Voyeurism encouraged (pelouse interdite).

Summer has arrived in Paris, bringing with it blooming flowers, beautiful sunsets, more tourists, and an extraordinary stench on the metro. Summer has also, mercifully, initiated long strings of sunny days, only occasionally interrupted by impressive thunderstorms. A few days ago, however, the heat got out of hand. For this Californian, who becomes lethargic and irritable (okay, lazy and whiny) when the slightest bit of humidity sets in, it seemed there were only two options: sit at a shady sidewalk cafe and drink, or lie in a grassy park and snooze.

The first option -- settling in with a kir at a sidewalk cafe and people watching -- Paris certainly supports. After all, neighborly voyeurism is a Parisian specialty: staring into others' apartments from across the courtyard, for example, is considered socially acceptable. When looking out the window of my apartment, I have locked eyes more than once with a pedestrian, who was staring at me from the street, one story below. (Further, the pedestrian never finds this encounter awkward, and I'm always forced to look away before he or she does). Don't get me wrong: Parisians are very private people, but they simply enjoy observing the lives of their fellow city-dwellers. Sidewalk cafes, then, are the institutionalization of this voyeurism. Parisians make no bones about why they're having their coffee/wine/aperitif/delicious frites at these cafes: instead of facing across from each other, all patrons are seated next to each other, facing the sidewalk. I, however, did not realize how truly brilliant cafe-based people watching was until it the weather got unbearably humid. I have quickly learned to plop myself down at a cafe, order a kir peche, and stare straight ahead, only bothering to make conversation with my partner in crime to comment on a happy couple or an enviable dress. Little effort, big reward: truly the perfect activity for a summer afternoon.

Option two for dealing with the heat: lying in the grass, listening to music, and taking a nap. I found, however, that the absolute heaven of afternoon naps outside is an experience of which Parisians are deprived. Paris is full of fantastic parks, almost all of which have soft, emerald green lawns (pelouse) that looks ridiculously inviting. With no beach in Paris (the cobblestones on the side of the Seine don't count), the spectacularly green, sun-speckled grass in the Luxembourg Gardens seemed like the best bet for an lazy afternoon snooze. One minor problem: in Paris, lying on the pelouse is strictement interdite -- strictly forbidden. This is because the French, though relaxed about so many other aspects of life, are very, very serious about their landscaping. I'll put up with the cube-shaped trees, but I'll be damned if a landscaping extremist stands between me and an afternoon nap on a miserably hot day. So, boldly, my friend and I laid down on the most inviting patch of grass in the Luxembourg Gardens. For two hours it was bliss, until a certain Frenchman ruined everything. Dressed in a police uniform that was straight out of a French flick from the 1960s, he woke me up from my nap and insisted that my friend and I get off the pelouse, and pronto. He did, however, explain that there was a small strip of pelouse autorisee -- that's right, authorized pelouse -- on which we were allowed to sit. We checked it out, and the sight was hilarious: multiple large groups of Parisians were crowded on one small strip of authorized pelouse, surrouned on both sides by empty, forbidden pelouse. In a country that prides itself on creating a just society, why has nobody protested this?

After finishing an obscene amount of work over the past month, I finally have time to kick back for a few weeks before finals -- I just won't be doing it on the pelouse.