Second day in Paris included a wander through the Tuileries, a beautiful garden established in a certain year by a certain person for a certain occaision (Alice Thibeau has volunteer to supplement all French historical facts and dates needed on the blog). Seriously though, the Tuileries were beautiful, it was a breathtakingly gorgeous day, bright blue skys over the beautiful city of Paris.

A city unlike any other, and that I cannot describe in words that have not already been used by every poet, artist, and writer to frequent its streets. Imagine not being able to look at any vista, any building, or any individual that was not BEAUTIFUL for a whole day. It is unnerving.

As we were leaving the Tuileries we saw a wallet lying on the ground and reached for it to determine it's owners phone number and he chose that delightful moment to arrive and see us riffling through his wallet. Luckily the language barrier allowed us to confusedly run away.We didn't take anything. Honest.

 After the Tuileries we had a picnic of sandwiches and wine (the large quantities of wine are, needless to say, justified by the fact that we are in Paris. Duh.) the river and rolled around laughing for about an hour before wandering over to a cafe appropriately named "L'Ebulliante," where we drank espressos and basked in the sun in a tiny alleyway of old stone buildings, our heels resting on cobblestones and our eyes resting on the long tendrils of ivy climbing every wall, our minds whirling with the sound of a violinist playing gypsy tunes expertly on a nearby street corner.
I guess you have to be in this situation to understand French. At the very least, I can now deeply understand the meanings of two phrases: Joi de vivre, and Raison d'etre (excuse misspellings, I am, afterall an ignorant American).

On our way back to the Hotel we were quite literally stopped in our tracks by a march (a Manifestacion) of thousands of Parisiens marching for Liberte Egalite and Fraternite. We saw everyone from the Young Communists to the Airline workers (who we are not particularly fond of, if you recall. Actually, not a huge fan of the Young Communists either). This protest would make Bianca Bisson's jaw drop. Such noise, such passion, such music, such fire, such hate for Sarkozy, such passion for justice. Why, you may ask? Because the government, not being immune to the Global Recession, had the nerve to raise the retirement age from 60 to 62. Still one of the lowest in the world, but about 45 years too late for the typical Frenchman. Legislation that can really bring out the masses. Absurd really. (I will leave it to you to deduct whether I refer to the legislation or the protest).

But the protest was a great time to people watch, so we sat for two and a half hours and watch seemingly every citizen of Paris stream past. After which we returned to the Hotel, and then headed back into the city for another night of fun. We visited several interesting establishments, a Jazz Bar and an Australian Bar and for whatever reason ended up running away from various places. It's not illegal to get settled into a nice cafe, decide the prices are too high for your backpackers budget, and bolt inelegantly out the door, right? Oh well.

Slept wonderfully,and awoke again in the most beautiful city in the known world. At least our known world.