The Eiffel tower is tall, and metal. It has heavily armed guards clustered under one of its four bases. The French sleep in public. It’s a wonder any keep their shoes.
I apparently seem less hard-to-place now, though the unsettling stares continue. More vendors are switching to English before I do; the practice actually ticks me off a little because I won’t understand French of nobody speak it to me. My accent is giving me away sooner.
I know in part it’s language fatigue: my neurons buckle under the weight of the differing meanings and pronunciations. Between remembering a word or pronouncing it properly, my brain selects remembering meaning. It does the same thing for English, too. I am feeling more comfortable and less paranoid about the people around me, but I will say that while previous days had some discomfort, today is the day that my feet, calves, and lower back sent the message “holy hell! I quit!”
Fortunately, I bought salt at a huit-a-huit for my neti pot thing (I now highly recommend this practice!) and I can use the extra salt to soak my sore muscles.
This isn’t a souvenir heavy trip. A few scarves (temperatures vary to extremes), a few magazines, maybe some firming cream if I can get time in at a store that offers it tomorrow. Most of what I’m bringing back are these tweets and the pictures.