I think this has much to do with having just eaten my very first home-cooked meal in my new apartment. That's right, AH and I are no longer vagabonds! Our lovely personal chateau is in Paris proper (the last stop on the metro, but it still counts) at Cite Universitaire. Because of AH's affiliation with Ecole Polytechnique, we were able to get an apartment in the Masion des Etudiants Canadiennes. We're right across the street from the RER B metro station (the one AH takes to get to work), and we have a gorgeous view of the park. As soon as I have a functioning camera (and after I've IKEA'd up the place), I'll upload pictures for all to see.
The other reason I'm totally going to let Paris get to second base tonight is that the people-watching here is incredible. Riding the metro can be like getting a free ticket to the most bizarre, hilarious performance art you've ever seen. Case in point: Louis Lady. Coming back from church on Thursday, I'm waiting for the C when who should hobble past me but every stereotype that Americans have of upscale Parisiennes all on display on one woman. This lady must be all of five feet tall even in her ridiculously high- and I'd wager expensive- heels, struggling with a gigantic suitcase and wearing the most spectacularly ostentatious ensemble I have ever seen.
Now, before I describe this outfit, I should let you know that this woman is an anomaly here. While, at least to my eye, Parisian women look slightly more put-together (no sweat pants in public so far), I mostly see clothes that are fairly conservative and would not look out of place in the states. (I did see one pair of pink and purple argyle leggings tonight, but that also was an exception). I feel compelled to clarify this point because before I came here, I had a recurring nightmare that I, wearing jeans and flat shoes, would be surrounded by a mob of be-heeled and be-Chaneled Parisiennes and ridiculed for my slobbish Anglo ways. My fears proved totally unfounded because 1) I seem to have the Parisian uniform of black wool coat, jeans and flat black boots with a scarf down and 2) I doubt people could be torn from their smartphones and kindles long enough to care what some foreigner is wearing.
So back to our Louis Lady. In addition to her spectacular brown heels, she was wearing a red wool suit with bell sleeves with fur trim on the wrists. Already into Eccentric Grand Dame territory. But the kicker is the fur collar and matching fur turban that were somehow imprinted with the Louis Vitton logo. And the joy of it all is that she was behaving exactly as one would expect a woman dressed thusly to behave: like an entitled, cranky old salope, pulling a suitcase that was bigger than her and snarling at anyone who dared to cross her path. I would say that all she was missing was a little yappy dog, but this woman had a distinct Cruella de Ville aura to her, so maybe she'd finished her yorkie bacon and was on a mission for more (perhaps that's what the suitcase was for). I couldn't take my eyes off her, but every time she looked my way, I quickly adverted my gaze lest I be turned into a sewer rat.
Why was a woman who had the money for a Louis Vitton fur-trimmed suit riding the metro with the rest of us poor people? I have no idea. But I do know that Paris is, like, the best because it TOTALLY knows what I like: spectacle in the every day. Who knows? If Paris keeps this up, we could go all the way.
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