Taste Of Blindness

In an old Paris street lined with food stalls and restaurants, the curious and the brave have been piling into a rented basement all summer to sit through a three-
course meal in the pitch dark.

Organisers advise that you wear old clothes. You can't wear a watch, smoke or see who you're talking to. You'll have little idea what you're eating and won't get much in your mouth. And if you wander
off to the buffet unaccompanied, you may never find your way back to your table.

Yet that has not deterred scores of Parisians, intrigued by the thought of being plunged into complete darkness at the Gout du Noir ("Taste of Darkness'') and getting a taste of what it's like
to be blind. Some panic. Some are uneasy talking to a black void. But others relish making conversation with faceless voices and using tastebuds to the full to savour anonymous morsels of food.

The timid can get forgotten about, the inquisitive bombard their blind hosts with questions and everybody throws table manners and the polite "vous'' form of address to the wind.

The restaurant, in the Rue Montorgueil pedestrian zone near Les Halles in central Paris, has closed for a short break. But founder Philippe Reihac says he will reopen it later this year to continue
what he calls both an amusing social experiment and a serious exercise in understanding blindness.

"People react differently. Some are claustrophobic and leave immediately, others enjoy it so much they don't want to leave at all, but everyone finds it memorable,'' Reihac says.

"People come for the fun of it. Then they realise they can ask us anything, nothing is taboo. It's amazing the gap there is to fill,'' says Michel Rossetti, who lost his sight 10 years ago.

"I need you to hold hands and form a chain, we're going down into the dark,'' one of the organisers tells a group of guests as they quaff down orange wine aperitifs. In a bizarre reversal of
roles, blind guides shepherd the group through a makeshift restaurant to their tables as they paw vainly at the darkness, wide-eyed and blinking.

Once seated, the helpless diners will need braille menus translated and be guided, mouthful by mouthful, through dinner. "It may sound silly, but there's a certain smug satisfaction in the blind
leading the sighted,'' Rossetti said with a grin: "I get a lot of pleasure out of it.''

Once past the three thick curtains which shield out every ray of light, only bumps and squeals disturb the blackness. Faced with a daunting obstacle course of tables and chairs, guests lose any
scruples about grabbing strangers to help them. "Help! Where is everyone?'' cries one. "Can someone take my hand? Thanks. Ouch! Hello? Is that a chair? Excellent! Oops, I'm sorry, I didn't
see you were sitting on it.''

The guides politely point out they would never dream of eating sloppily in public · a gentle reminder the evening is not supposed to end up as a chimpanzees' tea party. "People generally want
to take it seriously and understand our handicap,'' says Rossetti: "There's always some messing about but if people started throwing food about I'd get up and leave.''

Shame prevents most guests letting their manners get out of hand as they marvel at how deftly their hosts handle food and wine and how easily they flit to the buffet and back. But for the less-adept
sighted diners, every dropped napkin is lost forever.

Questions Fill The Dark.

By dessert, the mayhem settles and the hilarity fades. With inhibitions erased by the dark, a barrage of questions is volleyed at the hosts. What do they miss most? Colours. Independence. Being able
to tell by someone's expression whether they are interested in what they are saying. What do they hate most? People thinking if you're blind you must be deaf too. That well-wishing passers-by shove
you across roads without even asking if you wanted to cross. And the hardest thing? Moving from place to place. The humiliation of asking directions only to find there's nobody there. And the fact
that a handicap never goes away.

But the guides pepper their answers with funny anecdotes, and the overriding message is optimistic. "People find blindness the most frightening of all handicaps but you can live with it fine as
long as the people around you understand what it's like,'' says Rossetti.

After the meal, diners are led upstairs for coffee without getting to see what the restaurant actually looks like. Once in the light, they're amazed to see who they've been talking to and nobody
leaves without leaving a comment in the guest book. "A flavoursome encounter, laughter, intimacy, darkness became clear · what a surprise and what a sweet pleasure for the soul,'' read one
entry.