Incredible Acts of Chutzpah & Kindness N°6

Ever since my stroke, I have been taking at least one walk through the the great city where I live. I stroll through the old cobblestone streets, look at the buildings, looking for things that I haven't seen yet in the 8.5 years that I've been stuck here.

I go either alone, or I go with a friend, who has time to listen to my ranting. (Those kind of friends are becoming more and more rare).

When I walk through the downtown, crossing Place Grenette, where the bourgeois are lounging in 2nd rate cafés or brasseries...I go through Grand Rue. At the entrance of Grand Rue: THERE THEY ARE.

They dress up in Green, Blue or Red.

Ponchos if it rains.

Greenpeace, AIDS, Medecins sans frontiers, and the croix rouge.

or the worst: teenagers from the suburbs, in gangster clothing, asking if they can tell you something about the region. Discotheques, perhaps. The History of Grenoble, I doubt.

You got it: Those are the 'humanitarian' workers that try to get more than a couple euros from you at one time: They try to get a signature and a few euros every month

They always have a smile on their face. That agressive bouncy walk towards you.

"Avez-vous une petite minute?/Do you have a little minute?" They ask me.

I don't know why, but I think a minute has always been 60 seconds. I'm not sure this has changed since clocks were invented.

Sometimes I tell them this.

Sometimes I have something smarter up my sleeve.

In Grenoble, there's a pretty stable community of Gypsies. I have seen pretty much the same accordeon player playing the song from Amélie Poulain. An innocent smile on his face, as the accordeon goes in and out....as his fingers fly, and the sound is squeezed out.

I often tell these teenagers, who are paid, by the way, that no. I will not give my €€€ to humanitarian organizations that I don't see really doing something nearby. China isn't exactly an hour's ride away. And Africa (even though it looks as if Africa is migrating to Europe as of late), is another continent.

I will however give a € or €€ to the gypsy with the friendly smile, who makes the sun
shine on rainy days, that makes me feel like the street has come alive and its now again 1934 when people were people and not these superficial money grabbers, money spenders and living in the beauty parlor, where they perserve their prematuring deteorating bodies with more chemicals used there than in the mortuaries.

Support your local Gypsy accordeon player.