Promenade in Paris
October 18th 2007 11:36
La promenade (the walk or stroll) has always been high on the list of favourite French leisure activities. Novels, paintings and photographs of old are full of rendezvous for promenades. Still now, any lunchtime, evening, weekend or holiday, the streets, allees and riverbanks teem with people - families, couples, groups and lone promeneurs. There have been countless guide books written about picturesque and interesting Paris promenades, guaranteed to keep the tourist safely to a tried and trusted path, with maximum monument, cafe, charm and vista value. But whether you follow a prescribed path or ramble at will, the promenade is the best way to explore this city and most importantly, to see it as it really is.
The weather is becoming cooler, greyer, damper, as France descends deeper into Autumn, but sometimes still there's a cloudless sky, bright sunshine, a soft warm breeze and a hint of the summer that hasn't quite gone. Tuesday was one of those days. So, it was on with the sunglasses and t shirt, off with the coat and the beanie, into the park and down to the river.
We meandered off through the Jardin des Tuileries, along the allee with the bronze scrunched up newspaper sculptures, to the pond where an enigmatic grey van with a chandelier inside sits in the water, surrounded by lights. Ten minutes puzzling over its meaning (it's what's inside that counts, beauty is on the inside, art is an accident, stealing chandeliers will land you in a pond) brought no satisfactory answers just a desperate need for a pause cafe under the trees. We set off again past the "Paris Eye", crossed the busy Place de la Concorde,and took the path down to the right bank of the Seine.
The Seine is endlessly fascinating. Barges piled with containers make their way out to the coast. Barge people, lines of washing strung along their decks, wave as they pass on their way up river. Bateaux Mouches cruise slowly by, crowded with tourists, while a disembodied voice counts off the monuments for them. Moored at the banks, houseboat dwellers lunch or lounge on their decks, screened by potted gardens.
Joggers pant past. A few fishermen doze over motionless lines. Painters dab away at their canvasses against the sunny stone walls.
There's a smell of river water, deisel and wafts of pungent urine. Too often, we come upon the pile of folded cardboard, the damp, grubby sleeping bag, the striped plastic sack, the battered suitcase - the dosses of the homeless. Sometimes too, we come across the weatherbeaten owner of the doss, eyes averted, face bent over a wine bottle, or still with eyes averted, but with hand outstretched, mumbling "un euro pour manger"
This is the arresting, tragic side that lurks everywhere and always, behind the glittering, rich, priveleged face of Paris. It appears when least expected, on pavements, in doorways, parks and metros. It's a jolt to the social conscience, a sobering and salutory reminder of the harsh realities of the fairy-tale city and of our own good fortune.
Jardin Des Tuileries
The weather is becoming cooler, greyer, damper, as France descends deeper into Autumn, but sometimes still there's a cloudless sky, bright sunshine, a soft warm breeze and a hint of the summer that hasn't quite gone. Tuesday was one of those days. So, it was on with the sunglasses and t shirt, off with the coat and the beanie, into the park and down to the river.
The van in the pond
We meandered off through the Jardin des Tuileries, along the allee with the bronze scrunched up newspaper sculptures, to the pond where an enigmatic grey van with a chandelier inside sits in the water, surrounded by lights. Ten minutes puzzling over its meaning (it's what's inside that counts, beauty is on the inside, art is an accident, stealing chandeliers will land you in a pond) brought no satisfactory answers just a desperate need for a pause cafe under the trees. We set off again past the "Paris Eye", crossed the busy Place de la Concorde,and took the path down to the right bank of the Seine.
The Paris Eye
The Seine is endlessly fascinating. Barges piled with containers make their way out to the coast. Barge people, lines of washing strung along their decks, wave as they pass on their way up river. Bateaux Mouches cruise slowly by, crowded with tourists, while a disembodied voice counts off the monuments for them. Moored at the banks, houseboat dwellers lunch or lounge on their decks, screened by potted gardens.
Houseboats on the Seine
Joggers pant past. A few fishermen doze over motionless lines. Painters dab away at their canvasses against the sunny stone walls.
Painter on the Seine
There's a smell of river water, deisel and wafts of pungent urine. Too often, we come upon the pile of folded cardboard, the damp, grubby sleeping bag, the striped plastic sack, the battered suitcase - the dosses of the homeless. Sometimes too, we come across the weatherbeaten owner of the doss, eyes averted, face bent over a wine bottle, or still with eyes averted, but with hand outstretched, mumbling "un euro pour manger"
Homeless in Paris
This is the arresting, tragic side that lurks everywhere and always, behind the glittering, rich, priveleged face of Paris. It appears when least expected, on pavements, in doorways, parks and metros. It's a jolt to the social conscience, a sobering and salutory reminder of the harsh realities of the fairy-tale city and of our own good fortune.
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