Bastille Day

I'd really done it this time. I've really pushed my husband to finally do the vile things he would never do had he never known me or loved me. (Not that he needed much prodding.)

Today I got him to wake up early (an ungodly 7 a.m.); weave through the unreasonable traffic barricades around the perimeter of the Champs Elysees; walk from La Madeleine through a long, tedious maze concocted by the Gendarme like sheep being herded to the sidewalk; go through a body search; stand behind a fence for two hours and a half; and carry me on his shoulders occasionally. Madness. Utter madness.

But he's in love with an eternal tourist, so he escorted me to the Bastille Day parade.

The yearly show of strength in the country's capital.

But sad news greeted us as we walked towards the Champs Elysees. Five of their boys had died the night before in Afghanistan, the speakers blared, asking for a minute of silence.

Suddenly the day regained its significance. It was a reminder that wars were still being fought.
 

In old ways.

And new.

The parade used to be a way to sow holy terror into the hearts of would-be enemies.

But I guess it goes both ways these days. I am no fan of war, I think it turns people into puppets of other people's vested interests, but I don't think our species would ever outgrow it. It is the law of nature, and we only live in her planet.

And so we stand along the fringes and watch the pomp and glory of the Republique pass us by.

And we watch the machines of war thunder along in the old way...

Or in new.

In a city where the past is ever present.

Impossibly cute (and adult mimic) petite Nina came before it got dark, while the sunset made the city around us glow as pink as her cheeks. Like me, this was her first Fête Nationale. She came by to sniff the cold night air and the gunpowder from the rooftop.

Where fire exploded in the colors of the rainbow and fell in minuscule slivers of dying light.

(You can watch part of the fireworks here.) 

When it was over, my champagne was missing.

Footloose

H spent the day playing video games with a friend and I had the whole day to myself! So I did what I love best: walking around the old quarter.

The more things change, the more they stay the same.

I had a little work-related errand to run at the Centre Georges Pompidou bibliotheque (I should say "library," but here it's actually the book shop)  so I got out of Chatelet and walked from Rivoli to the Museum. Unfortunately, I got sidetracked by big, red "Soldes" and "Nouvelle Demarques" signs from a whole other direction. On any other day, this would have been fine, but I've been having foot pains since Normandy. I get a dull, stabbing pain when I'm standing still; and a sharp, stabbing pain when I'm walking. But guess what? Estrogen. Estrogen and adrenalin.

After two hours, I found my way back to my original direction and I found my way back to Sebastopol and, eventually, the Pompidou.

Street musicians at Beaubourg.

A guitarist helping a fellow artist.

A spiral forms around Didgeridoo Girl

Inside the library. Lovely place for reading, though the view can be distractingly beautiful.

An outdoor escalator for paying museum-goers... which excludes me, because I'm in the cheap today.

I wish blogs could also carry the lovely smell of books.

It was after accomplishing my mission that I realized I didn't even have breakfast, and it was five in the afternoon.

A hotdog joint.

I bought a sandwich for lunch and ate it next to the oldest monumental fountain in Paris. The place was kept alive by noisy teens enjoying summer break.

The Fontaine des Innocents.

It was also in this square that I bought a copy of Le Petit Prince. I got the owner to knock off a euro and twenty cents from the price - by speaking in French! Word up!

Le loot! (Plastic cover included)

My feet were aching when I got home, but when it got dark H connived with the building concierge for the keys to the rooftop. It's the 13th of July after all, the eve of Fete Nationale, also known as Bastille day.

There were fireworks all over Paris and we had the 360-degree view. It was 18 degrees and windy, but H held me tight. It felt like the end of Fight Club. Up music, "Where Is My Mind."