Legends from our own lunchtimes

Wednesday, May 01, 2013

May Day

Apart from stalls selling diadem studded replicas of the Eiffel Tower there is precious little sign of commerce in Paris on this Public Holiday.   

A hundred metres from our berth, at the Place Bastille there are numbers of ethnic groups holding rowdy demonstrations involving drums and shouting and hawking petitions to be signed, and they are almost outnumbered by riot police who in turn are outnumbered by silent spectators.  

Around the Arsenal itself almost two kilometres of marquee has been erected which will house the spring Antique Fair for much of the month, presuming of course that spring eventually arrives, but for this week it gives an opportunity to what we suspect are mostly not highly ranked artisans, to display their works.   "Works" in this case seem to comprise either random splotches of paint or representations of naked females in often in improbable poses (or perhaps with broken limbs?), but the hint of something truly inspirational bobs up every now and then, just often enough to give one enough strength to make it through to the next tent. 

A few hundred metres beyond, not a soul is stirring.

We did make an effort to explore, but there are only so many deserted streets full of shuttered buildings one can wander through, braced against the chill before one sees the error in one's way.

Eventually the siren call of the warm saloon of Ozzie Crawl became irresistible, and we settled down to watch re-runs of "A Place in the Sun" and to heck with the sleet and riots and outside.

1 comment

Camemberu said...

So that's what Paris was like on my birthday. Cool blog you have, with nice photos too. Chanced upon you via Keropokman. I'll be reading more. Thanks for sharing!

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