I wanted to check out some jazz clubs while in Paris so I went to one suggested by my guide book. It just happened to be on Bourbon St. next to the Seine River and a few blocks from Notre Dame cathedral. My guide book said that they had jazz every night. I went in and asked the bartender in French if there was going to be jazz tonight. She said in broken English, “No jazz tonight, but funk.” I looked at the other guys at the bar and they turned and also said “No jazz tonight, but funk.” I thought this was going to be great. I went down stairs, ordered a bottle of water and settled in for a night of James Brown, Sly & the Family Stone, or some Kool & the Gang. But when the likes of Simon and Garfunkel came out and began their hootenanny with a medley of Cat Stevens songs I realized that something was lost in translation. It was not going to be a night of “funk,“ but a night of “folk.” I immediately had a reoccurrence of my old 1960s Joan Baez rash and got the hell out of there.