"To journey without being changed is to be a nomad.

To change without journeying is to be a chameleon.

To journey and to be transformed by the journey is to be a pilgrim." -Mark Nepo

Tuesday, September 20, 2011

Bubbles over Strasbourg



The square around the Strasbourg cathedral is a stage for panhandling.  Some of the people asking for money are doing just that, asking for money, giving nothing in return.  But most give something back by performing.  The "shows" include a wide range of instruments from accordions, drums, violins, flutes, and even a piano.  There are also mimes, singers, and sometimes a Charlie Chaplin look-a-like.  This week my daughter and I happened upon a performance we hadn't seen before.  There were bubble blowers near the cathedral.

The day was perfect for bubbles.  The sun was out and the sky was blue.  There was enough wind to make the bubbles dance but not so much as to destroy them.  They were able to stay intact for a minute or so before bursting.

The people blowing the bubbles used long strings attached to two sticks.  The strings were tied together at their ends to make circles.  They dipped the string circles into bubble solution, probably just soapy water, and held up the wands.  The wind would catch the string and create long, flowing bubbles.



My daughter was one of several children who were thoroughly enjoying the show.  I was loving it too.  There were quite a few adults who were grinning like kids while they watched the iridescent bubbles floating through the sky.  A few of the bubbles floated in front of the cathedral doors which made the scenario particularly dream-like.



Several children were trying to capture the bubbles as they were released.  Their prize for a good catch was a pop of soapy water in the face.  One large bubble headed towards us.  I was too busy taking photographs to move myself or the stroller out of the way.  The bubble burst against us, making my daughter squeal with laughter.  My glasses were covered with residue but it was worth it just to have heard her giggles as the bubble hit her.

The bubble blowers earned their panhandled euros for the day, at least in my opinion.  As we walked home I could smell the scent of soap, of bubbles, on my clothing.  It smelled of playful, airy joy.









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