Paris Is Closed

Do not try to eat, shop, buy a ticket, or go to a show in Paris. The shop/Opera/ticket window/store/restaurant is closed. Which is annoying. Myself, I so wanted to go the Opera, just to get inside, but there were no performances the week I was there. Not in the other, newer Opera house either. Maybe the Opera doesn’t have a lot of shows, I’m not a veteran, but the schedule seemed pretty sparse. The line to buy a train ticket from CDG to the city was reminiscent of the Post Office in New York on April 14th. Yes there were automated machines, but they only took French issued credit cards. Or coins. My oydessy, my introduction to France, was hiking the half a kilometer back to the terminal and, since the money changing place was closed, pleading with the Tabac shop for change, hiking half kilometer back, using the machine, and then hiking off again to get the train. The sentiment seemed to be Yes we have this beautiful train, in this skylit space, you just can’t get a ticket, and when you do, you can’t be under the light, you have to go into the cave to get a ticket. Now, in NYC, we have Penn Station, a basement of a depot, but we know we made a mistake.
I wanted to buy some nice leggings for my friend Natassa, but the store was closed that week. Stores might open say, 11 to 12:30 and then 2-5. Be ready. The big stores, the multinationals next to the heavily used train terminal, they are open till 7. On the flip side, Parisians know how to do Post Offices. They are everywhere, there are no lines, I was flabbergasted in the best way.

Of course, this is a two edged sword. To work in a shop would be so pleasant. You can go home for lunch. You could run errands after work, except every other place is closed. You can at least enjoy life. Why do French people live longer? Is it the red wine? No, it is the hours. The suspicion is nothing gets done in Paris. Some nice theories and writings, but philosophy is possible only with contemplative opportunities. So take your pick. Civilized work hours, or the commodity market we live in here in NYC. Make no mistake, part of that commodity is our flesh and blood. We are the nascent slaves of the republic, the republic of 7/11, of the disposable, of the big car, of the I gotta have it.

Why does that ticket machine only take French cards? Because they are more advanced than ours, they have a security chip in them.