Three Stories from La Place de la Concorde

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.

Five Quotes, vol. xxiii (and a France update)

 

It's been quite the week in France with terrorism and rising coronavirus cases causing the filling up of ICU beds.  And this Friday finds us once more under the second nation-wide lockdown of the year until at least December 1, but many expect it to be extended.  President Macron wants to get the number of new daily cases down to 5,000.  This past week they've hovered between 40,000-50,000, so the December 1 date seems unlikely; however, the government also really wants to keep the economy moving, so we shall see.

Lockdown in France means not leaving your house except for doctor visits, essential groceries, and an hour of daily exercise within one kilometer of your house, and when you do leave you have to have a form filled out with one of those stated reasons selected or risk a 135 euro fine.  People will be working from home if at all possible, with the main difference from the spring being that children will still be going to school.  Houses of worship will be open for people stopping by to pray or sit quietly, but no services will be allowed.

It all feels very sudden.  President Macron addressed the nation Wednesday night.  I don't think my mind has quite had time to wrap around it all yet and what it means for Thanksgiving and Christmas.  Of course we already knew these holidays would look different, but now we have the official verification that for the first time in many years we won't be hosting a crowd for Thanksgiving.  We do still have Noreen, though, so that is good.

But on to this week's reading!  They are overwhelmingly about walking in Paris, which feels appropriate as I did a lot of that yesterday during the last day of freedom, taking pictures of the sites I never get tired of seeing, watching people crowd into cafes for one last meeting with friends.

"You feel at home in Paris because the things that you care about--strolling, thinking, loving, creating--are built into the fabric of the city."

- A Writer's Paris, Eric Maisel

"The flâneur is an observer who wanders the streets of a great city on a mission to notice with childlike enjoyment the smallest events and the obscurest sights he encounters."

- A Writer's Paris, Eric Maisel

"You can stroll in New York but the Tao of New York demands double time.  You can stroll in Los Angeles but the Zen of Los Angeles requires four wheels.  You can stroll in your small town, but you will run out of sights and strolling room in three minutes flat.  Most places are not designed or equipped to support two or three hours of ambling.  It is in Paris that the delicious dreamy strolling of the flâneur can be perfected."

- A Writer's Paris, Eric Maisel

"...a chilly Octoberish smell of cured leaves rose from the ground, the indescribable smell of fall and football weather and the new term that is the same almost everywhere in America."

- Crossing to Safety, Wallace Stegner

"There is nothing like a doorbell to precipitate the potential into the kinetic.  When you stand outside a door and push the button, something has to happen.  Someone must respond; whatever is inside must be revealed.  Questions will be answered, uncertainties or mysteries dispelled.  A situation will be started on its way through unknown complications to an unpredictable conclusion.  The answer to your summons may be a rush of tearful welcome, a suspicious eye at the crack of the door, a shot through the hardwood, anything."

- Crossing to Safety, Wallace Stegner

A little child shall lead them.

One of the hopes of Emmanuel International Church in meeting together in the parks around Paris this summer is that we might be a blessing to those we encounter in the city while we're not meeting in a building.  Speaking English in the middle of France can often lend itself to impromptu conversations with strangers.  It occurs to me this morning that God may have answered that prayer in our group last night in an unexpected way.

It was so exciting to see people again in person yesterday afternoon after months of Zoom calls, and I especially enjoyed seeing the kids reunite.  One little boy in particular is the most joy-filled, exuberant little fellow I have ever met, and he rushed up to greet us excitedly when he arrived at the little spot we claimed in a park near the Eiffel Tower.

All around La Tour Eiffel there are men selling miniature Eiffel Tower replicas in several sizes.  They approach everyone who meets their eyes and some who don't to try to sell a key chain for un euro.  They spend their days selling some, being rejected a lot (much more now I imagine without tourists in the city due to COVID-19), and packing up in a hurry if law enforcement tells them to clear out.  It can't be fun.  Many of these men are from Northern Africa and beyond, far from home and family.

Last night as our church family gathered on picnic blankets, I looked up to see a man walk to the center of our group.  Before anyone could say, "Non, merci." to his offerings, this 3-year-old boy ran straight to him with a huge smile and joyful laughter, wrapping his little arms around this big man's knees, and looked up at him with shining eyes.   The man smiled in surprise and immediately dropped his offerings on the ground and dug out a key chain to give as a gift, free of charge.  To this little boy, this stranger was one of the family, deserving of a happy welcome, and after a day of rejections, I can't help but think that adorable hug and grin was a highlight.

I think I'm going to bring some extra euros to church in the park next week.  Everyone needs a miniature Eiffel Tower or two.

May Flowers in Paris

The last time I saw Paris was on Leap Day, but I thought it would be fun to re-visit the city through pictures from May Day 2018.  

The first of May is France's Labor Day, and on this holiday I walk to meet friends from church to play games in the park.  Parc Monceau is so green and filled with bright flowers of all colors.  I pass a stand on our street corner where a lady sells Lilies of the Valley.  I learn these delicate white flowers are given as gifts on May Day here.

The stone bridge and big knobby trees are perfection.

James always finds a stick wherever we go.

I miss the green leafy trees hanging over the streets of Paris, though I am happier living with more of the sky than what can be seen between buildings and trees.

À bientôt, Paris.

President's Day: Paris Edition

Every once in a while I find myself reading a book that I can't help stopping every few pages or paragraphs to read something interesting or funny aloud to K.J.  If I stop often enough with a strong need to share what I'm reading, I give it up and commit to reading the whole book aloud to him.  He's a gem of a husband.  

One of the books I couldn't help but read aloud recently is the hefty John Adams by David McCullough.  We are 66% of the way through a book that chronicles many significant historical moments.  One of these takes place in Paris in 1785.

John Adams lives in Paris through most of the Revolutionary War, working to gain support for the United States in France.  His young son John Quincy travels with him and is educated in Europe.  Many years later when the war is over John Adams is still in Europe, and he is finally joined by his wife, Abigail.  Thomas Jefferson is also selected to represent the newly formed nation in France.  

In the spring of 1785 Queen Marie Antoinette gives birth to a son, and there is a service of praise to God on the occasion at Notre Dame.  Louis XVI is there, of course, and the service is also attended by John and Abigail Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and a now 18-year-old John Quincy Adams.  

Picture this scene:  a monarch giving thanks for the birth of his son with great pomp and circumstance.  In just four years revolution will break out followed by mass chaos and the king's execution in 1793.  He has no idea how his fortunes are about to change.  Three future U.S. presidents are present at this stately occasion, but at this point in time there is no U.S. constitution and not even a first president.  They have no idea the courses their lives will take or that they will one day hold the highest office in their new republic.  

John Quincy records his thoughts afterwards:

What a charming sight:  an absolute king of one

of the  most powerful empires on earth, and perhaps

a thousand of the first personages of that empire,

adoring the divinity who created them, and 

acknowledging that He can in a moment reduce

them to the dust from which they spring.

Indeed.  

A Sunday Walk in Luxembourg Gardens

All of our work and school is very much intertwined with home life, so there's not always a differentiation between the two.  I love this about our life.  It gives me what I call in my head "the Little House on the Prairie" feeling.  From my youngest days the Ingalls' family home life resonated with me as something so wholesome and good.  They worked hard together, the played together, they rested together; they had a life that really was very whole, wholly centered in one place.  And though they often shared heartache, too, they were in it together.  

As much as I love our intertwined life it doesn't always give me the feeling of the weekend.  Weekends didn't exist back in the good old days (as the Dowager Duchess of Grantham could tell us), but as much as I love the old days I'm also a child of the modern age, and I've been trying to plan at least one thing that makes the weekend feel invigorating and refreshing, a taste of the freedom of being off work and school.  

via GIPHY

So far this year that has looked like meals with friends.  This weekend K.J. had Saturday meetings, so I was hoping to go into the city a little while before church on Sunday and do something not too difficult or time consuming. 

The perfect idea appeared in my mind Sunday morning, and while the idea was a good one, Sunday morning is not the ideal time to present a new plan for the day to my preacher husband whose plans always mature over time, while mine come to me as a sudden spark of inspiration I need to act on immediately:  Let's take a walk in Luxembourg Gardens!  It's a part of the city we don't visit often, it's free, it's exercise, it's perfect!  And as an aside, isn't it where Jean Valjean walked every Sunday morning with Cosette?  A literary reference makes any outing better.

la fontaine de Médicis

Parking in Paris is easier on Sundays because it is free, though it's still not easy to find a spot.  I thought this would be K.J.'s biggest hurdle to get over, but instead it was the memories of the last time he took the kids to le jardin du Luxembourg on a hot April day after a crowded, sweaty bus ride.  The complaints of the children still lingered in his ears, but we made it work, and after we'd enjoyed a nice walk, Ella remarked, "That was a lot better in January."  Win.

It's unusual to see fountains running in the winter, but I noticed several flowing yesterday.  It is still one of our favorite things to hear K.J. tell us what the statues are saying or thinking as we pass by them.  

We walked through the park and up to the Panthéon because the ceiling of the porch is so beautiful and intricate, and you can see the tip of the Eiffel Tower as you look down the street.  I knew we wouldn't be able to see much yesterday because it was so foggy, but Ella and I like when the tops of the buildings are concealed in fog; it gives a great air of mystery.

I like how people aren't in a hurry to take down the

Christmas decorations here.

Can you spot the middle of the Eiffel Tower between the Christmas trees?

I'm really glad we made this weekend outing work.

Paris in the Fall

When the sky is a bright blue the Arc shines white against its backdrop.  I sit on a bench with a friend and talk while more and more tourists crowd the sidewalk.  The chestnut trees drop their leaves first.  They’re brown and crunchy under my feet as I walk down the garden paths beside the Champs-Élysées about an hour later.

A man with a crêpe stand on a bicycle jogs beside it as he pushes it quickly down the path.  The fountains in the Jardin des Ambassadeurs spray water cheerfully.  It won’t be long before they’re turned off for the winter.  I notice a grouping of statues I’ve never seen before, but I don’t see a sign explaining what they are. I walked to this park a lot when we lived in the city.

I sit on a bench to rest my feet.  Even small outings in Paris begin to hurt your feet, and I’ve walked the length of the Champs-Élysées.  I scroll through Instagram and listen to an American couple on the bench next to me debate which way to go as they study a map, rotating it to get the direction right.  I stop and offer them help when I get up to leave, but they’ve figured it out.  They were looking for the nearest Metro stop.  

I continue walking through construction work still happening at Place de la Concorde and make it to W.H. Smith.  It’s a haven of beautiful books, but I have no budget for buying new books, except I do pick up the newest illustrated Harry Potter for Ella.  We had it on pre-order at Amazon, but we’ve had so many problems with deliveries lately.  I’m happy with the decision to stop in and buy it here, because I get a free tote bag with the cover illustration on it.  The only downside is I now have to carry this very heavy book that I don’t want to get damaged around Paris the rest of the afternoon.  

I cross the Rue de Rivoli for a little walk in Tuileries.  I sit in a reclining chair and people watch for a few minutes, drinking the Strawberry Cream Diet Coke I picked up at W.H. Smith.  I keep wishing they’d stock Diet Mountain Dews again.  It was such a fun surprise that time I discovered them there, a happy reminder of home.  It won't be long before the long rows of trees have scrawny bare limbs, but for now, autumn is in Paris.

Parc de Sceaux

The morning is rainy and the sky completely covered in clouds when I walk to the train station to travel to the south side of Paris.  A friend and I are meeting to try to catch the infamous Parc de Sceaux cherry blossoms at their peak moment.  The beauty of blossoms is fleeting, so we are proceeding with our plan even though the weather is bleak.  I'm a little anxious when I switch from one RER line to another, wondering if my ticket really carries me this far into the city.  Surely they wouldn't want me to leave the station for a new ticket when my connecting train was just beside the old one, though... 

I make it to my destination without any run-ins with SNCF agents and walk through a light downpour, listening to directions from Google maps through my earbuds.  I hope it stops raining long enough to get out my camera.  The park is much bigger than I expect, and I'm not quite sure which direction the cherry grove is in, so I start walking.  It's empty on this wet day.  Only the most dedicated runners are on the gravel paths.

I pass a singing robin.

The rain stops.

I follow a sign for les toilettes and discover the chateau.  It looks exactly as I imagine one mentioned in A Tale of Two Cities.

Finding the restrooms requires a lot of walking and the confusion of figuring out the way the French use arrows on signs.  French arrows never seem to be straightforward.  

I see a red squirrel.  A friend in England told me the North American squirrel had all but run the red squirrel off that island.  

It's spring, and this one is carrying her new baby.

I meet my friend, and we begin exploring  l'Orangerie.  The flowers are gorgeous.

The floppiness of the poppies is my favorite.  They're such a delicate flower.

We begin the long walk to the cherry trees.  This estate is truly vast!  I love that it is now a public park.  This kind of place is such a refuge from sirens and honking horns, and as Anne says, "There's so much scope for the imagination!"

The cherry grove is a truly magical place on this quiet misty morning, and we realize it's a gift to be there without the thousands of other Parisians that will flock to see the blossoms.

Don't you want to plant a cherry orchard now?  The twisty, knobby branches have such character; it's such a satisfyingly shaped tree.

Though they aren't at peak bloom, we walk through a grove of trees with white blossoms as we leave the park.

This outing is worth my completely soaked boots, that are apparently not waterproof.