given, as were a variety of foreign cafe employees (even an American girl from San Francisco). The place was a genuine "melting pot," unlike America. Everyone jelled, and they all loved to have fun.
Front Of Hard Rock Cafe/Paris
I could write of many other various afternoons and evenings spent socializing at the Hard Rock with traveling companions, new friends, employees, and others - but that might bore you to tears (if you are not nostalgically/sentimentally- inclined). Nor do you care about my time alone thinking or writing in a "Parisian trance." The idea of the huge HRC/Paris branded beer glasses I used, emptied, and still have might not excite you either. However, Valerie might-well interest you. Yes, Valerie (maybe Valery, I don't know).
The date was the 2cnd of October, 1998. An American friend, trivia partner, and traveling companion of mine one trip, named Alan Caldwell, had finally gotten tired (after a few hours) of sitting with me at the Guitar Bar downstairs and talking about Jimi Hendrix, Jim Morrison, and the Beatles. It was about 5pm and we were headed to the D-Day Beaches at Normandy well before sunrise the next morning, so he elected to taxi back to the Hotel du Bresil (near the Pantheon/Luxembourg Gardens).
Hotel du Bresil, Paris
Of course, I stayed knowing the natives working in the vicinity were about to get off work. This was correct. Soon, about 30 minutes later, a lovely French woman entered and sat alone 2 seats from me (with no one else being in the bar area yet). Unlike what you may have heard, eye contact in Paris is NOT always a bad thing; we made it, and something happened. It cut, but then it soothed. I felt warmth, and it was not from the Kronenbourg 1664s or draft Heinekens either.
Heinekens In Paris....
Again, her name was "Valerie," and her English was obviously far, far better than my French; and, the accent when she spoke made her even more desirable. She came closer.
She'd just gotten-off her job and courses for the weekend, grabbed something in a shop, was concerned about nursing a sick relative outside the city all weekend, and came into the Hard Rock Cafe Paris for some beer to wind-down and contemplate it all.
What also impressed me initially was that she was a young yet classic French female, well-mannered and sweet, very much en vogue, yet did NOT smoke cigarettes (I detest smoking, and at the time all French women seemed to smoke, yet also walked or jogged or cycled).
My Immediate Daydreams Upon Meeting Valerie At Hard Rock Paris!
All conversations involving Americans in Paris begin about Paris itself, and why you are there. That's standard. After these formalities ended, and she had sufficiently shared her current situation, all obligatory talk ended. Her obvious maturity was inviting, even welcoming. We then became as two individuals interested in each other in a New York City wine club or dimly-lit piano bar.
Valerie was beautiful and personable and authentic, not designed or created from a cookie-cutter mold. She was tall, shapely but slim, subtlely yet well-endowed up top, possessed waist-length glistening light brown hair, and large milky white scleras with distinctive brown irises perfectly-set amid them. Yes, a true "brown-eyed girl." She was NOT like the others starting to fill the Hard Rock Cafe's lower bar room. I suppose that I was no "slouch" either. My incurable romanticism was peaked.
Jimmy "no slouch either" Hall, Grands Boulevards
Admittedly, I had always wanted to "fall in love" in Paris, and almost did at a small Les Halles/Boulevard Sebastopol area cafe a few years earlier (Paris Halles Cafe), with a similar young Dutch woman. Therefore, I was open to this virtuous encounter or endeavor, and particularly pure and edifying talk from someone capable of (but above) so much more physically. She was a dream, and miraculously unattached.
Anyway, the evening continued, and a married female friend of Valerie's dropped-in to join us. We three laughed and talked a couple of hours, and no I did not have to buy drinks - we all did! The girls even ate, I did not. I was focused on this incredible woman.
Eventually, discretion became the better part of valor, in the sense that I knew my limited sleep time was burning. With the friend beside her, I was clueless, and simply did not know what to do. Once before I failed to exchange contact info with a woman, and regretted it. Was this real? Anything here? What was really going on? Could I fall in love in the Hard Rock Cafe in Paris, France?
At The Amsterdam Airport One Trip
I had drank enough then to be sober, and figured I was over-romanticizing the situation, but was not 100% sure. I would let her ask, if anything. Besides, I would be headed back to Atlanta in 2 days, and likely would not be able to see her for months or a year. Who knows?
Finally, I said goodbye to the friend and approached Valerie. We went through goodbyes, and then I was caught off-guard. She did not ask for any info, but rather performed the ritual of kissing each of my cheeks several times.
Emotionally, I walked away and into the foyer.... Yet, I could not leave. After purchasing her a small gift, and myself a couple of souvenir items, I walked back to her. She immediately smiled.
Notre Dame
I gave her the Hard Rock Cafe/Paris gift bag, and told this woman that I could not leave without coming back to say goodbye again. She was touched by the gesture and gift, but still we did not exchange any info. I just suspected that she had met Americans on vacation before. I needed to be in prayer somewhere, but wasn't.
Again, she kissed me multiple times on each cheek as I again stood there like a dumbfounded fool. I grabbed the large beer glass I had been drinking from all day and night, stuck it in my bag, and then walked away for good and forever.
I later learned that this form of multiple kisses meant that she really, really liked me a lot. I was simply too ignorant about Valerie's culture to understand at that time. In her own way she had likely tried to exchange info, but I screwed it up.
To be fair and honest, I have conveniently left one fact out of this blog piece all-along. It may explain the ending a bit better. Valerie was indeed much younger than me. At about 19, she was 18 years my junior... That is the end of the story, and I will tell no more about the Hard Rock Cafe Paris at this time, though there is much more to one day be written...
I, JIMMY HALL, am the owner of Jimmy Hall Writing Services (404-580-1501), where I write business plans, job resumes, web content, letters, papers, press releases, and other items. Give me a call sometime....
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