There is a police station on the island of
Cite in the middle of historical Paris.
It is where the world renowned La Notre Dame Cathedral is crowned. The price of real estate of this island is
literally ‘Priceless.’ And yet, behind
the cathedral stands this police station (not to be confused with the prefecture de police on the other side of the Cathedral).
From the point of views of any real estate agents, it is a massive waste
of potential, but…the history of this tiny area is too horrendous that may even
have defeated human greed and vanity. Now that does not happen normally, but this is
Paris.
What I am about to share here, I must admit
I have seen only two sources: Wikipedia and the news site LOCAL. However, I could not find any other credible explanation
for this peculiar situation of this tiny spot behind the altar of God.
There once operated this butcher who offered
cheap accommodation to the tourists. The accommodation in Paris must have always been expensive. Those unsuspecting tourists however were not
seen checking out until the butcher was finally exposed to be a human flesh trader. That he was not caught out immediately
implies that the cursed flesh was fed to another unsuspecting tourists. Parisians of the time must have gotten a wind
of it, but living in Paris was hard enough, it still is wonderful but hard, that they could not be expected to
hold hands of the outsiders who would come and go.
I am not suggesting that Cannibalism is
alive and well in Paris, but the attitude of anything goes with the tourists is
still evident and I am not talking about financial rip-off. Just last week I spotted a whole chicken at one outdoor market. The price was unusually cheap for a chicken
of this regional famous brand, but it was smallish so I gambled. The worst that could happen was dry tasteless
meat.
Wrong.
As I bit into the morsel of my roasted chicken I heard that ominous ‘crack.’ I took out from my mouth a piece of bone that
chipped of my front tooth. And then I
found the brittle bones inside the dry meat.
An old bird it was, perhaps? But soon
afterwards I started to feel sick. Then
I noticed that there were many other brittle pieces of bones, just too many for one chicken. I pondered what the bird
was being subjected before it was finally butchered. Not being able to believe the worst, I tried
the chicken again the next day and felt sick again, but not the kind of food
poisoning sickness. I felt I was being
exposed to chemical. I remembered
ruefully that the woman who sold the chicken brought it out from the back of
her stall instead of giving me the chickens on the display. My Asian appearance is a dead giveaway that I was a non-Parisian. I dumped the chicken in the bin.
My next true horror story of the modern
Paris is about one restaurant. If you
have read my previous posts, you would know that I mentioned of it. If my previous neighbor was a devil, this
restaurant turned out to be a bigger devil that drove out other evils. To be continued.
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