Tout noir for Les Bloirs
October 15th 2007 09:09
Saturday morning French television is all about the evening's Rugby World Cup Semi final match against England at Stade de France. French Rugby experts, ex-captains, ex-players, Fabien Pelous and various unknowns on the streets make cautiously optimistic predictions for the Bleus. Meanwhile, English Rugby experts, ex-captains, ex-players and unknowns make bold claims of victoy for the Poms. Intercut with all the talk are flashes of Gare du Nord and the Paris Metro, where contingents of Mediaeval Knights, brigades of bowler-hatted city chaps and expeditions of pith-helmetted and putteed explorers, along with troups of be-wigged Sebastien Chabals, red, white and blue rooster-heads and thousands of Quinze de France and English Rose Rugby shirts are making their way across the city.
Later that day, we too, make our way across the city, to Palais de Chaillot and Rugby Town, where the disappointed of Australia and New Zealand have thrown in their lot with the still hopeful of France and England to while away the time before the game. The ambiance is fantastic! Bands play, restaurants serve fabulous pre-match lunches, the beer and wine flow and spirits are high. Further down on the Champ de Mars, crowds are gathering before the Big Screen, finding their spots for the evening's live telecast.
As the sun begins to sink we head into the Metro for the trip out to start de France. I have a vague idea of the direction but am completely over-ruled by the group which decides to follow the man in the red, white and blue head-dress (is it a bird? is it a beast?) who says "Suivez-moi!" Before long we're all singing the Marseillaise and our group has been joined by a band of wild-looking little boys who sing louder than anybody and begin chants of "Chabal! Chabal!" Time is passing and the crowd is swelling as we hurtle after the red,white and blue man/bird/beast through the labyrinth of tunnels. I begin to feel like Alice in Wonderland as round and round and up and under we dash. Soon we have a large crowd of Poms on board and a singing competition is in swing. The Poms can't compete with the kids though who have youth, tune, rhythm and the spirit of the street on their side. Finally at Les Halles, it is an Aussie couple, in bright yellow bucket hats who put us on the right path and guide us to the Stade.
And really I have to say, this meander through the Metro was the highlight of the evening. The game - well it was a shame. Many are saying now that the French played as if they didn't want to win. To me they had lost their French flair, along with their colour. And yes there is much to say about that move away from the distinctive blue of the tri-couleur and into the dark, into quasi black, in fact. What are they now? Les Bloirs?
Later that day, we too, make our way across the city, to Palais de Chaillot and Rugby Town, where the disappointed of Australia and New Zealand have thrown in their lot with the still hopeful of France and England to while away the time before the game. The ambiance is fantastic! Bands play, restaurants serve fabulous pre-match lunches, the beer and wine flow and spirits are high. Further down on the Champ de Mars, crowds are gathering before the Big Screen, finding their spots for the evening's live telecast.
In the Metro, Paris
As the sun begins to sink we head into the Metro for the trip out to start de France. I have a vague idea of the direction but am completely over-ruled by the group which decides to follow the man in the red, white and blue head-dress (is it a bird? is it a beast?) who says "Suivez-moi!" Before long we're all singing the Marseillaise and our group has been joined by a band of wild-looking little boys who sing louder than anybody and begin chants of "Chabal! Chabal!" Time is passing and the crowd is swelling as we hurtle after the red,white and blue man/bird/beast through the labyrinth of tunnels. I begin to feel like Alice in Wonderland as round and round and up and under we dash. Soon we have a large crowd of Poms on board and a singing competition is in swing. The Poms can't compete with the kids though who have youth, tune, rhythm and the spirit of the street on their side. Finally at Les Halles, it is an Aussie couple, in bright yellow bucket hats who put us on the right path and guide us to the Stade.
Stade de France, beaucoup de noir, beaucoup de jaune
And really I have to say, this meander through the Metro was the highlight of the evening. The game - well it was a shame. Many are saying now that the French played as if they didn't want to win. To me they had lost their French flair, along with their colour. And yes there is much to say about that move away from the distinctive blue of the tri-couleur and into the dark, into quasi black, in fact. What are they now? Les Bloirs?
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