The Eiffel Tower is beautiful at night, all lit up. This holiday season, a Ferris Wheel has been placed next to the Place de la Concorde, and there were throngs of people waiting to take a ride. The combination of the illuminated arc of the wheel and the graceful lines of one of the world’s most famous structures was irresistible.
Actors and not enough work. It’s an age-old problem.
If you’re an actor in Paris and you can’t find work, your options apparently are few. I say this because it seems as though one of the last-ditch options is to post a sign along a busy Parisian thoroughfare, feature some of your different publicity photos that make it look like you could play just about any role from heartthrob to homicidal maniac, toss in an obscenity, and end with a command — all in English, too — and hope for the best.
I don’t know whether this sign had the desired effect and produced a lot of high-quality acting work for Fabrice Yahyaoui, but it did give me a laugh as we headed to lunch in the Marais today.
When you walk around Paris, you notice one immediate difference from America: Everyone — young and old, male and female — seems to be wearing a scarf. And, because they are Parisians, they look ridiculously stylish in doing so.
There apparently are many different ways to wear a scarf. Almost no one goes for the “flung over the shoulder” look I remember from my youth. Instead, the scarves are nattily tied around the neck so that they gather there in attractive bunches and bulges that complement the entire outerwear ensemble. Russell, with his practiced artist’s eye, explained that one of the approaches involves doubling up the scarf draping it over the neck, and then sticking the end through a loop.
I couldn’t figure that technique out, but I did bring a brightly colored scarf from home in preparation for our Parisian adventure. I wore it knotted around the neck yesterday, and hoped that it helped me fit in — even if just a little bit.
Last night we knocked around the Latin Quarter and the Luxembourg Gardens part of Paris, ending up at Les Deux Magots, a famous café across from St. Germain des Pres church. Les Deux Magots is reputed to be one of the haunts of Ernest Hemingway and other American expatriates during their sojourn in Paris, so of course we had to stop there for a drink and a chance to soak up any remaining Hemingway vibes.
On the walk back to our place we passed St. Sulpice and its wonderful fountain, and then crashed — hard — as the jet lag caught up to us.