It's a well-known phenomenon that while riding the metro you will almost certainly come in contact with some bizarre, odd, or otherwise foreign person. This happens daily. Usually, it's a smelly guy in a suit who's late to work, or a couple talking in a language I've never heard before, or a dude who gets off at every stop and yells some indiscernible chant at his fellow-riders as they descend the metal tube.

Today, I sat next to two very normal-looking guys who were transporting a few bags of market produce. I opened up my book, preparing for the long and dull ride to my stop and kept about my business as usual. Just as I was starting to get back into the juicy bits of the story, a loud clucking noise sounded from just next to me and the plastic bags at the feet of my fellow passengers started moving violently about on their own. Everyone, including me, cocked our heads in the direction of my two neighbors who started wrestling with the bags. A few seconds later, a beak and red-colored head peeped out from the bag and let out a loud "Cluck!" Apparently, these guys had picked up more than bananas from the market and were taking some chickens (or maybe they were hens) home (presumably) for dinner tonight. I couldn't help but laugh out loud, and when they saw that I found it amusing, they began laughing with me. I couldn't decipher what they were talking about before or after that because they weren't speaking French (like that would make a difference anyway) or English or any other recognizable language, but I asked them in French if I could take a picture of their fowl, and they happily obliged. Not wanting to impose too much, I snapped two very quick shots and ended up with these:



We laughed a little more at the incident and carried on with what were doing before the distraction - they continued their conversation and I dove back into my book. Then, something happened that is also a well-known reality of metro-riding. A woman came by to beg for money - I, being engrossed in a book, was all but ignored by the woman, but when she spotted the fresh goods being transported by my poultry-carrying friends, she asked them if she could help herself to a banana. One of the guys had already given her a few coins, but the other guy leaned over and pulled off a banana for her. She thanked him a few times and stood by the doors awaiting her stop. A few seconds later, still conversing with each other, the two guys filled an empty sack with a bunch of bananas and a few mangoes and handed it to the woman. She, nor I, nor the girl opposite me could believe the kind gesture we'd just witnessed.

Here, especially, I find myself on an eternal quest to suppress my over-active, highly-sensitive emotions, and it took everything in me to allow only a single tear to fall. It probably sounds silly, trite even, to become teary-eyed over such a natural and daily encounter. But I find more and more that kindness like this is rarely depicted in the streets (or metros) of Paris. My thoughts are that this has something to do with tradition, and even I have become less sympathetic after hearing people (my husband included) paint a malicious and deceitful, mafia-like picture of the poor and homeless population in Paris. It isn't easy for me to say no to someone when I have the means to say yes, but I feel like it's what's expected of me here. After today, though, it seems clearer than ever that I can still fit in as a Parisian without abandoning my humanity.