When I went running through the park today-- past the boules courts (reeking of urine, since the old men choose to avoid the restrooms conveniently located not 50 meters away) and the pond where ducks and geese hang out with muskrats (I thought they were little beavers, but the long, slimey tail doesn't lie... these critters are part of the rat family)-- I couldn't help but notice how packed the place was. I mean, crawling with people: strolling, sauntering, slithering, slowly pacing. Older couples in their hats and finery, hand in hand, moms with baby-carriages, troops of families, with leashed hounds in tow. And then it hit me, It's August 1! And as Pierre explains, "There are July people, and there are August people"-- defined by when they decide to take their vacation. So today, an entirely new set of people are out and about celebrating their blessed dog-days of French vacances.
Image via Wikipedia