Monday, 3 May 2010
It's been a month, now, since I was in Paris.
How dream-like it seems now. But isn't that the way with most breaks from real life?
I left for Texas less than 24 hours later, and have never really had time to process either the pictures or the memories from that trip. Thank goodness that one (the pictures) leads to the other . . . because I only have to look at the face of this funny little dog to remember that Sunday morning at Le Marché des Enfants Rouge. He hopped up to the counter, eyes bright and senses alert to all of the gustatory pleasures of the market. Watching the denizens of Marais going about their Sunday business made me feel like I could almost slip into the skin of a true Parisienne.
I'd rather have a good baguette than all of the croissants, pain au chocolat, and dull, dry toast in the world.
Fromage, anyone? I could eat Salade Chevre Chaude for nearly every meal.
These pink parrot tulips were a shock of color in the city of gray stone and spring gray skies.
(Postscript on a tulip: I couldn't wait to get home from my travels and see the tulips flowering in my own English garden. Sadly, the deer couldn't resist them. Only one pale green tulip escaped their voracious greed.)
The rather prosaic sight of a family walking in the rain. And yet, what a grand backdrop!
So much to look at on the street, but the eye is drawn upwards, too.
The sheer scope of Paris -- its historic sweep -- makes a person feel rather small.
Tourists are tiny dots of colour -- so minute, compared to even the Rose Window in Notre Dame.
Ours was a pedestrian adventure.
Maybe next time we will cruise down the Seine.
In the pursuit of falafel, near the Rue de Rosiers, we spotted this musician.
The lines are really long on a Sunday . . . so it's nice that entertainment is provided.
I can't remember what this guy was playing. What I DO remember is that he jumped up and demanded a euro from me after I snapped his picture. I obliged him, of course.
Putting on the Ritz near the Hôtel de Ville .
I was completely captivated by this charming performer.
She favored sensible shoes -- quite unlike some of the funky fashions we saw in the nearby shops.
The Marais is fab for window-shopping.
We didn't bother with the museums. We were too busy watching the entertainment on the streets.
Teenagers huddled in packs outside of their lycées. Apparently, they use their breaks to work on their smoking skills.
Variations on the student uniform include black, stripes and plaid.
Bikes and backpacks are the student accouterments everywhere, I guess.
Even the cool grown-up kids wear black and sit outside . . so they can light up.
This homme is quintessentially Parisian to my eyes.
Happy Birthday, Jenni!
Even though she was the guest of honour, she got stuck holding both umbrellas more than once.
(And she was a jolly good sport about it.)
The Café Charlot was our "local." We were only in Paris for a few days, but we managed to drink there often enough to compare the café crème to the chocolate chaud. Oh, and I may have had a Kir there as well . . . but not for breakfast.
My idea of bliss.