One of the joys of being a tourist is becoming temporarily inexpert in life’s little rituals, and thus having to attend to them closely: how to greet people, thank them, excuse yourself, show respect.

As I got to know the sellers, I’d banter and chat more freely with them, sometimes to the consternation of those waiting behind me. But the part of being French that I’ve definitely mastered is that when it’s your turn, you don’t think about anyone behind you. Lines in France are like the ones for bathrooms on airplanes. When you’re waiting, you’re

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