It’s tourist season.
Wide-eyed, badly-dressed, rolling two massive suitcases apiece, wearing baseball caps, schlubby shorts, and high white socks; these are the people that are seriously fucking up the commute in the morning. From the statistics that I saw, almost 10% of France’s GDP comes from tourism, but man, you can see the natives seething as they have to divert around another herd of loud, lost Americans (or Russians, Brits, or Chinese; you know it’s an American before they even open their mouth, though (alternate case: you hear ’em before you can even see ’em)).
It’s not necessarily all wine, cheese, and rays though; I saw a couple this morning sporting mouse ears and the most tired, shell-shocked expressions I have yet seen in the metro. Evidently, French Mickey Mouse bites.