Perhaps, boulevardier comes close but you can’t define one French term with another. A flaneur is a man of the streets but not what we would call a street person. He is not a bum; he is a man of leisure and some elegance. Not ostentatious American elegance but that quiet Parisian elegance. And I’m afraid I must use only the masculine pronoun here because I don’t think there is a feminine equivalent. Lady of the streets means something completely different.
Le flaneur has been translated as stroller since the word comes from the French verb “to stroll.” Edmund White even wrote a whole book about Paris using the perspective of the stroller. Le flaneur, he writes, “is by definition endowed with enormous leisure, someone who can take off a morning or an afternoon for undirected ambling, since a specific goal or a close rationing of time is antithetical to the true spirit of the flaneur. An excess of the work ethic inhibits the browsing, cruising ambition to wed the crowd.”
I like to think of myself as somewhat of a flaneur even though, Americans are particularly unsuited to flanerie, says White, and I am probably guilty. I admit my ramblings are usually not purely aimless. I usually have little stops to make, things to do, like go to the bank or something. But surrounding my points of busyness, I wander. I do “wed the crowd,” as he puts it, which is simply to be part of the multiplicity and anonymity of a group of people on the street going about their business, hurrying to appointments, running to catch a train, doing some errand, or just walking.
Denver isn’t Paris and it can be difficult at times to find a crowd to amble with. San Francisco and New York are the best USA cities that allow such socializing. But I manage.
Setting out, I hop onto an RTD bus—driving would be counter to le flanerie—and head into the city center. Whatever Monsieur Le Flaneur does, he does in public spaces. In fact, it was while riding the #10 bus, a route running often enough that you can use it spontaneously without a schedule, that I realized that that was what I was about. I like to spend my free time rambling about the city just to see my city. Many times I will have some errand to run but I mostly wander to a set of favorite spots, noticing what’s on the street from those awful paving stones on the 16th Street Mall to new destruction or construction. I spend hours reading or writing in a warm café on a cold day. Common Grounds coffee house is one favorite, Tattered Cover bookstore is another, The Market café is a frequent breakfast stop as is Udi’s for lunch.
The other day found me heading over to Platte Street across the river to drop in on the Savory Spice Shop. I needed some herbs and spices and they have the best Vietnamese cinnamon in town. I also like just to breathe in the aromas of all the spices and herbs and blends they have. On that clear, crisp winter day, I strolled over the pedestrian bridge over the river and through the park, this bit of nature slicing through the heart of urban pavement. I ambled into downtown admiring the views, the fresh air, and all the people out jogging, bicycling, or just walking from where they were to where they would soon be. Each moment of observation was like a snapshot of this city. I ended up near Union Station, presently under construction and soon to be a hub for commuter trains. I was watching the city being built as Denver creates more spaces for itself to live in.
So, that is my goofy tale. Rambling through the city, noting all the variety of activity as my urban cohorts—workers, students, shoppers, diners, fellow travelers—go about their day. A tale of goofing off—an Americanized version of a little bit of Paris.
© 11 April 2013
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