It was a glorious day in Paris, and that is only a description of the weather.
Paris itself is glorious, whatever the meteorological conditions. It was the perfect day for strolling, with the destination of lunch with a very young but very long-term friend to anticipate. And then more walking, with lots of familiar treats to observe, like the totally predictable bateaux-mouches and the Eiffel Tower. But who knew there would be a bride on the bus? (Yes, we did cheat and ride for a few blocks.)
Every sense was sated, but the eyes can never stop devouring this city. Anything that is really just an object in so many other places here can become a work of art. A cookie, a shoe, a loaf of bread, a suitcase, a ham – all can become transfigured into the most perfect version of its kind, shown to the most glorious advantage. Window shopping is like a museum experience.
I am ending the day with a pedicure, and Don is off to see The Bald Soprano and The Lesson. Yes, I am too shallow for Ionesco, but he will tell me all about it.