La flânerie
Do you know what la flânerie is? Me, I am very familiar with it, and I find myself all too often committing myself to it subconsciously in this beautiful city. This city; Paris: the city of lights, the city of romance, a world of cobblestone streets and corner cafes I could get lost in for days. La flânerie is a french term used to describe leisurely strolling, without necessary purpose or direction, participated in solely for personal enjoyment. So you can understand why la flânerie and I have such a close relationship here. I participate in this sort of thing at least twice a day, more frequently than that on days where there are good weather or when I am in a particularly excited mood.
On one specific day there was exceptionally nice weather, with the sun shining brightly over Paris’s blue sky and a soft cooling breeze walking by my side in the street, I was filled with a fascinatingly happy feeling and I stumbled across a sight I would never forget. Walking on Avenue Montaigne, window displays upon window displays beckoned to the passer by with contents of sparking embellishments on gorgeous evening gowns, crisp leather accessories, and elegant serif lettering which read, “Dior” or “Valentino”. Doorman after doorman in black tuxedo after black tuxedo nodded towards my direction, and with each golden, gilded door opened the scent of whichever luxury cologne or perfume occupied my air space. Perhaps I could have been window shopping that day, but my barren wallet would refute that and my tendency to part take in la flânerie would reflect the cause of my leaving empty handedness from each store.
You see, the most fantastic thing on Avenue Montaigne came at no cost at all. I continued down past the second Dior with the baby blue awnings, and my view was suddenly visually overcompensated with an incredible amount of bright red. It was the same red that was on that floor length Versace gown two blocks before, a red that calls to the passion in your soul, that brings you back to thoughts of Valentine’s day, a red resembling of cherries you put on your ice cream. However, this red was not man made, not a product being sold in a window display; this red was natural, pure, ever more moving. It was the red on the rows and rows of awnings of the grand Hotel Athenee, and the red of the billions of flowers which sat below each one of the hundreds of windows, above each red awning.
I had never seen a more beautiful sight. Red petal after red petal, immersed among a little forest of deep green vegetation, growing on the side of the large spanning old architecture facade of this hotel. As if to feel the need to bar in the magic of it all, black iron terraces jut out from the beige sandstone underneath each flower box. I was so inspired by the visual aesthetic that I worked up the courage to ask the concierge if I could pick just one of the red flowers for myself. My broken french was well relieved when the man plucked a red blossom for me, a “Je vous en prie” entailing it. Looking down at the soft petals of the flower in my hand, and then above at the stripes upon stripes of red flower balconies I began to appreciate the hotel and its red flowers for more than just visual aesthetic.
A moment like this defined what I see the Parisian experience as, in terms of seeing the world in a more beautiful, romantic, and inspired way. In Paris one can stop and smell the roses, as one can stop and look at the red geraniums. One can commit la flânerie all day. Here it is not about the promotion you may get one year from now, it’s not about paying off the mortgage. It’s more about going grocery shopping everyday for fresh produce and a baguette, or having that glass of wine with friends over dinner. It is these simple habitual acts which bring the people of this city the most joy. The ideal of Paris is that the simple things are the most beautiful, the most articulate, the most full of life.