2013-05 Paris

The dam has burst and you may well be inundated with posts (I told you that Paris has that effect on me as it did on Papa Hemingway). As I have previously noted, for those disinterested or overtaken by the press of events, The Supreme Being, with a bit of help from Steve Jobs and Bill Gates, provides the delete button.

 

Perhaps the only thing the French like more than food (not really, but a close second) is a manif or manifestation or “event,” often a protest.

 

Yesterday (Sunday) morning outside Chez Papa, a southwest restaurant chain, a group of 20 assembled with signs, banner, and bullhorn (all required manif paraphernalia). I thought for a moment they were protesting the manufacture of foie gras, but recalled immediately that anti-food protests are not tolerated in France.

 

 It was an anti-abortion rally, and across the street were 10-15 women sporting pink balloons. They were separated from the antis by some 50 gendarmes, with another 100+ streaming up and down rue Gambetta on both sides of the street.

 

And catty-corner a gentleman blowing up large condoms and floating them in the wind. I was unable to ascertain which side he was aligned with, or possibly a neutral dispatched by a condom distributor.

The gendarmes were directing everyone to circumvent the intersection and it was amusing to see how many disputed the direction for moments on end when the detour would take all of 30-seconds.

 

Then the pinks started to move on the antis. Police intervened. The pinks argued, gestured, pleaded to no avail. They retreated and circled, discussed, agonized, strategized, sent a rep out to confront les flics, without result. Then inspiration! “We want to go to the restaurant (in front of which the manif began).”

 

The police retreated, circled, agonized, strategized, and sent a rep to the pinks suggesting an alternate restaurant, without result.

 Finally with Gallic resignation, the police allowed the pinks to broach the antis Maginot Line and enter the restaurant, filing past a clearly exasperated Chez Papa manager asking plaintively why his restaurant, of the 9,645 registered in Paris, was selected. “Because you are across the street from a hospital that performs abortions and the police won't let demonstrators get any closer,” came the reply. QED.

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 I am periodically hassled over my limited use of French expressions. I try to vet all through Google Translate. As such, complaints should be directed to: Eric Schmidt, CEO, Google, Inc., Silicon Valley, USA

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I actually got a 5k jog (slog) yesterday morning. At 7am on Sunday Paris sleeps, providing a 50-50 chance of a non-intrusive result (cobblestones, merde de chien, vehicular traffic, et al, comprise the second half.)

 

Paris has changed. I actually passed half a dozen fellow joggers on the circuit, but unlike their North American counterparts, they look away rather than give a friendly nod, “hello,” or thumbs up. Come to think of it, one of the half dozen I passed kept looking over his shoulder, so he may not count.

Elderly matrons pulling their shopping carts still jump as I pass, but not as high as in prior years. They do clutch their purses tightly as they hear my approach. Perhaps a racial anti-jogger statement, tu pense?

 

bientot