Sundays in Paris can be difficult. Difficult for us North Americans who are use to constant activity. Malls and stores open all weekend offer no rest for the weary in the states. We can grocery shop at 11:00pm if we want filling our restless souls that really don't want rest with mindless busy-ness. We really never have to be present with ourselves or others. Here in Paris....France....all of Europe for that matter, Sunday is still a holdout to a time gone by. Nothing is open....or very little. It is certainly a day of rest and enjoyment whatever that means. A beautiful sunny day like we experienced yesterday brings people out by the hundreds. Strollers, scooters, soccer balls and jump ropes were all part of the baggage being hauled to parks throughout the city along with picnic baskets filled with the obligatory wine, baguettes, cheese and ashtrays (several smokers had them on their blanket as opposed to flicking their cigarettes into the grass...nice touch). Bathing suits were under everyone's clothes and once people were comfortably stripped down to nothing, eating, drinking, kissing, reading, debate, sun-tanning, sleeping and smoking got under way. For hours. No agenda other than to relax. With absolutely no guilt about all the "non-doing" going on.
It was glorious. And freeing.
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