Couples should know better than to snog on the bank of the Seine

Of course I found the boulangerie selling avocado sandwiches the day after I claimed that French boulangeries don't sell such an option. Because really, out of the ridiculous number of boulangeries I’ve tried, none have ever sold avocado in a baguette. It just must be the world’s little reward for my switching up of the typical, lunch routine.

And so with day two of gorgeous weather, I, with my avocado sandwich in hand, made my way to the bank along the Seine.

View from above of the bank of the Seine in which I was sitting at.

There were a good blend of people around the bank: the tourists aboard the river cruises, arms raised as they took in Notre Dame (situated behind me) through the eye of their camera. There were the locals, legs slung over the ledge feet above the water, taking a drag of an afternoon cigarette as they too basked in the glory of the high temperatures. And then there was me. I had eaten lunch with some friends, staying to sit on my own as my friends left for class.

I could have sat there for hours, lost in my own thoughts as I watched the world around me. I sat on the side of the Seine that was most crowded, a result of the obvious staircases that branch down from the bridge on my either side. (Not at all unusual given the area around the Seine has hosts of bridges five- minute walks apart from each other.) The staircase on the other side of the bank, in contrast, is tucked halfway between the walkway of the streets above, therefore less of a crowd on that side of the bank.

There was a couple passionately making out on that side. I think they thought no one was watching (ok fine, they weren't thinking at all) but as my side was facing theirs, and we were about a 25:1 ratio of people, we were sort of all facing them. The audience to the afternoon entertainment. They seemed awkward, perched against the wall, she seemingly taller than him. A few people ambled by; none seem bothered by the couple. In fact, among the swarm of onlookers, I'm certain I was the only one perturbed by the public view of what should definitely be private life. I really don't understand why Paris finds excessive PDA at all acceptable.

My mother has suggested I draw. Hmph, reasons I'm a writer not a drawer.

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I spent the remainder of my day at Château de Vincenne, a 14^th and 17^th century castle to the east of Paris. The chateau didn't do much for me; While the history behind the castle was neat, the architecture was plain and the air was too still- the lack of movement drives me insane.

We found a park after, and following the 15-minute hunt for a bathroom (the French obviously don’t have bladders because otherwise public bathrooms would be by far easier to find), we plopped down on a spot opposite the park’s lake—AU quadding meets French park.

Our view from where we were sitting.

My friends left 30 minute before I did; I used the rest of my time to wander around Vincenne. The lighting was gorgeous, the setting sun tinting the buildings a soft shade of amber.

The setting sun brings with it the start of Shabbat. And with that I turned to make my way back to the metro. I’d be meeting a friend at Etoile, the stop just in front of the Arc de Triomphe. Which I guess I never mentioned, but it's there I get off for synagogue for my past four Friday nights: the Chabad of Champs Elysées.

It's sometimes hard to believe this is actually my life.