This morning I walked up to the Trocadero and took in the sunrise with le Tour Eiffel. Afterward, I returned to le Marais to explore the shops. I actually started at the Bastille and walked up Rue Beaumarchais to the Apple store (Note: Back in 2005, Jobs announced that an Apple Store was set to open in Paris. According to the employee at this third-party Apple reseller, this was nothing more than a legend).

I stopped into a café for orange juice, the one craving I had not been able to satisfy. I found camaderie in the men smoking and drinking at the bar. Sure, they made dirty jokes suggesting that I squeeze their oranges, but I enjoyed their company and felt comfortable laughing along with them. One man spoke English with me and paid for my juice. After this, I went to another café and ordered un chocolat et un croissant (Royal Turenne, 24, rue de Turenne, 3). The owner of the shop arranged a seat for me outside under a heat lamp, where I was able to observe Parisiens conduct their morning routines. At this point, I had infinite time for leisure and I became immediately aware of my flânerie.


Interesting things I observed that morning: Men pasting up new advertisements in the subway stations. Businessmen riding in motorcycles gangs. Boxes of Marlboros being delivered to various tabacs. A homeless man sleeping in la place de Vosges, a luxurious place to live in one’s darkest days.

Places of consumption: Abou D’Abi Bazaar (10, rue des Francs Bourgeois), Ben Simon (8, rue des Francs Bourgeois), Zadig & Voltaire, APC, American Apparel, among others.

I shared an interesting conversation (en français) with the salesman in Ted Baker. We discussed the difference in styles and shopping habits of Parisians, the British, and Americans (who are further divided into two groups: New Yorkers and Californians). I complained that Paris was too dark in its fashion. He described it as classic, saying that Londoners liked color but that it was trendy and cheap. New Yorkers, we decided, were the best Americans to shop with because of their experience. They know what they are looking for, whereas Californians touch and try everything.

After buying a few things at a nearby vintage clothing store, I made it to the Louvre half an hour early. We succeeded in making it to the Grand Gallery and had a discussion comparing the late-18th century paintings by David, Delacroix, Gericault, Gros, and Ingres.

That night, ma mère went out to the theater and I treated myself to a long, hot shower. I was able to shave both of my legs.

Objective Truth: Water and electricity are very expensive here. Ma mére has both a washing machine and a dryer -- a rare occurrence -- but I have to use the laundromat. I would much rather pay her for each time I use the machine and not have to carry my dirty laundry through the Parisian streets. She has a dishwasher also, but doesn’t use it because of the high cost of water. Perhaps the republican ideal of self-sacrifice for the sake of the common good still exists here. Perhaps this is why I am unable take showers long enough to shave my legs, but that each night le tour Eiffel twinkles and flashes with thousands of tiny lights.