Today my faith in humanity has been restored. Just the other day I made public my concern for those unable to traverse the long subway tunnels on their own and the negligence of others in their refusal to help.

As I stepped off the train at Bastille this evening, a dog walked into my leg. I thought that this must have been some nervy mutt, considering that most other dogs do their best to avoid being touched. I turned the corner and was about to scuttle down the stairs when I looked up to see a homeless man looking at me pitifully. Then I realized he was looking, not at me, but to the top of the stairwell. Then I realized that he had a shopping cart full of sleeping German Shepherd puppies, at least ten of them, not more than four weeks old.

Within a matter of seconds, two heroic young men stepped in and carried the cart, one at each end, to the top of the stairs. Bless their little hearts.


This morning I caught up on my sleep. I must have been having fever dreams, because I woke up disoriented and convinced of many things that now I’m quite sure were never true.

I spent the entire afternoon at Les Puces, the flea and fine antiquities markets in Saint-Ouen. This has to be the largest market in the world and most of it is open-air. As anyone who knows me well should know, I was ecstatic to find this goldmine of over-priced refuse. One stall was selling a giant foot taken from a statue. It was at least four feet long. Another sold only keychains. Others had prints and maps, some sold 19th century signage and military medallions, and still others had tables covered with buttons and costume jewelry. I spent about twenty minutes talking to one man about Hermès scarves (my opinion on paying $200 for a piece of silk changes daily) and the French graphic designer Cassandre. He was kind enough to set five scarves aside for me until I’ve made up my mind.

Another stall-owner was less obliging to my requests. I talked to him about my research on 19th-century political caricature and he showed me his collection, but whenever I asked to stop and look at one of the images, he would decline and keep flipping through. I took a lot of notes, which he didn’t seem to like, but I don’t believe academic research can do any harm. So I kept at it.

I saw some of the same issues of L'Éclipse I had found at the other market, but they were often five times the price. I took a lot of business cards and will consider big purchases after my week in Barcelona. Among the things I bought are a vintage red belt, shark teeth drilled with holes, and rare Venetian glass beads from 300 BC. The best gains, though, were all the compliments I received on my French!

Now I am sitting in my little café listening to bluegrass and drinking Orangina (et sa pulpe!) from a plastic cup.

Another note on French style. Before I left the States, I read in a couple of magazines that it was trendy to use shopping bags as purses. So while it isn’t anything too novel, I find it exciting that it is fashionable (in that obscure, hipster kind of way) to carry the blue Ikea shopping tote all the time. Unfortunately, I’ve taken too long to post about this phenomenon and the Washington Post has beaten me to it. Also, it appears that it isn’t a fashion statement at all, but is just Europeans being more environmentally aware than Americans. http://www.washingtonpost.com/wp-dyn/content/article/2007/03/15/AR2007031501921.html

My karaoke song? Devendra’s “Chinese Children.” I just wish one of the bars would have it on their list.

Not that I’m complaining, but why does “Bertrand Russell” come up when I type “Venetian” into my Firefox Google search bar?