I love Paris.
I have been lucky enough to find an apartment that is frequently available and is a block off the Seine.
Pont Neuf is close.
So I often saunter across the river and into the Tuileries Garden.
One of the fixture features of the Tuileries is a segment of the population: as one walks toward Place de la Concorde one is engaged with never ending encounters with very black Africans selling little Eiffel Tower trinkets.
They all have the same trinkets.
And no one seems to want to buy the trinkets.
So why, I always wonder, did these brave young men give up everything, get on boats not fit to be called boats, and brave the Mediterranean just to be able not to sell little trinkets in the Tuileries Garden?
Freedom, I guess.