Two weeks following the attacks at the Stade de France, Petit Cambodge and the Bataclan theatre, I feel that Paris is confused. The cafés still have patrons, the restos and clubs still hum with people talking each night; the stores, like Galleries Lafayette and BVH are as busy as you would expect in the run up to Christmas. The Parisians, the French, have deep reserves of stoicism to see them through the time needed to make sense of this all. But there is just something in the air that’s confusing the usual Paris. It is to be expected of course, the city took a deadly punch to the chest after all, and not very long ago.
I think this winter in Paris will prove to be cold in many ways, and I silently pray to the universe that as the seasons turn and spring begins to take hold the city begins to heal and breathe properly once more.