When Paris Becomes a Cow Town
If you’re currently looking for something to do in Paris, the Salon d’Agriculture might be something you’d enjoy if:
1.) You hate yourself.
2.) You hate your family and/or want to punish them for something.
I kid, but just a little. It’s a fun family outing in theory, and truly, the first forty-five minutes of our visit were delightful. The animals were fun to manhandle and the cheese samples were tasty (once you got past the fact there were no toothpicks and everyone grabbed their own sample out of a bowl with their I-just-touched-farm-animal hands.)
We were enjoying ourselves at the Salon d’Agriculture when out of the blue, everyone else in France decided to join us. When the mobs descended, the Salon was no longer fun. Lucien, thankfully, has great self-preservation skills and wisely spent his time begging to be up on Al’s shoulders, clinging to my legs, or searching the crowd for a satisfactory “Plan B” family should he never see us again. Coco stared at butts and crotches all day long, some from extreme close-up as people climbed sideways over her stroller (no joke). Soon after the hordes stormed the exhibition center, all the balloons handed out to kids started to pop, sounding a bit like gunshots every couple minutes or so. The jumps of surprise at these sudden sounds occasionally sent cheese samples into the air.