November 19th 2024, 1:42 PM - Paris - Cafe Nazir
The women around me are spotted and dotty, flocks of older French women in palettes that put a candy store to shame are having lunch and talking over one another. I remain timid as the waiter speaks to me in English but try my best to say ‘merci!’ when the food comes so they know I am trying. So they think maybe I might be anything but new. New to French, new to France, is new the worst thing in the world one can be? Unknown and unknowing? No, I decide. It’s the best thing to be. I can be a silent sponge and soak up the conversation of the women to my left. Each of them are wearing the loveliest hats and vests. I’ve seen so many hats since landing in Paris. The French do actually wear berets, but you can always tell a tourist in a beret from a Français in a beret. The older French women are striking and strident, or gentle and demure, but always in soft powder foundation and a smash of lipstick.
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