Rain and milder temperatures are back.
Along la rue Montorgueil peace has returned. A handful of”terrasses” are still busy this late at night on a Thursday.
It’s been a hectic week with a national strike impacting locals’ life.
“Les éboueurs” (garbage collectors) are on strike, protesting the reform of the French pension system. Overflowing trash containers can be spotted all over the neighborhood blocking sidewalks. One reason to be grateful it’s not summer.
Yet “en terrasse” no one seems to mind.
The pervasive smell of cigarettes so prevalent during the “apéro hour(s)” has dissipated. Tourists have gone to bed, exhausted by another long day walking miles along the city streets.
It’s mostly Parisians now, native or adopted, enjoying a late dinner or night cap and a beloved ritual, good times spent “en terrasse.”
On the way to my temporary home, I am still thinking about the excellent play I’ve just seen along le boulevard Bonne-Nouvelle nearby.
In the background, the subdued chatter of conversations, the sound of clinking glasses.
Théâtre. Terrasses. Tensions sociales.
I smile. In Paris, some things never change.
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