Day 8 School's out!

The 20^th Arrondissement, where we are staying does not rank highly in tourist guidebooks, but a lengthy late afternoon walk revealed some surprises. Some friends had told us that about a kilometre up the road from where we are staying there is a quaint cobble stoned street with some rather pleasant cafes. The cafes were closed when we were there, but the old street, which leads up the hill to the church was indeed a treasure. As we walk we do our best to guess the meaning of French words and we notice the word ecole appears outside a number of institutions all of which appear to be bustling with life. At 4.30pm school is finishing and mums and dads are picking up pre-schoolers and primary aged kids while the high school kids are making their own way home.

Of course everyone is dressed for the icy cold weather. We smile as we see little kids in strollers with their arms outstretched to either side because they are unable to bend their arms on account of their very bulky coats and scarves. A distinguished African man wearing a well-cut suit and carrying a brief case in one hand pushes a child in a stroller with his other hand. Mothers linger around the school gates no doubt catching up on the latest news and gossip. No school uniforms are in sight. The high schoolers like their counterparts worldwide are trying to look cool and in Paris that means they are all smoking. Although it is very cold the teenagers seemed in no hurry to get home and are taking the opportunity to hang out for a little longer on the streets. Various generations meet in the bread shop for an afternoon snack, for what else, but a baguette.

We make our way down a hill and look for a shortcut back to where we had started and walk down a steep path through a graveyard attached to the local parish church. Parents and school students follow the same path and a short cut through the graveyard seems to be a regular route home from school.

As the sun sets on the icy streets we make our way back to our apartment. We feel safe in this city environment and our only real concern is dodging the effects on the streets of Paris’s love affair with their dogs. We would like to think that we have blended into our Paris city neighbourhood but as our coats are not black, as are everyone else’s , and with Katmandu printed on the front, we are still the obvious tourists.