Categories: friends, france, postcards
Date: 30 July 2008 17:38:23
Half an hour after my call to my mother in hospital, I had hastily packed a bag and was on my way to Paris.
Mais, comment? I hear you cry. Well, it all began as a bit of a joke.
Two years ago, my Australian friends spent five months on holiday in Europe (No, that's not a typo.... I'll give you their address at the end of this post so you can all go and take a bit of European culture to them now that they're back Down Under) and fell in love with France. When I was in Luxemburg, I sent them a text telling them this - admittedly to make them a bit envious - and it was the nearest I could get to being in France at the time. The joke was on me, however, as I received a text back within about 10 minutes saying that they were back in Europe and actually in France itself! The idea was then planted. Perhaps we could meet up for a weekend? They generously invited me to spend a couple of days with them once they'd reached Paris.
It was amazing to meet them in the street outside their apartment. Amazing on two counts, really. The first that we should all be in Paris and the second that I had found my way using a map which they immediately started teasing me about. I don't where my map had originally come from - I think it had belonged to my parents - as it looked as if it had been printed on the first (colour) printing press. It was certainly difficult to read but perhaps Paris has not changed much over the decades as I found the required street without too much trouble.
The next morning dawned bright and sunny - it was Bastille Day (I seem to be unwittingly doing a tour of countries celebrating their national day) and in the absence of any information, we set out to see what we could see. The apartment was a hop, skip and a jump away from the Louvre, and as we approached one corner of it, we could see the street was cordoned off and people were waiting for a parade. We hung around for quite some time until eventually things began to happen.
It was not quite what I had imagined. After a flyover by military jets, helicopters and other airborne craft (can you tell I don't know the names for them?), the tanks and jeeps came rumbling past. I couldn't believe the speed at which they were travelling. No sedate ceremonial pace here...they sped past as if they were late for a war! The personnel in them seemed to be enjoying their moment of fame as some waved to the crowd as they passed. One, in white dress gauntlets, looked to be doing an impression of the Queen (that is HM Queen Elizabeth II - not Queen Marie-Antoinette...) with a wave of the regal variety. These chaps (and chapesses) were followed [eventually as...there...were...large...gaps....between the different modes of transport/regiments] by the cavalry resplendent in dress uniforms, rather comically brought up at the rear by two policemen on bicycles - and not even military issue bicycles - but the ones which are available around Paris for hire by the public on an hourly basis!
In the evening we went to the Champs de Mars with the rest of the population of Paris and watched fireworks over the Eiffel Tower. The crowd was remarkably good-natured (no evidence of drunkenness). Although we had arrived relatively late, we found a good spot on a raised bank. The people who were sitting on the flat area set up a cry which sounded at first as if they were chanting “Can't see, can't see”. I thought it was a bit odd for all these French people to be chanting in English. As the chanting made its way through the crowd towards us, I realised they were shouting “Assis, assis” (sit down) - and amazingly, everyone complied!
When the show was over, (I was surprised that the National Anthem was not played...) the three of us held hands as the crush to leave was tremendous and we held onto each other all the way back to the Métro. We thought we might have to walk all the way home as there wouldn't be space on the train for so many people. But actually, it was slightly less crowded than a Monday morning rush hour on the District Line.