One damn thing after another

History, it has been said, is just one damn thing after another. And Paris is a place where those things keep happening, history is everywhere. Yet, how much of history do we know. A million, maybe a billion details that merely scratch the surface. The events that shaped the world or the path it would take are documented in the monuments. 13 million people a year visit Notre Dame. In how many minds has Napoleon placed the crown on his own head? But what about the events that didn't shape the world, at least not for you or me? 42 million people a year visit Paris and about 2.5 million live there. What of the history they make that no one else sees or feels? Where does it go? Given enough time wandering around in this city, say 20 years, and I begin to think about this. Can I see the ghost trails I have left here? Sitting with Jean-Pierre, a waiter at La Taverne on boulevard St Germain looking at the pictures of his grandchildren and talking about fishing. Jean-Pierre retired long ago and I hope the fishing is good for him. La Taverne disappeared last year. It is now rather more fancy and much less attractive to me. The seat in the corner where you could see the full moon over the church tower is gone but the sense of it lingers. Here are some chairs in Luxembourg Gardens. These chairs are all over the grounds, in the woods, alongside the fountains. What is their history? Just look at them. Can you see as I do that they have just been vacated, that people sat here and talked and that that moment will linger? Or are they just waiting, inviting us to sit, to make our own history?