Le Metro

It's utterly wonderful weather right now in Paris. Alas, I cannot say the same for what lies beneath the streets. The minute you skip down the steps into the underground, the bowels of the carefully cobblestone-d Paris, a massive gust of sweltering, oppressive heat steals your breath away. Your mouth goes dry. The glasses of water you had only just savored seem sapped in only a seconds time. The ebb and flow of anonymous floating eyes and harried faces bustle around at varying paces. C'est le secret terrible de Paris: that the Metro is a terrible necessity that turns fond memories of winking sun and "le chaleur" into a sinking stone and afterthought. Faces dull in their attempts to avoid eye contact and awkward or unwanted attention. The one upside that brings a toothy grin to my face is the music that seems to waft around the corners of the tunnels. Small makeshift bands of harmonizing old men, violinists, dancers and singers emanate "la vie boheme." From one tunnel to the next during a "connexion" I slow for only a moment as the drumming notes of what looks like eight harmonizing men spirals upward only to reverberate in a pleasing manner on the muted ivory tiles. For the first time all day, I make eye contact with a singer, beam at him my gratitude and also my regret that I don't have time to drop any Euros in the felt hat. Some stop and rifle through wallets; but I linger for only a moment and continue on.