Sue Chenette: Crossroads

Marianne, the national emblem of France, presides over Place de la République. She stands—as she has since the late 19th century when Baron Haussmann redrew the map of Paris—above the five streets, four boulevards, one avenue, one passage, five métro lines and four bus lines that converge around the square A crossroads, where you can find a cross section of everyday Parisian life—the good, the bad, and the ugly, and also the beautiful, all part of the mix.

 On a Saturday in late October, street performers demanding more funding for their public art gathered a lively crowd in the centre of the square.

Off to one side, a few onlookers paused to listen to a woman protesting France’s treatment of the Palestinians.

A stand catering to gourmands offered crepes and cotton candy, a man in a trench coat unhooked a Vélib from its stall after testing the tires, and groups of friends sipped afternoon coffee at Café République.

In the upscale Habitat store, a boy following his mom on a scooter paused at a display of furry ear muffs, while outside, a man huddling in a doorway with his small dog sold painted tin ash trays.

In Tati, with its crowded bright shelves, a woman carried her dog through the store in a shopping basket. A couple embraced on a street corner. Back on the square, black-suited jugglers tossed fluffy white balls into the air.

Marianne—her olive branch in one hand, and in the other, a tablet inscribed “Droits de l’Homme,” Liberty and Equality seated to her left and right—looked down on it all.