The plan was to go to Bark in the Park but Hania's allergic to baseball so instead we had lunch at Versailles - vaca frita followed by two cafecitos taken at the counter outside - and then drove down Calle Ocho to the Tower Theater to see Eric Rohmer's A Summer's Tale, a movie about a young man who, visiting a seaside town in Brittany, has relationships (le mot exact for a Rohmer story) with three young women.
On the way out we saw two acquaintances: he liked it, she didn't. "I lived in France for four years," he said by way of explanation.
"So you probably had the same problem as the young man," I said.
"I was trying to follow the dialogue without reading the sous-titres," he said, as if, after 30 years back in the States, he was still having difficulty finding English equivalents.
"Subtitles," I said.
Back in the car, we drove through downtown and onto the MacArthur Causeway, where we dipped down into the tunnel to the port on its first day of operation. We thought there might be a line of cars waiting to see it, but we saw only two. Maybe they came after the game. The Marlins lost, 7-3.
