Swimming the Seine on Bastille Day, 1977

and getting fire hosed. In 1977 my Dad would have been 51, my Mom 48, an age I consider on the young side now and yet they seemed older than that. The Depression and the War aged people.

Screen shot of Paris from Google maps. It was on this day, Bastille Day, when the French stormed the Bastille, the local military prison back in 1789, just three years after we declared our independence, no coincidence. Our apartment was just off screen, on 122 Blvd. St. Germain.

     Also on this day in 1977, I decided to swim across the Seine right at the spot marked on the map.  I drew in the swim path but got the curve wrong since the current moves from right to left.  I am not a good swimmer but after a bottle of wine my opinion of my ability improved considerably.  The blue dots would be the path my girlfriend, Kristin Mills, walked to meet me on the other side with my clothes.  It was at night and dark, so probably between 10-11pm.  
     I kept my underwear on and dove in.  I had to swim upstream, towards the île St. Louis because the current is moving right along.  I almost made it to the other side when the local Pompier (firemen) boat picked me up out of the water.  They would have arrested me and plonked me in jail for the night but, it turns out, I played volleyball with one of them so they dropped me off into the loving but embarrassed arms of my girlfriend.  
    After getting off scot free we very likely went looking for more wine. I will always think fondly of this day.  Next day at volleyball practice they turned the firehose on me for being a jackass, a good cure for a hangover and for being a jackass.