Three sketches of Paris in August

August 16th, 2017

Jardin du Luxembourg in the morning: The air is a little damp and cool, reminiscent of mornings in Palo Alto. The sun is filtering through the trees planted at regular intervals forming long parallel promenades. We walk over the pea gravel towards a collection of painted metal chairs, scattered around the park and moveable to suit one’s needs. A cluster of people sits in a pavilion several yards away. The pavilion is, perhaps, 20 by 50 feet, with elegant wrought iron posts holding a roof over a concrete base. I can’t hear their voices and might not understand them if I could. They all have similar or identical books open, reading and talking---rehearsing lines for a play, perhaps? Another group has a small picnic snack, and Sandy would like to investigate. I hold him back. An older woman walks by with a small white poodle. Sandy practices a “good quiet” as they pass, sitting still with the promise of a treat if he doesn’t bark.

Maria Luisa, an Italian restaurant, on a Sunday evening: It is nearly 8:30 when we arrive for dinner, but the sun is still far from setting. The day has been spectacular. The evening is soft and warm, perfect for eating outside. We wait a few minutes as a server readies two adjacent tables for us. After we’re seated, an older man sets up his violin near us on the sidewalk. He has a decent ear, a limited repertoire, and an odd idea of what vibrato is. He plays three songs, we give him a few euros, and he moves on. The next entertainment is provided by an astounding feat of parallel parking across from us. I say to Glenn, “No way he makes this.” Glenn agrees. Americans at the next table agree. We all wait in silence as the driver eases into a space just inches longer than his car with a large number of small adjustments. A thumbs-up to the driver, a smile and a small bow, a few discreet claps from the bank of tables watching. The final entertainment comes from the American father, American high-school daughter, and the foreign-exchange student boyfriend at the table next to us. The physical proximity of the couple shifts substantially when the father excuses himself to go to the bathroom and then shifts back upon his arrival back. We all smile.

In line at the Lidl on a Thursday afternoon: Lines are long and nerves are a bit frayed. I have plenty of time while waiting in line to extract the two reusable bags I have brought, ready them for packing, and take out my HSBC card for payment, so I will not need to fumble during the transaction. I finally make it to the front and start unloading the groceries (leaning down in a tight space to take them from a floor-level carriage) onto the belt. I stand, holding my two bags and my card, hands full. The checker starts ringing up my order and hands each item to me as it’s rung up, because the woman in front has not bagged her groceries yet. Yes, that’s what I said: he hands each item to me, one by one, even though my hands are obviously full. I clumsily and haphazardly manage to maneuver items into bags, milk on top of potato chips---that sort of thing. In terms of efficiency and ergonomics, the Lidl is no Walmart.