Bon jour, mes amies,
I wonder what I look like to people. I'm wearing a mask, my hair is a mess, and I don't dress very well, and yet I had person after person trying to press political pamphlets on me. And they were picking me out of the crowd. "Je suis touriste," I said, the horrible accent leading credence to my assertion. I must exude essence of voter. That part is accurate anyway.
The bike race started early today, and it's also the day my room gets done, so I'm downstairs, with my earbuds trying to follow the stage despite the people who need to be down here chatting. I acquired some noisy neighbors last night, and these folks seem to be the same crowd--very sociable they are. I brought down my mug and some almonds, so I can have a drink and snack later on.
I want to avoid taking the metro as much as possible, and I didn't want to go too far afield anyway, so I strolled down to the Palais Royale, which is a very pleasant place to stroll. There is a colonnade lined with shops and cafes--and I shudder to think of what the rent for such a location must be. None of them were selling anything I'd want anyway. I observed an encounter between an English Bulldog and a Frenchie. They seemed to get along.
The Palais Royale also has chestnut trees and rose gardens. It's lovely. The central fountain has an installation of plastic figurines of little green men. I did take a photo. And I came back via Rue Saint Honore, but I didn't come home yet.
I attended the street market on Rue Monmartre fascinated as usual by the offerings. Then I walked up and down Rue Montorgueil plotting future purchases. So it was a slow day, but I did walk more than ten thousand steps.
Now I'd like to focus on the stage.
A demain
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