Category — General

Here are some picture from the celebration on Sunday night.  You’ve probably seen the images already, but these (except the first one) I can vouch for myself.

This first picture appeared in the French edition of the Huffington Post, and from the light, was probably taken immediately after the result was officially announced at 8 p.m.  (We could tell a good two hours before that–by 6 p.m., that is–that the results being announced on Belgian sites would indeed be confirmed, when, the Socialists having put the word out that they would hold their victory celebration in the Place de la Bastille, the sky was suddenly full of the sound of heavy helicopters, soon to be followed by truck after truck of CRS riot police.)  So this picture could have been taken any time from 7 p.m. to maybe 8:30.  These are a whole lot of people.  I didn’t take the picture, but I’ll vouch that at 9:30 p.m. there were this many and maybe more.  See below.

At about 9:30 p.m., Ann and I and Penelope (of the Red Wheel Barrow bookstore) went out to see what was happening.  It was clear that François Hollande was not going to make it to the Place de la Bastille for several more hours.  (In fact, he had only just left Tulle in the center of France, and didn’t reach the Place until about 1 a.m.)  The actions of the crowd therefore displayed a certain ambivalence.  On the one hand, there were large groups of people streaming along rue Saint Antoine–the most direct route–toward the Place, late starters like we were.

There were people in most of the windows overlooking the rue Saint Antoine, most of them partying, and whenever any of the people in a building would wave at the people on the street, they’d be greeted with loud cheers and shouts and whistles.

At the same time, though, many of the people who had already reached the Place de la Bastille had  been there in some cases for up to four hours, and were faced with the prospect of a further long wait, so many were flowing in the other direction, away from the Bastille, either going home or in search of food and a place to sit.

Food trucks, which the police had allowed past the barricades on rue Saint Antoine were, as the French are wont to say, “taken by assault.”   (We were impressed that the cops had had the sense to let the food trucks in.  That contributed a lot to keeping the crowd good humored during its very very long wait.)

Trying to avoid the crush, we jogged up the rue de la Bastille, where it was reassuring to see that important cultural institutions like Bofinger did not feel threatened by the prospect of a Socialist president.  It was, you can see, calmly proceeding with its late Sunday dinner service, unconcerned by the crowds streaming past.

On the other hand, rue de la Bastille did us in.  Anyone who has heard my lecturette on why the boulevard Beaumarchais is the first boulevard in the world (explicitly so named), and how we know that, already knows that this little street was, until the construction of the Grands Boulevards, the only way in and out of the walled city of Paris to the east.  The police barricades effectively recreated that situation, and now as then this little street was hopelessly inadequate to the task of moving that much traffic.  Throw in two EMS vehicles which were stationed there in case of emergency to gum up the works further, and you had created a bottle neck we simply couldn’t get through.  Even with me leading the way, at more than 100 kilos and swinging my metal cane like a cossack, we were simply stalled, and ultimately pushed back by the crowd leaving the Place along this little street.  There was a lesson in hydraulics there, I suspect.

So we turned back.  At that moment we gave the situation about one more hour of relative calm before crowd and police tempers finally snapped and the riot started, but when we got home and turned the TV back on, we saw the PS had done a clever thing on their parts: the stage had been set up on the Place, and it was now populated with musicians.  As it is known to do, music soothed the savage breast, and made it possible for the crowd to maintain its cool for another 3 hours until Hollande finally made it in from Le Bourget.  And then at the end, how did the police get him into the Place–no mean feat?  (Ha! you didn’t think of that little problem, did you?)  I think they took him through the Bastille Métro stop.  The station itself had been closed by the police for hours, of course.  I think they took him to one of its distant entrances, walked him down and under the crowds, then popped him up at the exit right in front of the entrance to the Opéra.  Or so it seemed on the TV.  By this point, most of the musicians were looking exhausted, and were grateful that they could relinquish the stage to the politicians.

The evening before, at my second Cinco de Mayo party, two couples solemnly maintained that Sarko had a surprise to spring on the Socialists, but having myself been in that position all too many times in the past, I could recognize the undertone of desperation in those declarations.  And so a good time was had by all.   Or mostly all, anyway.

I’d heard a bit about this scam but had never seen it, nor have I had it done to me. But the other day, while passing the Louvre, I saw a couple a few metres in front of me, with a tall man just to the side of them picking up what looked like a gold ring. ‘Aha,’ I thought, ‘this looks interesting.’ Sure enough, the man offered it to the male of the couple who shook his head, but then the other man sort of pressed it on him (I didn’t really hear their exchanges and in any case I think it was done mostly by mime, since it turned out that the couple didn’t speak much English or French). By this time, I had passed the couple and sure enough they were moving off, with the man holding the ring in his hand and looking rather mystified, with the scammer just behind them.

I asked the couple if they spoke French, but no. English? A little. ‘Don’t take the ring,’ I said. ‘It’s a scam, he’ll ask you for money for it in a minute.’ The couple were looking mystified. Who should they believe? Me, a complete stranger, and an interfering busybody to boot, or the ‘nice’ young man who’d just found a ring on the ground and offered it to them, for luck, since his religion forbade him wearing such things/wasn’t his size, etc etc.?

But upon hearing me telling the couple it was a scam, the ‘nice’ young man yelled at me in loud and very clear if accented English, ‘F@#$ you! F@#$ you!’ Strong evidence that my interpretation had been correct. The young couple hastily gave him back his ring, and scuttled off.

Apparently, what usually happens is that once the ‘target’ has taken possession of the ring and started to move off, the ring-finder then says to them that he’s hungry, could do with a few euros, would like some recompense for giving them something valuable, or some variation on this. I have heard of people parting with as much as 10 euros. There’s some more information on this scam on this Lonely Planet discussion site.

But I don’t like to encourage paranoia, either at home or when travelling, so I hope I haven’t done that. Still, it’s always good not to look touristy, and if this scam does happen to you, it’s probably best that you pretend you don’t understand whichever language the ‘ring-finder’ addresses you in!

En revanche, as the French say, I’ve had countless experiences in France where people have picked up my gloves, scarf, shopping list, magazine, that I have dropped, and returned them to me before I’d even realised I’d dropped them; and I want to stress that this is far more the norm than anything else in France.

After so many visits to Paris during the soldes, I didn’t think I could get very excited about them anymore. But today I discovered that my favourite English bookstore in Paris, The Red Wheelbarrow, at 22 rue Saint Paul, in the 4th arrondissement (phone: 01 48 04 75 08), is having a very serious sale indeed. I’ve always loved visiting this bookshop, as much for the welcoming owner and her staff as for the astute and wide-ranging choice of books.You can read the history of the bookshop here.

It’s also a great excuse to visit the gorgeous Marais area (as if one needs an excuse!), and more specifically the Village Saint Paul, just near the bookshop.

Details of the sale:

25% off all hard-bound non-fiction books

Selected children’s hardbound PICTURE books: 12€

Selected paperbound picture books:10€ plus, buy 2  paperbound children’s picture books on sale, and get a 3rd one free (= 3 paperbound children’s picture books, 20€)

There’s also a big  table in the center of the shop, with every paperbound fiction title on the table only 10 euros (plus, buy 10, get an 11th free = 11 paperbound fiction books for 100 euros)

The shop is open 7 days, 10 a.m. to 7 p.m. except Monday 10-6 p.m. and Sunday noon (or sometimes a little later) to 6 p.m.

My previous photo showed the famous Pont Neuf – or ‘New Bridge’ – of Toulouse, seen from a distance of several hundred metres in the hazy Autumn light. Here, I am standing again on the east bank of the river Garonne, but this time on the south side of the bridge beside the first arch and below the Quai de Tounis.

Built of bricks and stone, the construction took from 1544 to 1632, although the bridge was not inaugurated until 16 October, 1659, in the reign of King Louis XIV. The laying of the foundations took many years, and the first arch was not commenced until 1614. I presume it was the one nearest to the camera, since this is the side of the old city itself. Interestingly, the bridge is not symmetrical, and the highest point occurs above the third arch of the seven, rather than above the middle arch, as can be clearly seen in my photo. This arch is the largest of them, with a span of 30 metres.

Today, the Pont Neuf is still perhaps Toulouse’s most renowned historic structure, and used daily by thousands of pedestrians, cyclists and vehicles.

(guest post by photographer Andrew McRae)

This photo in Toulouse was taken one afternoon last week as I walked beside the Garonne along the Quai de Lucien Lombard towards the Pont Neuf. It was the first really sunny day for over a week and many people sat on the quays enjoying the sun as it shone in the hazy sky of late Autumn. A romantic young couple caught my attention.

The Garonne is one of France’s principal rivers, flowing 575 km from its origin in the glaciers of the Pyrenees, on the Spanish side of the border. It ends its journey in the Bay of Biscay estuary, La Gironde near Bordeaux, where it meets the Dordogne. Passing through Toulouse it is too shallow and bedevilled by treacherous currents for boats, and so its broad surface is often very tranquil, devoid of all traffic except the occasional rower or police launch. I saw the rather strange sight today of a man propelling himself along in the middle of the river while standing on a narrow kayak.

The graceful Pont Neuf was built between 1544 and 1632, and inaugurated in 1659.

(guest post by photographer Andrew McRae)

Every week here in Toulouse brings me a new discovery: a tiny shop with the créatrice (designer) sitting at her sewing maching in the middle of it, making brooches and bags, a mercerie (haberdashery) selling exquisite ribbons and buttons, a new walk along a quai where you think you are in Venice, a string of bustling and tightly-packed traditional restaurants, arrayed end to end above the Victor Hugo market.

My latest find is a delightful little shop, a boutique-atelier, at no. 4 Quai de la Daurade, just near Pont Neuf, before the Ecole des Beaux Arts. The intriguing name, Mapie des Vignes made me look twice, as did the sign in the window, ‘Mes créations a vos mesures’ (‘My creations made to your measurements’). Mapie (short for Marie-Pierre) is the name of the shop’s owner/designer, and Mapie des Vignes is her own label.

The concept is that she has several of each of her designs made up in the shop, so that clients can order the pieces they like, made especially to their exact measurements.The designs are stylish and simple, in beautiful natural fabrics, some of which she also sells by the metre.  I bought some orange silk to line a skirt-in-progress, and some black wool threaded through with coloured ribbons, also for a skirt.

The boutique also hosts other créatrices and their collections of textile art—be it brooches, embroidery, jewellery, or other creations. At the time of my visit I saw these beautiful felt brooches, in the shapes of flowers and butterflies. Also in the shop was a colourful range of rings and earrings. There’s absolutely no excuse for anyone in Toulouse to be unable to find the most original  Christmas presents.