A beautiful day in the neighborhood

The popular market under the Grenelle tracks begins here, at the Avenue de la Motte Picquet,
and goes on for several blocks.  It operates on Wednesdays and Sundays until about 1PM.

July 30, 2018 -- A tiny, triangular "square" near us is dedicated to Emile Zola (1840-1902), the French journalist, writer, activist.  On one side of the monument in this square is a quotation from Zola which is so appropriate these days that I want to share its translation with you:

The truth is on the march and nothing will stop it.  Whoever suffers for truth and justice becomes august and sacred. There is justice only in the truth. There is happiness only in justice.  Emile Zola

The square -- called the Place Alfred-Dreyfus -- used to be an unusable, dirty, neglected space that collected litter.  Then it was made into a simple, elegant, yet humble spot that Zola would appreciate.  You can find it where the Avenue Emile Zola, Rue du Théatre, and Rue Violet meet, in the upper part of the 15th arrondissement.

The reverse side of the monument has a round metal portrait of Zola. Someone had defaced it with a bit of white paint, which they used to draw a Hitler-like mustache on top of Zola's mustache.  What a jerk, I thought, who would deface Zola's image like that.  Tom said, "What an ignorant jerk."  The jerk obviously knows nothing about Emile Zola.  I found the blotch so offensive that I touched up this photo to erase it.  I hope the Paris park maintenance people take that offensive Hitler mustache off of Emile Zola's image very soon.

The whole monument looks like it has been scrubbed clean here and there, as if other graffiti/vandalism has been removed in the past.

Earlier in this walk we saw and heard beautiful signs of life.  There was a gorgeous cat lounging in the shade on the passage way called the Villa de Grenelle.  These days, it is rare to see a cat on the loose in Paris.  I hope that she does not wander far.

There was a talented violin player playing classical pieces under the railroad bridge that crosses over the Ile aux Cygnes.  He played the Marseillaise and parts of Vivaldi's Four Seasons -- both difficult pieces.  I think he was a professional, and he seemed to be practicing as well as performing.  He repeated certain phrases from the Four Seasons over and over, to perfect them.  I thoroughly enjoyed his music as we sat on a nearby park bench.

At last, I walked over and placed three or four euros on his violin case.  He said, "Merci, madame.  Bonne soirée!" in a deep, resonant, baritone voice and in the perfect, clear French that well-educated people speak.

When we reached the Pont de Bir Hakeim, we were stunned to see about six different wedding couples being photographed there.  This is a popular place for such photos, but we've never seen so many couples there at once.  They appeared not to know each other, and altogether they were an ethnically diverse bunch of young people.

The Villa de Grenelle.

We finally saw Philippe on that walk, too.  He is a poor old guy who used to sit on the sidewalk by the door of the bakery that we go to most often.  Philippe is good-natured, and likes to talk.  We would chat with him often, and we'd buy him occasional pizza slices from the bakery.  But until this walk, we had not seen him this summer.

But there he was the other evening; these days he is in a fine looking wheelchair, and he isn't sitting on the pavement, begging, anymore.  He sat in his wheelchair across from the bakery, just to be out, taking the evening air.  His attire was casual and stylish -- like an ensemble from the Levi Strauss catalog, the Gap store up the street, or Old Navy.  Someone has set him up with more social and health care services, it seems.

I'm not surprised.  It was always clear to us that people in the neighborhood care for Philippe.