Escape to nothing at all.

The other day I was feeling crowded. It felt like people were trying to congregate around me, elbow me and make me want to scream. It was, of course, nothing personal, but anyone who lives in an urban space can relate. I was near St. Michel (the worst of the worst if you ask me) and I bustled my way onto l'Ile de la Cité. I tried to take refuge in the Marché aux Fleurs - nesting between spaces in the plants, away from human bodies. Not good enough. It wouldn't do. So, I huffed off toward the other side of the island and found a staircase. Yes, the one above. I thought to myself, oh goody, I shall be unshackled along the quais of the Seine.

There was a guy standing at the top of the staircase whom I passed as I hurriedly headed down. He looked at me funny - I could feel his quizzical gaze following me. I kept obstinately on. Down the second tier of stairs. And then, I opened my eyes and there before me was the Seine. The water. The staircase led to no such quai. Just directly into the waters of the Seine. I stopped. For a little while I looked at the inky water and scolded it. How could you do this to me? Just end with no explanation? Then I turned back around, sheepishly, and smiled a little smile at the gent when I passed at the top. His eyes mocked me, "Not in such a dash now, are you missy?" Curses.

Rue de la Tombe Issoire.

In my urban exploring, I stumbled upon a giant. Literally. A giant who is perched on the side of a building in the 14th arrondissement. I was riding along, looking up and down and everywhere as usual, and then there he was. He is a really lovely giant too. He looks rather threatened and scared up there. I put the breaks on, dragged my bike off the road onto the sidewalk and stood beneath him looking up. Then I read the sign on the wall explaining his presence. Here is what it said:

"Once upon a time, in the time of the kings and queens of the Middle Ages of France, was a giant named Isoré, king of Coimbre in Portugal and high as three men. He hid himself in the forest of Paris, which at the time came all the way to the gates of the city. He would wait until pilgrims arrived who were on their way to Saint Jacques de Compostelle (the site of Saint Jacques' tomb in Spain - which was, at the time, the third most important Christian pilgrimage, after Rome and Jerusalem).

The giant terrified the pilgrims, robbed them and sometimes even killed them. The king soon heard of these terrible crimes and of the giant. He summoned his best knights. All of them were defeated by the terrible giant. The king decided to send the valliant Guillaume d'Orange who lived as a hermit in the Cévenoles mountains.

After a fierce fight, Guillaume successfully decapitated the giant. But Isoré was so big and so heavy that the people decided to bury him right there, at the site of his death. The site was given the name rue de la Tombe Isoré as a result, which has since become rue de la Tombe Issoire."

The sculptor is Corrine Béoust and the whole project was undertaken for an école maternelle (a pre-school - the kind that Marguerite goes to). Man, those lucky kids. I love France.

Parc Montsouris.

Today I jubilated. The sun was shining in full glory and I was on a bike under its rays. Then it was Parc Montsouris in the 14th arrondissement.





I came to this spot in the park, which was very near a dazzling tree that seemed to dare me to jump in a pile of its perfect yellow leaves. I took the dare, even though a certain lady on a bench - yes, that lady - did not stop staring and sneering at me. I am getting better and better at just pretending #1. that I am not doing such things alone even when I am, and #2. that their assessment is of absolutely no value. Besides, I think this photo is evidence that she was hankering to do the same - she was scoping out my pile of leaves before I even arrived.



The jump in the leaves was worth it because when I looked up I saw this and when I looked down I saw these.



And when I lay down in the leaves...



And when I left the park, I saw her. She was an angel of grand proportions and she reminded me of that poetic quote which hangs above one of the doorways in Shakespeare & Company (a famous bookshop in Paris): Be not inhospitable to strangers lest they be angels in disguise.



Actually, it was this dog who first reminded me of that quote and then I subsequently walked into the park and was then met with the angel. Out of nowhere on the sidewalk he appeared and he was charming enough, but looked completely lost and abandoned. I crouched down to pet him for a little while hoping his owner would surface. Time passed and then I felt guilty walking away from him because no one came for him and he looked like a stranger who needed some hospitality. He left a little pang in my heart, especially since Mlle. Angel came around to hover above as a reminder.

Off to go biking.

(The unbeatable and ever classic Osvaldo Cavandoli's cartoon
La Linea).

French Femininity Continued...

Cringed and laughed out loud at the same time when I saw this...the horror. Why? Why are the heels necessary for pitching a women's sporting event? Is it the preposterous nature of the idea of women removing such things to engage in sport? Or is it to attract viewers who otherwise would have no interest? Or is it the insistence that femininity means only a very limited range of things in France? Whatever was behind this, it is beyond me.