Carmel tea, bananagrams, and eyebrows.

Yesterday I went to an old books market on the Rue Cler. It was a small market, with probably fifteen vendors, but there were a lot of books. A lot of old books that were unheard of or falling apart. Of course I was basically salivating over all of the leather and beautiful binding, and the wonderful old book smell. (ps I wonder if there is cologne that is old book smell...? hmm...) I made my way through the booksellers, walking down the row of tents set up, and unfriendly sellers sitting, scowling at me while I looked carefully through their piles of precious junk, unconsciously giving each book I looked through a gentle tap with my palm after I put it down, to show the bookseller I was careful and cared about their books. I didn't commit to any yet, because I needed to know the range of prices, etc. I thought I hit the jackpot when I saw an enormous table just piled and piled with old books. The stalls with neatly arranged books are the ones you have to watch out for. Every beautiful book is part of a set, or it is 40 euros just on it's own. But at this stall, most of the books weren't marked with the price, so I knew I would have to ask for each and every book, so being polite was necessary.

Old bookseller came up to me, smelling like alcohol, and he was probably in his forties, and had an ugly beard, and teeth that seriously needed to be flossed...thirty years ago. I had just picked up a beautifully-bound random book called "entre les deux oceans..." and I was thinking it was perfect because of some recent travels in my life that have occurred recently. There are a lot of beautiful old red books in french. It must have been a pretty big style about a hundred to a hundred and fifty years ago. Anyway, old bookseller comes up to me, asks me how I am, and is standing too close to me. I smile and stay friendly, backing up a bit, hoping that maybe I can swing some prices lower. Conversation (in french for him, broken french for me):

Ugly Man: you have beautiful eyes. Where are you from?
Me: The United States.
UM: oh! yes the United States! Obama lakdjfjfd;lajdljalf Nobel Prize! ;akdfja;dkfj;a United States! a;slfjadfj;alkdf (I had not heard of the news already...woops)
Me: hmm...yeah! still smiling a lot and nodding, looking at the stack of books I've picked out.
UM: you are a true blond, you know? Gestures at my eyes, and then at my eyebrows because they are blond...gesture turns into him touching my eyebrow briefly. I feel super uncomfortable, and am torn between leaving--but he is blocking the entrance--and trying to get a better deal on the books...what is wrong with me?? It was all just so strange. I back up more, into a curb.
UM: a;dfa;dfj;afj;kdjf;df;al blue eyes...a;dlfka;dkfja;dfjdfdf gives me a side hug, gives me a real hug, gives me fake kisses on the cheek....what the crap is going on??? lets go and slides his hand down my back and I literally jump away. I wonder if other shoppers saw any of that and think it's weird...I feel weird...I am at the edge of the tent, basically touching the canvas.
Me: uuuuhhh...okay, how much do these cost? I hardly listen to the answer and just leave his stall with stacks and stacks of old books, telling him I'll come back. (misplaced modifier alert...I was not carrying stacks and stacks of old books...they were left on that perv's table.)

I'm pretty sure that happens with like every customer of his...weird. Anyway, later I told this story to Haidy and Corrine and Cami and Amelia over some dinner at the first restaraunt I've been to here. It's usually just a baguette, or some fruit, or when I'm good, a crêpe. Ravioli with olives and goat cheese is really good, if anyone was wondering. And the night was still warm enough that I could wear short sleeves beneath the heat lamp. Afterward, Haidy and Amelia's host family was out of town until tonight, so of course we went over there and stayed up ridiculously late drinking carmel tea and playing bananagrams and laughing and telling stories and eating chocolate and cookies and ice cream. For some reason, "girl's night in" (which really doesn't happen infrequently enough for me for it to even be called that, judging by last year's amounts of redbox nights with pizza and ice cream...and the fact that there is one boy in our group, so literally every night is "girl's night in") is so much more fun here, where we can't really be out at night because 1) it's kind of dangerous, and 2) because it's a little bit dangerous, it's just annoying to get anywhere and as Cami says to me all the time, "I don't like people in my face," and because we get to take over someone else's apartment for a bit and have more freedom to be comfortable than usual, and because the tea selection here is really wonderful, and the fact that the metros stop when you stay out too late, so you might as well stay up even later and sleep there. I slept on the floor. Soundly.

Can you believe the people in these pictures? Katie asked me if I ever feel like a creeper with some of the pictures I've taken. Really, to be honest, yes. mm...sometimes. not as much as I should. Basically, since I have no skill at photography, I have to rely on guts, and good luck. Here are a few more from when both of those things collided on friday:

These people were British and having a photo shoot.
If anyone figures out who they are...that would be awesome.



I liked this one as well. Happy monday!