The fountain keeper

Of all the professions in all the world...it had never occured to me that there is such a thing as a fountain keeper. But there is, and I do believe every fountain keeper (can't possibly be that many??) envy Gilles Butez, the fountain keeper at Versailles - talk about prestige! He and his 12 colleagues make sure the waters dance the way they did to divert and entertain le Roi Soleil on his many strolls in the park. Today they dance alone, to the same music that once filled the castle with dancing dignitaries, and today, their purpose is to divert and entertain the herds of visitors hoping to get a glimpse of past magic. And according to M Butez, there is magic - in the water.

Merci d'être sympa

I like it when the buses of the city happily roll around with rears covered with the following message, illustrated with peace flowers: Merci d'être sympa. Thanks for being nice.
An attitude campaign, not a commercial campaign. I think the intent is to introduce this as traffic rule no 1, but it can safely (and somewhat sadly - in an ideal world we shouldn't need reminders to be nice...) be applied to the entire public space. I'm sure you can remember a time when a complete stranger smiled at you or even said something funny to you just passing by and how that just might have made your day.

I can not help but wonder though whether the bus drivers actually get the message...

So tomorrow, please go out and be nice to a stranger (even if it's the bus driver).

Street Crescendo

He stood in the middle of the street. The mask (type pollution protection) made me curious enough to stop. Something in the slow, breakdancelike movements made me think that this is some kind of performance artist. He pulled his sleeves up and carefully put on invisible cream. Then he turned his face towards the sky, pulled the mask away, took a deep breath and released it with a big sigh of wellness. The need for new shoes was stronger than my curiosity and I sped to "Underground Shoes".

Fifteen minutes later I was back in the same street, happily swinging brand new spring shoes in a paper bag. The new-shoes-feelgood-feeling was interrupted by a person who almost ran me down, head first, shoulders later, calling out very loud and very obscure words that could be profanity or prophecy. He zigzaged down between busy people and I could hear his tirade disappear down the street. A couple of minutes later I could hear him again, coming back. Not performance - just plain crazy.

People who stand out in either which way are a rare sight in Luxembourg. The reactions were mainly:
1) Eyes big and round with amusement, bewilderment, slight fright or a mixture.
2) Smiles, jokes and smart comments.
3) Quick-let's-walk-around-him-and-look-down (in the worst cases accompanied by a slight condescending shake of the head).

My eyes are big and round anyway (which can be the cause of some irritation / indignation when people think I'm scared to death when I'm actually in perfect harmony with myself and the world), so no escaping them. In them, you could probably see a certain degree of amusement and surprise, but also a curiosity or interest - call it whatever you like.

Who are you?
Why and how did you end up here, running and screaming in the street?
What did you put on your arms?
What felt so good when you pulled away your mask - and did it actually feel good?
Do you believe what you shout?
Would you hurt a fly?
What were you like as a kid and does your mother still see that kid when she looks at you?
What is your world like?
How are you - really?

Hey Mr Paella Man

Paella! the man shouted cheerfully, wearing a red apron and a ditto hat. I felt it was a bit too early in the morning for such a thing and politely declined his offer. But he wouldn't let me get away that easily! He was after all the Paella Man! He followed me to the cheeses, put his face an inch from mine and declared loudly and clearly that he loved to imitate dialects. Whereupon he switched to a catchy Alsacien.

I laughed, partly to be polite, partly because I was indeed somewhat amused and bewildered. I had never met such a Paella Man. He remembered that he had a job to do and returned to his pots and pans to attempt to tempt other shoppers with an appetite for paella. As I continued towards the fish, I heard him call after me:

"I like to laugh, Madame! So I make myself laugh. I must, or my job would have been too boring." A blessed ability, my good Paella Man. Next time, I will have some paella.

La danse des canards

I had my lunch at a bench in the park today and a duck couple was thoughtful enough to keep me company, close enough to watch the sun play with the shades of petroleum green and purple and to be amused by their somewhat peculiar walk (bearing a certain resemblance to my own, or so I've been told). But it was far more amusing to watch the passers-by, who without exception stopped and watched my canard companions. Smiles appeared on strict faces, and some even talked to the birds in their own language.

I think it means that spring is here. And also - there is hope.