Flirting in Paris

Paris is a place for flirting. It is an innocent art form here. It bears no heavy or hidden meanings, has no expected outcome other than a brief personal contact with a fellow human being, a sharing of beauty or perhaps the absurdity of daily life. Its meaning can vary from “I think you are cute” to “Is it just the two of us who see the absurdity of what just happened?” to , as in this image on Île St Louis, “I was once young too, do you see me or just an old man?” Flirting is a normal part of life here where eye contact with a stranger is not threatening. Smiling or winking at a woman in the Métro or on a bus or in a café is a complement and is usually welcomed as one. You should also be prepared to be the recipient of a flirtatious glance. If the smile or the wink is returned that good feeling you just experienced is mirrored in the other. The feeling brightens your day and you get off at the next stop or finish your drink and go on with your day feeling just a little better and a little more connected with the rest of humanity.

Once you are open to the Parisian concept of flirting you find Paris herself flirting with you. She will be sending the message “Look around at your fellow creatures, isn't it wonderful that you are all here together in this miraculous place.”

Growing old with Paris

     Paris had a melancholy aura that afternoon. It was a day of endings. I would be back of course but right now, it was my last frame of film on my last day of this visit. I've been developing a relationship with Paris, getting to know her over many years. You can't just rush in and get to know a city any more than you get to know a person from a brief encounter. It takes time to understand, to assimilate the intent, to have a feeling of a place, in a way - become a couple. Paris gives a first impression and, if you accept it, you go home with an innocent view of the city. You have a general idea of her charm but if you return, you realize that your impression was neither right nor wrong and that you mustn't hang onto it. Paris is more than that postcard you sent home on your first visit.

    As you spend time with this city she begins to speak and to alter your impressions. When you meet someone for the first time, you have a feeling. Maybe later, as you get to know them you realize that you were wrong because you didn't take notice of certain things, a certain smile, a tilt of the head, a twinkle in the eye that you missed in the beginning. It is the same with Paris. What delights me now I never noticed at first. Some of what I loved in the beginning now just annoys me. Yet we are still together, she and I.

    I see a couple, walking along the Seine in front of me and I can see that they have been together for a long time, that they are comfortable with each other, that they know everything about each other that is important and yet there is still a lingering mystery, and that it didn't get that way overnight.

    The melancholy melts away, banished by the image of this couple walking together through life in my Paris.

Huitres et Coquillages

Friday rush hour on a winter night in Paris means traffic and lots of people as everyone prepares for the weekend. Our plans are for dinner at Le Nord Sud up in the 18^th. Getting across Paris, up over Montmartre and down the back side, during rush hour takes a half hour by Métro and an hour or more by bus. Guess which we way are going?

The 85 bus will be full if we get on at Place St Michel near our apartment. A pleasant stroll to Luxembourg Gardens and onto rue Royer Collard brings us to the birthplace of the number 85 bus. We grab our favorite seat on an empty bus just across from the back door by a window. Here we have a good view of the interior and can still see everything going on outside. We are cold from the walk and enjoy the warmth in the bus as we settle in. In a few minutes the driver arrives and by the time we make the three stops to Place St Michel there are no more seats.

We cross the Seine and move slowly through the bustle of rue de Rivoli. It doesn't seem to matter that the bus is full, more people keep getting on. Large shopping bags, baby strollers, even an occasional large plant seem to find room. There are no class distinctions on the Paris buses, lawyers and laborers, bag-ladies and businessmen, shop girls and socialites, drunks and dowagers are all packed in here with us. The murmured conversations and management of the myriad of little crises as people deal with being on the bus mirror Paris life in miniature.

We drive up streets that seem too narrow for the bus. The bus stops and outside my window is a brightly lit display of fresh fruits and vegetables so close I could grab an orange if the bus window were open. Ticket controllers get on the bus at random and there is always a mad scramble of hapless free riders trying to get off the bus before getting caught.

We arrive at city hall in the 18^th and step off the bus right in front of the oyster bar outside Le Nord Sud. We pause for a minute looking up the market street and watching the activity. We are early tonight and get our favorite spot, a cozy booth for two above the bar where we can see the dining room. We are seasonal regulars here and the waiter stops by to welcome us back. I think I'll have the fish tonight.