One of the things I love about having the time to be leisurely during my days in Paris (although this would qualify in other cities like New York or London as well), is the opportunity to just observe the little daily dramas that play out on the streets, and mostly go unobserved and uncommented on.
In one short afternoon, while having a leisurely lunch outside at Au Bourgignon Marais on the Rue Francois Miron (recommended, and did not disappoint), here were a few of the observations:
A young girl is suddenly screaming into her cellphone and crying hysterically. Obviously in distress, she slumps against a tree, sobbing uncontrollably. She gathers herself and begins walking down the adjacent street (Rue Jouy), still crying heavily. A man, who has been standing in the doorway of a shop across the street, suddenly runs over, puts both arms around the girl, who slumps into him, and he walks with her down the street and they disappear. In the rest of the hour I am at the restaurant I never see him (or her for that matter) again.
So, what was going on? Had she just been dumped by a boyfriend (or girlfriend)? Had she just learned of the death of a loved one? Was she merely having a severe argument with someone? And, what of the man who comes to her rescue? Seriously concerned for her well-being, or possibly taking advantage of the woman’s obvious vulnerability at the moment? So many unanswered questions on which to build a story.
An elderly Japanese man shuffles into the restaurant and orders a coffee and a glass of water. He looks old, but still looks like a businessman, having a briefcase with him and wearing a suit and tie. He doesn’t order lunch, just the coffee and when he pays, the waiter gives him mostly coins in change. As he is trying to retrieve his coins from the small plate they always put your bill on in cafes in Paris, it is obvious that he is struggling to pick them up and, in fact, drops a number of them onto the ground.
It now becomes more apparent that there is a frailty to this gentleman, and a kind of oddness. His movements are very slow and as he gets up to leave it becomes painful to watch him try to move. He moves as if hobbled and in great pain in his legs and feet and I watch him shuffle, hazardously, across the street, where he shuffles into a boulangerie for a short time and comes out with a small package.
He then shuffles across the sidewalk, again quite slowly and painfully, carrying his package and his briefcase quite precariously in his arms, to a parked car, opens the door and puts something inside the car, shuts the car door and locks it and hobbles away across the sidewalk again. Suddenly he stops, turns back around, hobbles back to the car, opens the door and throws his briefcase in and gets in the car.
I watch to see what will happen next, as the way this gentleman walks I cannot imagine him driving a car. And, in fact, though I sat at the restaurant for at least another twenty minutes, the man did not move, nor did the car.
What was he doing just sitting in the car? Was he gathering his energy to actually drive somewhere? Had he merely gotten on his cellphone and was just sitting there talking? Was he eating a pastry he had just purchased at the boulangerie? Was he worn out from hobbling across the street and slumped over his steering wheel?
These are just examples of all the little dramas that play out every day in cities across the world. I’m glad I had time, for a few days, to witness them and think about them.
