Best of: places in Paris where I've fallen on my butt

I'm not much for best of lists--at least the definitive ones. Here are the best bars in the city ! These are the museums you can't miss ! Here is a list of the crappiest french bistrot food, but it's served by super foxy waiters ! Oki, I like lists about good places to go for some of these commodities, and a finger in the right direction is always appreciated, but the second we get into "best-ofs", I start in on my obnoxious comments from the peanut gallery: "how do you know it's the best ? Have you really tried every place that serves oysters in the whole city ?" Especially in a place like Paris, what with 1 restaurant or café for every 3 residents (oki, that's not a real number. but there are a lot), best-ofs become quickly tiring.

With that said, as I witnessed a woman running for her train today & gracefully tripping on the platform into the metro car, I started reminiscing about my greastest parisian wipe-outs. You see, I am not known as, shall we say coordinated, or terribly dexterous. Thus, Paris has played background to many a great spill. So here's my best of list. I don't, however, recommend visiting these locations with the purpose of repeating my actions.

5. Rue Mouffetard (or any cobblestoned-market street)

I was just doing my best to fit in. It seems that a real femme parisienne could navigate these cobbled streets in heels, but there were so many distracting things to look at ... and well, I still have no clue how to walk in heels. Add to that the fact that the street is lined with bars, and let's say a couple of vodka tonics couldn't possibly help ...

4. Club Med Gym

I never worked out in a gym before moving to Paris. I grew up on a beautifully small island in Maine, and when you can bike for miles, or swim in the ocean, why would you possibly go to a gym? But I found my body was suffering a bit from all the wine & chocolate eclairs, so I signed up. I was not, however, aware that the women in parisian gyms were required to wear a uniform. A matching designer track suit, full make-up, and a cell phone were all that they needed to walk at a snail's pace on the treadmill while being filled in on the day's gossip at the other end of the line. It was only fitting that I walk in my shorts (gasp!), ratty Oberlin t-shirt (double gasp !!), and plain, run-of-the-mill sneakers, trip on my shoelaces and trip headfirst into one of the frighteningly attractive staff trainers. I now own a wiifit.

3. Place de la Concorde

When I first moved to Paris, I was under the sad misconception that it would be a friendly biking city. I always had a bike. I rode a bike to work for years. In college, it was my principle mode of transportation. So upon arriving in Paris, I promptly purchased an old-fashioned dutch bike. Riding a men's bike had never posed a problem, so I went for the beautiful orange one in the used bike shop. The next week, determined to adapt to life as a city biker, I took it for a spin. Somehow I ended up in the middle of Place de la Concorde and was stuck at a stop light. This, of course, was the moment that I realized the bike was too big. I could not reach the ground with either of my legs to steady myself, and for once I was nowhere near a curb. So I swayed, and well, I fell over. Straight to the ground. Then, defeated, walked my orange bike back to my creepy apartment in the 18th.

2. chez moi !

Oki, this one isn't neccessarily Paris-specific, but I can't tell you how often I manage to fall down while in the supposed safety of my own home. Part of it is the result of an oblivious cat who does not see herself as a potential obstacle. But the most spectacular is when I caught my toe on the bottom of my pajama pants and hit my head on the side of my clic-clac. I also had an apartment in the 17th for more than two years that was most unfortunately on the 5th floor without an elevator. I normally don't mind walking upstairs, but I have many witness who will testify that this place had the most treacherous stairs imaginable. They were polished wood, making them slippery. There were also terribly uneven, and so worn out, the wood was warped on the front. Going up was fine, if tiring. But going down was a different matter. I managed to slip and fall down these stairs 4 times within the first 10 days of living there. I then became accustomed to the rhythm and got a hang of it, only falling when my shoes were wet, or other variables. But I do have one friend who was so terrified, she descended the entire 5 flights on her bum. that's dedication.


1. the Metro !

oki. so who hasn't seen someone wipe out in the metro ? running for a train, walking up the stairs, walking down the stairs, misjudging the distance between train & platform... but my ultimate favorite parisian spill (for once) does not belong to me. After a night of cocktails, and a pub quiz we ran to catch the last metro home. I was going south, but two friends were catching the same train north. Their metro arrived as I was still waiting on the platform. They took a seat on the strapontins (fold-out seats), but my friend realized I was still waiting and stood up to wave. As the train was pulling out, he went to sit back down, forgetting that the seat had retracted to it's upright position. It was almost as if I could hear the uproarious laughter coming from the car despite it being hundreds of meters away by then ...

Do you have any awesome wipeout stories in historic and/or terribly serious places ?