Once you arrive in Europe, you are resigned to the fact that you'll have to find some spare change if you want to relieve yourself. The bathrooms near the Louvre were different. Extravagant, even. To get in, you had to wait in a line bounded by a velvet rope. At the front, after paying one euro, an attendant let you into a room designed like an upscale sushi bar. Toilet paper hung decoratively on the wall. It came in your choice of color.
Someone showed me to my stall. I closed the door. I wanted this to be magical.
It wasn't. It was just a damn toilet.
I walked out and went upstairs and saw the Mona Lisa. I saw the Venus De Milo. I really don't know why I'm telling you about the bathroom part, other than to point out that at ten euro, the price to see the world's finest works of art is the exact same as the price of ten bowel movements in the basement.
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