Standing in the super-long line for the Musée d'Orsay (funny, I somehow avoid all lines at the Louvre), I had the perfect excuse to people-watch since people was all I could see. There were the Chinese* tourists all wearing bucket hats embroidered with flowers, for apparently they were under the impression that the cutting edge of French fashion resembled outfits from Clueless. There were the Japanese* tourists all wearing surgical masks, for apparently they didn't get the memo that swine flu is so eight months ago.
And then there were the American tourists wearing cargo pants and safari jackets, for apparently they were under the impression that Paris is a concrete jungle and their BatoBus was a safari Jeep. Or perhaps they were just paying homage to the masterly realism of this statue:
Quick, hon, snap a picture before he runs away!
But my favorite "tourists" have to be the huddles of small french school children sitting indian-style in neat rows in front of 19th-Century classics, listening patiently while the guide talks about diffusion of light, and oohing and awing when she tells them how Van Gogh cut his ear off.
On a complete side note, I ate here for lunch:
And I had this for dessert after dinner:
Called a Chocolat Royal, fit for a king. Ha.
I now feel compelled to mention that, contrary to what the contents of my blog (which is currently two parts food and one part "look Mom, I'm in a museum!") may indicate, I'm actually reading, writing, and thinking a lot. Like today, I wrote in response to Rodin's Gates of Hell. But I used the phrase "dripping with despair" something like three times, and it's a total mood killer.
So I'll keep posting on chocolate.
* And by Chinese, I mean some sort of Asian.
*And by Japanese, I mean some sort of Asian.
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