Paris - Saturday Morning

Le Faubourg St. Antoine behind the Bastille....the Marche Aligre.  A Saturday morning in Paris may look very much like a Saturday morning where you are.

But then again, it might not look like your part of the world at all!  (Do you get fresh fuzzy almonds at your market?)

Oldish guys with crutches.  Maybe?

Nice arab ladies with cheerful green trollies?  You tell me.

Stylish females with the very latest in flashy footwear?

Ladies who bought too much, packing and unpacking?  Or who made the fatal mistake of putting their wallet at the BOTTOM of the grocery trolley?  (Something I have to admit, I would do!)

We don't seem to do this so much in the U.S., the sensible cutting up of squash so you need only buy enough for your own family, versus taking home a giant specimen for the WHOLE NEIGHBORHOOD!

Does your market have cheery red baskets to weigh your fruit in?

Do your fellow shoppers look like (slightly severe) models......

 or goddesses?

This is reminding me I should really refine my street snapping style.  At this point I am only visualizing that iconic look of the photographer in the khaki jacket with all the pockets for his/her lenses and the big sunglasses pushed up onto the top of the head.

Should I be dressing with flair, or going very incognito and unremarkable so as to draw less attention to myself?  I feel I should do as I did in India - prepare ahead with pockets full of pens and stickers, to hand out to my subjects, and little cards, thanking them for letting me steal their souls and post them on the internet, with my address so that they can come murder me in retaliation.  Or at least get copies of the pics or my url so they can find themselves online to show to friends.  I should be charmingly grateful for their participation in my endeavors.

I don't like strangers taking a picture of me either.  It seems an invasion.  And importuning.  A presumption.  I guess, to improve my karma, I'll have to change my own attitude about that.  

But the artist in me is getting thicker skinned and bolder, may I say?

You can't ALWAYS be shooting people from behind!

Did I mention though, I would be inclined to hand out lumps of coal and rotten fruit (unlike this - does anybody KNOW what to do with raw fresh almonds by the way?) to people who insist on stepping ACROSS the picture I'm trying to take.  Which happens far too many times than I'd like to say.

This lady was lovely and generous and gave me a smile, even after I declined her tempting flowers.  She reminds me in her face and how the chin is lifted, and even in her stance, of Degas' "Petite Danseuse".  On a bad-posture-cigarette break.

These guys have found a certain freedom in the "Velibs".  They don't know I've snapped them.  Very liberating for all concerned.

SHE is rocking the classic french clashing color workingmans' look.  Clashing in all the best ways, I've always thought.

She is rocking the take-me-to-the-disco-you-will-not-regret-it-cheri! look (At 12 noon on a Saturday, I remind you!) THANKYOU MLLE!  for giving me a big smile.  You KNOW you look good.  And I.  Am doing the - "Oh I'm not snapping YOU!  It's that fascinating building in the background" happy dance.  Which is why the picture is blurry.

And these guys.  Are rocking the I-AM-A-HAPPY-CHILD-IN-PARIS look.

A seemingly effortless style .  YOU could feel so stylish if you were born to it, if most of the Saturdays of your life looked like this!  How WAS yours, anyway?