Barbara Joy Cooley's Paris Journal

Paris Journal 2014 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com

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Surprise, surprise. Surprises all day long.

The military parade was much more somber than usual; the theme was the 100^th anniversary of the beginning of World War I, often called the Great War, but, from what I can tell, should perhaps be called the greatly traumatizing war – the terrible war, in both the French and English senses of the word “terrible.”

This time, there were no paratroopers landing on the Place de la Concorde at the end of the parade. Instead, a large group of young performers wearing black and white released white doves from their hands. The mood was soberly focused on the need for peace.

At one point, the announcer said something about France’s military being the strongest and most important in the European Union. My initial gut reaction to that was an incredulous, “Say what?????” But when I thought about it, I realized that it is true. Who’s got the strongest military in the EU? Well, we certainly don’t want it to be Germany. And it isn’t Britain, or Italy, or Spain. Yes, it is France!

We walked up the avenue de la Motte Picquet in the afternoon, intending to walk along the streets of the 7^th arrondissement, reasoning that there wouldn’t be much traffic on the national holiday.

But the first part of the 7^th that we reach is the foot of the Champ de Mars, in front of the military school. Gorgeous music filled our ears. It had to be live: a symphony orchestra, opera singers. Oh my!

So we turned and walked up the tree-lined allée on one side of the Champ until we reached the area in front of the stage under the Eiffel Tower – the stage that we saw the evening before. There were throngs of people everywhere, of course, staking out their piece of the Champ for the show and fireworks later in the evening.

Sure enough, there was a symphony orchestra practicing for the evening’s show. I had indeed heard an opera singer, and yes, I had heard part of Mozart’s Requiem.

The sound system was the most powerful and perfect that I’ve ever heard. It was a premonition of things to come . . . .

People often think that the oldest part of Paris is really the heart of it; they think of the Île de la Cite, the Île Saint Louis, and the 5^th and 6^th arrondissements as the center of everything.

Yesterday, however, there was no doubt about it: the center of everything was the Eiffel Tower, and the Champ de Mars.

We escaped it, and the mob scene, to walk along the rue Saint Dominique. But that street was chock full of people walking toward the Champ. Enterprising businesses had food like Panini sandwiches set up on tables out front, to sell picnic lunches to these pilgrims.

At the rue Cler, a market street, we turned right and all seemed normal there. Just the regular number of people were walking around and sitting in sidewalk cafés.

We saw a cute dog waiting for his master and mistress to finish paining their shop’s façade. That little rascal caught our attention, causing us to pause long enough to look in the window, causing me to see a scarf I loved, causing us to go in and buy said scarf.

Turning left on the avenue de la Motte Picquet, we headed for the Esplanade des Invalides. I thought that perhaps the streets around the Basilica of Sainte Clotilde would be calmer places to walk.

At the Esplanade, the crowd was thick. Soldiers had the street barricaded. We had to walk up into the Esplanade, where several of the latest and greatest military helicopters were on display. In fact, the military had many things on display, and a PA seemed to be broadcasting a speech by the minister of defense. We couldn’t see him, though.

When we reached the opposite side of the Esplanade, we rested for a bit in a rare, quiet, shaded corner, and then decided to head south, away from the madding crowd, around to the back side of Les Invalides.

We found a gorgeous Southern Magnolia tree in bloom in the Square Ajaccio, at the northeast corner of the Invalides grounds. Exiting from that lovely park, we spied The Thinker’s back side, across the street, inside the walled garden of the Rodin Museum.

Soon after we turned on the avenue de Tourville, the beautiful dome of the Saint Louis church was in view, in all of its glistening, golden glory, against a blue, blue sky.

We found the start of the avenue de Lowendal, which has special meaning for us, because that’s where Tom’s Paris doctor is headquartered (Nancy Saltzman, MD), and that’s where we dined with Arnold and Mareen at the Restaurant D’Chez Eaux – one of those dinners we’ll remember for the rest of our lives.

Then we passed through the leafy parks by Place Cambronne. It was time to go home and freshen up for dinner.

Dinner was another 20 minutes of walking away, at the Bistro 121 on the rue de la convention. Fortunately, I’d reserved a table, because the place was packed. About half the restaurants close for Bastille Day, so the rest are busy.

There were only two servers and two men in the kitchen (Chef Eric, and a sous chef) -- not nearly enough staff to handle this sizeable dining room when it is full, as it was last night. Still, the food was delicious. We just had to do a lot of waiting.

Back at the apartment, we watched the endless stream of cars on the street below; the rue du Theatre was one of the few cross streets open in the upper part of the 15^th, due to the show and fireworks up on the Champ.

In past years, I remember being disappointed that the show and fireworks weren’t on TV. Something told me that this year, however, they might be. I flipped the TV on, and voila, there it was, right on France 2, the Concert de Paris, in that beautiful stage under the Eiffel Tower. The national orchestra was playing, the Radio France chorus was singing. The music was glorious.

Normally, we watch the fireworks from the kitchen and bathroom windows of the apartment. But this year’s show was so extensive, we would have missed much had we done only that. In fact, there was no place on Earth that one could see the full effect of this awesome pyrotechnical production. The best place to be was in the air, in a helicopter. There, you could see it all.

So, the TV screen, with the helicopter view, was the way to go. Thank you, France 2 (French national TV station).

The show took my breath away. The artistic director, Christophe Berthonneau, said this in a France 24 interview:

“It felt wrong to do something patriotic because, collectively, we all look back on World War I as a useless war, a mistake by leaders of the era. This show isn’t a celebration, it’s a homage to the victims.

“Each family was traumatized by the war in some way. My great-grandfather returned from the war and banned laughter in his house. I wanted this show to remember that, then transcend it to create something beautiful.

“I’m actually really worried about falling flat on my face! It’s easy to impress people with brute strength and magnificence, but it’s hard to pull off a sad, delicate theme.”

He did not fall flat on his face. He accomplished what looked like a miracle to me.

Paris was on fire! Paris was being bombed! Paris was being reduced to ashes! That’s what this pyrotechnics show looked like. And the music, oh the music! That national orchestra and Radio France choir went on and on, and they were awesome.

Christophe, the pyrotechnics master artist, humbly said “the music makes the show.”

For the first time, fireworks were shot directly from the tower. When they were shooting out from the top section of the tower, I ran over to the kitchen window to see. Christophe used fire, at several points, all along the two levels of the tower. “Pyrotechnics is like trying to play the piano wearing boxing gloves,” he said.

Miraculous, and moving.

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