Paris Encore…….The Rane: 1/2
The beauty of not working and having no real plans is that at any moment, any tentative plans can be completely changed to suit. The decision to return to Paris was one of these. Initially planning to head to Vienna, I decided to divert back to Paris to catch up with a long time friend from the Santa legal department (not surprisingly Santas need legal protection as well…there can be some nasty people who don’t get the presents they want and some bad equally useless Santas who make terrible mistakes) who was arriving in Paris for a couple of days only.
Whilst waiting for the Rane, I had the opportunity to rekindle some old friendships, particularly a great bunch from the English speaking newspaper. Whilst some had found new jobs, the humour, temperament and intelligence of conversation was a relieving change from the usual “I’m from Australia, travelling for about a year, yes I love it here” discussion.
The Rane arrived a couple of days later and we eventually hooked up at the Bottle Shop (oh the local….so good to be home!!). After spending the time catching up on gossip (thankfully no Morris stories!!) we then moved on to more important things….Bastille Day.
Bastille Day marks the revolt of the lower class against the French aristocracy when, on July 14th 1789, a mob of peasants broke into the Bastille, the main jail, and freed the prisoners inside…….all 7 of them!! As it turned out most of the prisoners had been moved and so the whole event was more symbolic than any great prison-break, however it did score the French a public holiday (Fête de la Fédération). While the French 35 hour working week (seriously!!) seems like a public holiday everyday, with shops closing for 1~2 hour lunch break and so forth, Bastille Day is a formal holiday when shops don’t even pretend to open. The day centres around a large military parade down the Champs-Élysées (didn’t go), events at the sight of the jail itself (couldn’t get there) and a huge fireworks display (couldn’t see it from where we were) at the Eiffel Tower. Although one might be mistaken for thinking that I did sweet FA for the event…patience. While I plan to make the pilgrimage to Gallipoli next year I am not one, admittedly, who wakes up for the dawn service or the parade, so I felt no guilt as I rolled over for “one more snooze” and missed the French display of the same. As for the Bastille events, I was presented with a decision: battle an inordinate number of people to get a “view” of something, or catch up with Volker, who happened to be in Paris for a lay-over, for a quiet relaxing dinner. Needless to say hunger conquered all. Finally it was off to sacred ground to watch the fireworks.
Rod, Big M, The Rane and myself ventured to an apartment block that offered multiple parties and a great view of the pending fireworks. As we sauntered between different parties, drinking and greeting as we went, we eagerly awaited the finale…the fireworks. Unfortunately the unobstructed views of the fireworks spectacular were from last year’s brochure as they had decided to move the focus of the display and all we could see were the big ones…..over the top of the buildings that obstructed our view. Of course we could see the reflection off the Eiffel Tower but that was like watching TV in the reflection of a broken mirror! In other words we could see sweat FA!
The award for the best entertainment of Bastille clearly went to Big M (“Who’s that?”…”He’s not with us?!?”) and his couch boy caveman antics with a young French lass. Don’t people ever grow out of that?!? Find a room!!! The two of them, neither petite but very drunk, attempted, on a couch too small for either of them, a mix between Greco-Roman wresting and the teenage “we shagged with our clothes on” dance. One would think that a man of his age would have felt the social necessity to find a room however, to the amusement of the entire balcony, they did not. Congratulations Morgan, do you have anything to say?
“What, her name wasn’t Isabelle?!?”
Whilst waiting for the Rane, I had the opportunity to rekindle some old friendships, particularly a great bunch from the English speaking newspaper. Whilst some had found new jobs, the humour, temperament and intelligence of conversation was a relieving change from the usual “I’m from Australia, travelling for about a year, yes I love it here” discussion.
The Rane arrived a couple of days later and we eventually hooked up at the Bottle Shop (oh the local….so good to be home!!). After spending the time catching up on gossip (thankfully no Morris stories!!) we then moved on to more important things….Bastille Day.
Bastille Day marks the revolt of the lower class against the French aristocracy when, on July 14th 1789, a mob of peasants broke into the Bastille, the main jail, and freed the prisoners inside…….all 7 of them!! As it turned out most of the prisoners had been moved and so the whole event was more symbolic than any great prison-break, however it did score the French a public holiday (Fête de la Fédération). While the French 35 hour working week (seriously!!) seems like a public holiday everyday, with shops closing for 1~2 hour lunch break and so forth, Bastille Day is a formal holiday when shops don’t even pretend to open. The day centres around a large military parade down the Champs-Élysées (didn’t go), events at the sight of the jail itself (couldn’t get there) and a huge fireworks display (couldn’t see it from where we were) at the Eiffel Tower. Although one might be mistaken for thinking that I did sweet FA for the event…patience. While I plan to make the pilgrimage to Gallipoli next year I am not one, admittedly, who wakes up for the dawn service or the parade, so I felt no guilt as I rolled over for “one more snooze” and missed the French display of the same. As for the Bastille events, I was presented with a decision: battle an inordinate number of people to get a “view” of something, or catch up with Volker, who happened to be in Paris for a lay-over, for a quiet relaxing dinner. Needless to say hunger conquered all. Finally it was off to sacred ground to watch the fireworks.
Rod, Big M, The Rane and myself ventured to an apartment block that offered multiple parties and a great view of the pending fireworks. As we sauntered between different parties, drinking and greeting as we went, we eagerly awaited the finale…the fireworks. Unfortunately the unobstructed views of the fireworks spectacular were from last year’s brochure as they had decided to move the focus of the display and all we could see were the big ones…..over the top of the buildings that obstructed our view. Of course we could see the reflection off the Eiffel Tower but that was like watching TV in the reflection of a broken mirror! In other words we could see sweat FA!
The award for the best entertainment of Bastille clearly went to Big M (“Who’s that?”…”He’s not with us?!?”) and his couch boy caveman antics with a young French lass. Don’t people ever grow out of that?!? Find a room!!! The two of them, neither petite but very drunk, attempted, on a couch too small for either of them, a mix between Greco-Roman wresting and the teenage “we shagged with our clothes on” dance. One would think that a man of his age would have felt the social necessity to find a room however, to the amusement of the entire balcony, they did not. Congratulations Morgan, do you have anything to say?
“What, her name wasn’t Isabelle?!?”
posted by santas walkabout at 12:21 am
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