People-watching is SO much fun. Even when the sidewalk café I'm sitting in is chilly (13C) and the people walking by are all bundled up. No short skirts and muscle shirts today, methinks.
But the unseasonal chill in the air has not daunted the spirit of the French and tourists walking by. Some of their thoughts may be on the cold, but their hearts are warm, if the smiles on their faces are any indication. After all, they're in Paris, and on holiday. The Centre Pompidou, opposite which I'm sitting in one of my favorite writing and people-watching cafés, is closed today for the holiday. Here's a photo of it, from their free Wifi login page (it's still daylight in my view): [http://farm9.staticflickr.com/8132/8697770111_c3e52f4005.jpg] My intended destination was the Musée Guimet, in which resides the originals of "The Secret Visions of the Fifth Dalai Lama." I've been dying to see it, but the 16th arrondissement is just so far away -- both spatially and in terms of mindset (it's full of unhappy rich people) -- that I haven't made it there yet. But alas, it's closed, too, so I won't make it there today, either. Maybe over the weekend. One thing I notice as people walk by is that it's remarkably easy to tell the French from the tourists. Especially the women. The tourists are all wearing "sensible shoes" (as am I, so don't think this is a putdown). The French women are almost all wearing high heels. I simply don't know how they do it. They walk effortlessly and gracefully in them, as if the shoes weren't killing their feet and their backs. The ability to do this must really be in the gene pool, because I've met few women from other places who so willingly would subject themselves to such torture while walking around a city, just to make their legs look better. The men are tougher, because on a cold day like today everybody's bundled up in pretty much the same "keep warm chic." The guys with kids are easy to nail as French because they're holding their kids' hands, while the tourists aren't. It's not a "keep track of them" thang on the part of the French; it's just that they really *love* their kids. The tourists, on the whole, look exasperated by theirs. Across the way a clown with a painted face is making balloon animals for some of the kids. Nearby street performers are doing magic or break-dancing. Sadly, the state of the world being what it is, three soldiers (two male, one female) just walked by wearing designer camouflage uniforms, accessorized with machine guns. They look serious, charged with protecting a favorite terrorist target and all; the people they're charged with protecting fortunately do not. They're here to enjoy their holiday, and nothing is going to get in the way of that. And me, as much as this is a good people-watching spot and all, I've finished my apertif and I'm off to have lunch in a more reasonably-priced restaurant I know of nearby. Afterwards, more walking, more people-watching. Maybe even some people-chatting-up, if they look interesting. All in all, my kinda way to spend a Day Off...
