The first story takes place at a time when the traffic driving around this square is much more plentiful, before télétravail--working from home--becomes the new normal. My family and I wait for the little green man to light up, signaling it's probably safe to cross. You have to keep your eyes and ears open in Paris, no matter what the crossing light says. While we wait, our attention is caught by a white van stopped in the middle of the road. A workman gets out in distress because his van has hit a besuited man on a bike. The man in the suit stands up on the cobbled street, presumably angry at the offender who even at a distance we can tell is making profuse apologies. The suited man will have none of it. The owner of the white van holds out a conciliatory bottle of water, perhaps the only thing he has to offer as amends. The man in the suit refuses, straddles his now slightly wobbly bicycle and pedals off. Maybe this is the wrong reaction, but I find myself feeling really sorry for the man in the white van. But also, be careful riding your bike in Paris!
The year is 1940. The French government has abandoned Paris, and the Nazis are coming. The United States is not yet involved in this latest European storm, and Paris is full of at least 30,000 Americans. Many of them flee, too. But the American ambassador remains. William Bullitt is made provisional mayor of Paris by France's Prime Minister and Interior Minister, entrusted with the safety of Paris as she awaits the arrival of the German army. When the Nazis arrive to claim and occupy the French capital, it is an American who meets them and oversees the transfer of power. Many Nazi officials take up residence in the Hôtel de Crillon pictured above. Just across a small street, peeking out behind the hotel sits the American Embassy, and when the German occupiers attempted to run a telephone cable across the street to be hooked up to the embassy's line, the Americans said a bold, "No."
Two days after I snapped my latest picture of the Luxor Obelisk (I can't help but take a picture of this shiny-topped beauty every time I pass.) it marked its 137th anniversary of presiding with pride of place over the Place de la Concorde. Someone once told me Napoléon brought this massive stone back from Egypt, but this turns out to be misinformation. This obelisk, erected by Rameses II in front of the temple in Luxor, was in fact, a gift to Louis-Philippe, the last French king, from the viceroy of Egypt in 1833. I'm happy to know it wasn't stolen, because covered in hieroglyphics, it's a treasure indeed.
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