Place de la République
I have always described myself as fairly antisocial. Perhaps this is why I enjoy living in France. As much as I may joke about how I miss having a circle of friends (as I did in Canada), I do Thrive in Aloneness. And one thing's for sure, les parisiens won't shatter my solitude OR bat an eye at most of the things they witness dans la rue.
Only here could I successfully HOP home from Place de la République wearing ONE shoe without anyone regarding me quizzically. You think I would have gotten twenty metres in a Canadian city without someone offering to help me? No way!
This morning I had a lovely brunch with a friend visiting from Dublin and I expressed my disdain for my new talons compensés. Completely flat platform wedges. I found them last week at a friperie called La Frange à l'envers.
"Yeah, I saw you were struggling with them," she chuckled.
"I just have to break them in."
Walking, walking, walking. From Montmartre to Canal Saint Martin, where I sat languidly by the water, letting my feet dangle. A splendid day! Then I rose to cross the street. Soudainement the straps of my right shoe broke apart, leaving me in a useless anklet of sorts, the sole of my foot exposed.
I could neither call my friend (phone died) nor buy a new pair of sandals (I just spent an unseemly montant de l'argent at Librairie Artazart). So I opted to hop. If these streets are good enough for the dogs of the Marais, they're good enough for me, I thought cheerily. Et pendant ces quinze minutes, personne m'a rien dit. My shoeless anonymity was thrilling.
Somewhat paradoxically, I am posting this on my new blog for all to read.
Why didn't I want people to help me? I don't completely know. I guess I just wanted to get home and be alone again. Being alone on the streets and in your thoughts is a luxury all can afford in Paris. Do with that what you will.
P.S. I washed my feet with a gritty pink substance called "Sardonyx Fire" from & Other Stories. Would recommend.