Paris; the Land of the Dead
I am in the land of the dead.
I think of down in southern France. I bet you can't find a place to sit on the beach this time of year. Country villas swarming with Paris-ites. Pools just teeming with drunken french men in tiny bathing suits. Paris descending onto southern France, colliding with Milan at the border. Not a pretty site. The battle over which wine is the best must be fierce.
Let me rephrase before I am misquoted and there's some massive crisis because someone thought I meant a bomb went off and now Paris is no longer. After all, the terrorists have managed a few good bombings this year, just enough to keep the garbage can lids all tightly sealed, but nothing that would level the place.
Let me repeat: I am in the land of the vacationing.
August is a quiet month in Paris. Quiet except for the tourist areas which are just hopping mad. My neighborhood is a ghost town. The grocery store where I buy my food, the bread shop where I buy my french bread daily, the garage where I get the car fixed, all shut down for 3 weeks. Poof! They are all closed. People expect them to be closed; it is the French way.
I think of down in southern France. I bet you can't find a place to sit on the beach this time of year. Country villas swarming with Paris-ites. Pools just teeming with drunken french men in tiny bathing suits. Paris descending onto southern France, colliding with Milan at the border. Not a pretty site. The battle over which wine is the best must be fierce.Loud Italians trying to outdo the sophisticated Frenchman. Doesn't it just make you laugh? I think they all have landed in Monaco.
I wander onto the metro and the mixture of languages amazes me. Italian, French, German, Dutch. The line for those who can't figure out how to buy metro tickets out of a machine so they want a real person is very long. I watch people carefully counting (and mentally converting)money. All their silly maps, cameras, sunglasses, and lost expressions. Tis the season.
My office is quiet. No, my office is empty. We have a girl who answers the phone
and a few other Americans like me who are smart enough to not try and vacation now. My email inbox doesn't make a sound, except when Seattle wakes up.
and a few other Americans like me who are smart enough to not try and vacation now. My email inbox doesn't make a sound, except when Seattle wakes up. I have no boss, no boss's boss, no vice presidents, lawyers, bean counters, or operations guys to deal with. No customers, except the odd few who are trying to write-off a business trip to Paris so they can vacation for free, and even they show up in a holiday mood,wanting to eat at outdoor cafes for hours. Noon lunches slide over to 2, 3 and 4 pm. Nobody cares. Nobody.
For the moment, Paris has emerged into a small town. No traffic, lines,and mobs of people. Not in the outskirts of Paris.
I am in the land of the dead, the land of the vacationing. I think I will avoid the Louvre, the Arch of Triumph, the Eiffel tower, and anything at the center of downtown. I will just enjoy my small town of Paris. And brace myself for when the madness arrives in Sept when all the Frenchies come back home.
Reply Reply to All Forward Compose View In Ou
Reply Reply to All Forward Compose View In Ou
