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A quick search informs us that the park is called the Tuileries Garden and currently hosting a Christmas market that sells French crafts and gourmet products. Besides the seasonal market, the Tuileries is home to the second largest fun fair in Paris.
Marianne and I exchange a mischievous look.
“I love bumper cars,” she says. “And that Ferris wheel… Imagine the view!”
I throw a longing look at the fence. “There may be a performers’ corner in that fun fair! I miss my pantomime gig, the ambiance, and watching other artists do their numbers.”
“Shall we check it out?”
“Absolutely!”
Louis will probably work late as usual. We rarely have dinner together, and we don’t go to bed together. In other words, I have nothing to hurry home for.
Marianne and I cross the street and find the entrance. Once inside the park, we stroll along an alley with cute, festively bedecked wooden chalets on both sides. People swarm around them like ants, keeping the vendors busy. Everything one expects from a Christmas market is here. While Marianne is drawn to costume jewelry and artisanal toiletries, I eyeball the delectable food. Cotton candy, waffles, churros, crêpes, and roasted chestnuts call to my rumbling tummy like no five-course dinner at Falcon’s Nest or Château des Neiges ever has. Or ever will.
I buy Marianne her favorite churros, a Nutella crepe for me, and chestnuts for both of us.
As the sky grows darker, the bright Christmas illuminations turn on, and the place acquires an enchanted quality. Marianne keeps glancing in the direction of the rides and the Ferris wheel. With me being more interested in finding the performers’ corner, I suggest that we split up so that each can do her thing.
She hesitates. “Your Grace, I don’t think I should leave you alone…”
“Seriously? What could possibly happen to me among so many people?”
She considers the possibilities. “Pickpockets?”
I open my backpack, give her half of my cash, and strap it back on against my chest.
“Parismétrocarry,” I say to her. “A highly recommended style in any crowded place in the French capital.”
Giggling, she moves her own backpack to the front.
I wave at her. “Have fun! Call me in an hour or so.”
I set out for the colorful blinking bulbs and neon signs, while Marianne hurries to the screeching bumper cars behind a metal mesh.
A vintage merry-go-round with delightful wooden horses makes me halt to enjoy its old-style charm.
“They’re beautiful, no?” someone next to me says.
I turn to a white-haired man leaning on a pink scooter. “They look like they traveled through time from the Belle Époque.”
“I believe this carousel actually dates from around that period.” He points to a laughing little girl on one of the horses. “My granddaughter.”
“She looks happy.”
“She’d better! It’s our third trip here in a week.” He squints at my face. “You’re here with your kids?”
“I don’t have any.”
Observant, he eyes my wedding band. “Someday soon?”
I smile noncommittally.
He points at the Ferris wheel in the distance. “Then I bet you’re here for the Grande Roue.”
“Wrong again! I’m looking for a performers’ corner. Would you happen to know if this park has one? Or maybe you saw a mime artist or a puppet show?”
He lifts his eyeglasses and looks me up and down. Then he does it again, through the glasses.
