Vive la France

The first time I was at a Bastille day celebration was July 14, 2006, and it was entirely by accident. I was with my Dad in Paris after he visited in England, we took the eurostar for a few days there and happened to be checking out on Sunday which was the 14th. Because we had our train to catch we could only watch the morning parade.

One year on I found myself in Brussels, my mum calling me up asking me if I can meet my sister Caitlin in Paris. She was on a summer school programme, lecturing and touring in several European cities, coupled with some exams for school credit. My mum asks if I can take her shopping, something that the teachers organizing the event had somehow neglected from the itinerary.

I post a note to the NATO interns, mentioning that I’m on my way, asking if anyone else would like to come. I get two takers for the trip, Elisabeth and Angela. The hostel situation is dire, everything is booked, so we just travel without reservations hoping for the best, and luckily the first hostel we visit, a charming one in Montmartre, has free rooms.

On the first night I go to meet a friend of Elisabeth’s who lives in Paris, who’s having a dinner party in his beautiful flat not far from the Eiffel Tower. It’s a stereotypically French affair, 20 something young professionals, mostly in finance, wearing evening suits sitting in a circle in the drawing room, antique furniture and a grand piano covered in wine bottles (our own contribution was particularly “bon marche”). I have to use my French all evening, but the wine helps this. They principally sit around and smoke, then drink wine, and then smoke. All that was missing was the gentle waft of accordion music on the air.

The following day I meet Caitlin at her hotel by les Halles, one of my favourite parts of Paris near the Marais. I tell her that on Sunday many of the shops will be closed so we do some brief shopping before taking groceries down the Champ de Mars, at the foot of the Eiffel Tower for a picnic. It’s a warm sunny day and we lounge in the beauty of the city. I take Caitlin back to her hotel to make her curfew, and then head back to Montmartre. I had called my buddy Ahad earlier who works in Paris, who also lives in Montmartre (on the same street that the fictional character Amelie lived on). He tells us that he’s spending his evening at a Balle des Pompiers, a 2 night celebration in Paris that happens on the Bastille day weekend. On Friday half the firefighters in Paris party it up, on Saturday the other half. The party happens right at the firehall, and so we meet up with Ahad and head down where a full stage is set with a cover band doing Village People and Madonna covers.

Finally its Bastille day, the day starts with the parade down the Champs Elysees, jets flying above streaking the tricolor on the sky, tanks, soldiers, and huge pushy crowds of people. We fetch Caitlin and in the evening we return to the Champs de Mars, and set ourselves up to watch the evening concert and fireworks. The music act is half decent and includes Nelly Furtado, but also some 80’s French pop-rock music icon who puts me to sleep. Luckily I wake in time to see the sky behind the Eiffel Tower light up for 30 amazing minutes. The crowds afterwards were nightmarish. We walk all the way from the Eiffel Tower to Caitlin’s hotel, and by then the metro had sufficiently cleared to allow us to get back.

The final day is a lazy one, having done all the sights. We climb the steps of Notre Dame and look out on Paris, and wander down in front of the Pompidou Centre to see buskers. The weather is so hot that Elisabeth and I even take a cool down in the fountain filled with the works of Tinguely and Niki de Saint Phalle to wind off our day.