Wandering through the 18th arrondissement, playing hide and seek with the basillica above us...dodging in and out of the crowds. Up the winding hill from our little apartment, in and out of streets that aren't on the maps.
Stretches of lonely cobblestone road interspersed with loud, boisterous people. Caricaturists mill about with large artist boards saying hello in three different languages to everyone they come across. I wonder which ones have partners in the crowd with quick fingers.
Standing in the middle of everyone, I remembered what it's like to feel everyone around you. To feel their existence and individuality...every life so loud in my head, so many details to try and track. The Frenchwoman with her children trying to make it through as quickly as possible. The American man yelling in English at his wife. The American woman yelling back, unabashed by the many eyes glancing her way. The British bride with her too-short white lace, her loud New York bride's maid, and a woman who appears to be her mother-in-law. Story after story, conjecture after circumstance.
The empty streets were a quiet relief.
I anticipate many afternoons exploring these winding streets and finding my favorite quiet corners.
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