Maps and Chairs

One of the things I've discovered that I really love doing here is going for runs. Don't get me wrong: I've never been an exercise junkie -- in fact, until my freshman year of college, I was fundamentally opposed to sweating. But after a few too many baguettes and croissants, I am more than motivated to pull on my brand new sneakers, which I had imported from America in my boyfriend's carry on--running shoes for women (or actually running) don't seem to exist in Paris. Anyway, I've found that going for runs in my neighborhood is way less painful than in America, which is actually kind of surprising. My neighborhood is really not very exciting: it's completely residential, and it's hard even to find a grocery store that is open after 8 p.m. I think the most exciting thing I've seen on my street is a plaque that the President of the Republic in the '40s lived in one of the buildings. But one of the things I've learned about myself living in Paris is that I'm not very good of letting go of my maps; even on days that I set aside to just wander, I always kind of need to know where I am. Even when I went to the Louvre for the first time, I felt like my eyes were constantly flicking towards my floorplan to make sure I was heading towards the Flemish painters (which I never actually got to see) and missed entire rooms of Poussins (whatever, Poussin). When I go running (or at least the grand 4 times I've been running), I'm forced to go mapless, and even though I know basically where I am--one song past the park, one song closer to school than home -- it's easy to accidentally turn down a really long or short street, a dead end or one that suddenly pops out right next to my building. It's kind of freeing -- and scary -- to not know where I am, even if I am just a few blocks from home.

In other news, I've developed a new annoyance, which may not come as a surprise: the uncouth museum-goer. I'm not even talking about the superficial glances and tacky photos people take of the Mona Lisa. I'm talking about the just post-middle-aged lady who got a little too friendly with the Degas at the D'Orsay on Tuesday. You know how there's usually a space between the painting and the viewer, that sometimes its OK to cross (sometimes you really need to see something close!) as long as you aren't blocking anyone else...? Well it seems like people usually respect this (sacred!!) tradition of not walking completely in front of someone who was looking at the painting first, and not only did this woman park right in front of me (and other people!) more than once, she was carrying one of those fold-up lawn chairs you'd take to a kid's soccer game and, after walking in front of like 10 people (like, as close to the works as you can get without touching them), she'd just unfold and...sit. For probably not even one minute before she packed up. Even coming from someone who is a total proponent of close-looking, this was excessive. But really, not even she could really ruin such a wonderful exhibition. Degas wins again.