I just love French cafés. Yes, I guess I am not the only one who have a crush on those sooo typical institutions of the French culture. But what I love about the places is the community feeling, how everyone at that sidewalk terasse plays their own little role. The fat man sitting with his extremely small glasses, enjoying a café while trying to resolve the weekend crossword special in the newspaper. The trendy guy that slides in and have a seat next to me, demanding un café allonge avec un verre d'eau, and of course the elegant lady at the side with the bob-hairstyle and big black sunglasses reading her fashin magazine. We all play a different role at that terasse, and we are not really interacting, except for the few times something that happens on the street requires a little comment or a look. Even though we are not communicating, we are together. We are all accepted.
The Maroccan woman who runs the café comes out at the terasse to verify that everyone is happy and content. I ordered in a second café creme while continuing to enoying by reading of Jane Eyre. Even though I no longer live in Paris, even though I just came here yesterday, and even though I never before have visited this small café next to Canal Saint Martin, I do feel like home.
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