LIZ SAYS: It's Sunday and I've decided to take Dick for a walk. Ever since his wallet was lost or stolen he has been in a bit of a mood. It's a catastrophe. True, it's all a pain, but he is stressing every bit of it and feeling down. At first, I was warped by the ugly, too. But, then, the Fixer said, no one died, no one was hurt. It's just stuff. He was right, so I decided to try to remind Dick of Paris, not of thieves or feeling stupid. After all, it could happen anywhere. Paris does apologize, but you do have to listen to hear her. So, it's Sunday. We live very close to the Mouffetard market. It's a timeless place, one of the oldest fresh food markets in Paris. There is a church and two fountains at the base of the market. It is surrounded by cafes on the cobbled street. The bells ring, the fountains gush and on Sunday morning there is an outdoor dance. It is open and free. Every Sunday morning, an accordion player and a selection of singers come out with dancers dressed in floral summer dresses and they sing and dance. The women float and the men pose as the crowd sings along. Really! The rotating singers hand out the lyrics and everyone who isn't taking pictures is singing along to songs that sound familiar, but who knows the words. Meanwhile, in between songs the fruit and veg sellers are hawking fresh cherries, "cerise, belle cerise!" When first arrived, I thought it was all too cute, just a tourist trap. But, you know, today, I noticed that it was just fun. Sometimes things are just sweet and this is just sweet. We ate a not so great but very french breakfast in the sun and watched the whole thing being slowly seduced by the utterly trite picture postcard scene. And to think, it was just last Saturday that I trashed Woody Allen for showing Paris in the exact same light. C'est bon. - Posted using BlogPress from my iPad
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