When writing this text I was in the Paris Métro (the underground) and was watching one very bright representative of French elegance. Without thinking I opened my notes and started to capture her beauty.
And here she was, a typical Paris resident, a French woman in her early 50s, who sat just in front of me in a Parisian subway waggon.
She was so elegant – atrenchcoat in a coffee color, graceful elegant black shoes, voluminous dull brownish bag, black soft scarf, which she had sloppily thrown over her coat, blond hair, caught with a pearl hairpin in the back. She carefully sat down on an outer seat, put her legs back together, took one black leather glove off, got a book from her bag and started to look through it with her other hand, which was still in the black glove.
I felt warmth, refinement, elegance and hidden wisdom emanating from her.
Where was she going? To the theater, a gallery, a bookstore, a museum, or maybe to her husband to prepare dinner for him? Which part of Paris would she be living in? Or maybe she wouldnʼt be living in Paris at all? Which languages would she speak, what would her hopes and dreams be like? Of course, these questions will never be answered, but this memorable picture of a Parisian woman in the underground I will be in my head and memory long after leaving the French capital.