What The Gilets Jaunes Couldn't Interrupt

Yesterday, I went for a short ride--not much more than an hour--through side streets and alleys in and around the neighborhood in which I'm staying.  One reason is that I limited myself to riding in one direction--north and east of where I'm staying--because of police checkpoints and barricades in the other direction.  Also, I had a date with old friends in the afternoon.

I actually wondered, though, whether I would make it to our planned rendez-vous:  When I was about to cross the Place to get back to the hotel, a seemingly endless procession of police vehicles descended from the Boulevard de Clichy into the Plaza.  As the line of gendarmes' cars and mini-vans extended as far as I could see, I really wondered when I'd be able to cross.

But, of course, it did pass, and I was able to return to the hotel, where I stashed the bike and showered and changed clothes.  I'd thought about riding to my "date", but realized that I'd probably stay out late (on a Saturday night) and might run into a stream of drunks or gilets jaunes along the way.

Well, I did encounter the latter as Jay and I sipped juices in a cafe near the Centre Pompidou.  But it didn't take them as long to pass as the police procession took to get through the Place de Clicy, and--as I expected--they didn't care about Jay, me or anyone else nursing juice or tea or whatever in that cafe. They yelled their usual slogans, like "Demacronization 2019!" (Emanuel Macron is the President of France.), but on the whole, seemed no more menacing than any other large group of people.

Before that, Jay and I sauntered through one of the Centre Pompidou's galleries, where some Cubist works, and those of artists who influenced them, were on display.  I had seen a few of those works before, and several more in reproduction.  Some others, however, were not familiar to me, including this wood cutting from Paul Gauguin, long one of my favorite artists:

The work is titled "Soyez Mysterieuses," which translates as "Be Mysterious."  One thing I've always liked about him is that he could control a line or brush stroke in the way Bach could control a melody but still create an almost dreamy--mysterious--atmosphere.  That quality was evident in the woodcut, which I don't recall having seen before.

Anyway, after our Pompidou visit, drinks and our front-row view of the gilets jaunes, his wife Isabelle met us.  She teaches and in France, most kids go to school on Saturday mornings.  After her students were dismissed, she had to attend a meeting at the school.  

I knew Jay when he had all of his hair--and Isabelle when, well, she was Isabelle, only younger.

We hugged. I did not want to let go.  Nor did she.  And Jay would do nothing to discourage either of us.  I met him before he met her, and he surely knows that the love she and I have for each other is entirely intuitive--like the love I feel for Jay, as she surely knows.  Probably the only other couple with whom I have ever had this sort of relationship was the one I had with my friend Mildred (who is caring for Marlee while I"m gone) and her late husband, John.

The only other relationships--save for some members of my family--that have endured the trials and other changes I have endured are, perhaps, the ones I've had with my cats (including Marlee) and with reading, writing and Paris.  And France--and cycling.

I Ride My Rental Into History

So, here's where I went yesterday:

Take a closer look:

No, I didn't come home early from my trip.  This replica of the Statue of Liberty is on the Ile des Cygnes, a manmade island in the Seine under the Grenelle Bridge.  

(Now I'll make a confession:  I am one of those New Yorkers who's never been to the Statue of Liberty in my hometown's harbor.  When I have made that confession elsewhere, I have been called a disgrace to the human race, and worse.)

Another difference between this one and the one in New York is that you can ride to this one. Well, almost:  You have to walk down a couple of flights of stairs from the Grenelle Bridge. (When I had a mountain bike with a suspension front fork, I probably would have ridden down those stairs!)  And I rode to it--well, actually, I didn't intend to visit the statue. But it happened to be along my ride.

Yes, I rode a bicycle--but not one from Velibre.  One of the hotel staff told me about a site called Bim Bim Bikes, which can locate a bike rental for you anywhere in France.  When you reserve it, you can pay directly with your credit card or with PayPal or other services.  (I used PayPal since my card is linked to it, which makes things easier.)  The shop--Paris Velo, C'est Sympa (which lives up to its name) --is in a neighborhood I know well, near the Canal St. Martin. A six-day rental cost me 65 Euros (about 75 dollars at current exchange rates).

For that price, I got this bike:

a basic "city" bike from a company called "Arcade".  It's slow and handles like a truck, but  I'm not going for speed or even distance on my rides here.  I could have paid more for a "name brand" bike like Giant, but I figured that even if I got a lighter, sprightlier bike, it still wouldn't be my own.  Perhaps this sounds counter-intuitive, but a more performance-oriented bike might make me wish for my own more than a basic bike like the one I'm riding--which, of course, can in no way resemble my Mercians.

But it rolls over cobblestones--and grips to ones slicked by the light rain this city has experienced for most of the day--nicely.  Plus, it includes, in addition to the lock, this interesting bag

that fits onto a Klick-Fix attachment used with some other bags and baskets.  It loos rather like a purse and includes a shoulder strap for carrying it when I park the bike--which, of course, I did at two cafes and a store.  

(I have to admit that I cried at the store.  A young woman was cradling a kitten who looked like Marlee when she first came into my life!  When I stroked that cat and rubbed its nose, that young woman said, "'s't v'avezoon chat, vrai?" (You have a cat, don't you?) in that Parisian equivalent of New York speech that seems, at times, to have more contractions than actual words.

The drizzle I that colored most of the day was interrupted by bouts of rain and overcast sky. But there wasn't any wind, and it wasn't terribly cold (8C high temperature).  Best of all, the low clouds made for an interesting view:

Since I've lived in, have visited and have friends in, this city, I don't think of myself as a tourist.  So I always promise I myself I won't take another picture of the Eiffel Tower.  But I figure the one with the low clouds is justified.  Heck, I can even rationalize another photo of the Arc de Triomphe.  At least I'm approaching it, just like the riders at the end of the Tour de France.

Hey, I even rode around the rond--twice!  I have to wonder, though, what it would be like if they made those Tour riders pedal through the cobblestoned bike lane. Hmm...Maybe they could think of it as training for the following Paris-Roubaix race.

Finally, I'm going to do something I often do when I travel: subject you to a history lessson.  Two, actually.  The first I encountered on the Metro, on the way to pick up my rental:

I had to transfer from la ligne 2 to ligne 5 at Stalingrad.  That's what everybody calls it, but the official name is la Place de la Bataille Stalingrad.  The city was known by that name at the time it staged one of the major conflicts of World War II.  For centuries, it was known as Tsaritsyn; today we call it Volgograd.  I find it interesting and ironic that the name "Stalingrad" cannot be found in Russia, but it remains part of the appelation of the intersection of Paris' two main canals (St. Martin and Ourcq).  

The sign is also interesting because it's in a style that's disappearing. When I first came to Paris in 1980, most signs inside the city's Metro stations were in that style.  Now most of them look more like this:

Now for more history:  Along the way, I stopped at this square:

named for the French officer falsely accused and imprisoned for passing military secrets to the Germans.  He just happened (yeah, right) to be Jewish.  So was the writer who fought for his release, and the reversal of his guilty plea:

The avenue on which Dreyfus park is located bears Emile Zola's name.  He is right that the truth wins out.  Sometimes it takes time--and it comes too late for some people, including the  victims of the terrible incident this statue commemorates.

I have mentioned Jews who were rounded up and detained in the Velodrome d'Hiver (known to locals as Vel-Deev) before they were deported.  That is, if they survived the head and unsanitary conditions inside the velodrome.  

As Zola said, the truth marches on.  And this is its color:

Or so I like to believe.  That sign is found on one of the streets that form one of the Dreyfus Park's boundaries.

Descent From The Grand Boulevards

I'm staying in a place just off the Place de Clichy--where the 8th, 9th and 18th Arrondissements meet.

The 18th is best known for the Sacre-Coeur de Montmartre and its many winding cobblestoned streets. And the Moulin Rouge.  And, oh, the Place Pigalle. My uncle, who spent time in Verdun, France with the US Army, told me that when he and his fellow soldiers had their leave, they headed for Paris  and from the Gare de l'est, straight to the Pigalle.  The cab drivers, he said, all knew the drill.  But as for me, I went only to the Montmarte.  Really, I did!

The 8th is often nicknamed "Elysee" because the boulevard, and the President's residence are located in it.  So are many of the world's best-known fashion houses and France's largest corporations.  The 8th also shares the Arc de Triomphe with the First.  And the 9th is often referred to as "Opera" because the Garnier (not to be confused with the Bastille) Opera house is found there.  It's also called the "Grands Boulevards" district because some of the city's more iconic thoroughfares, including the Boulevard Haussmann, lace it.

I walked down a few of those Boulevards today on my way to Paris Bike Tour.  Along the way, I encountered this:

Now, I know Milton is a common name in English. I couldn't help but to wonder, though, whether the person who named the street was thinking of the poet who wrote Paradise Lost--especially after I encountered this a couple of blocks away:

These scenes of the creation, fall and expulsion of Adam and Eve are behind the pillars of this church:

the Parish of St. Vincent de Paul, next to the Franz Liszt Square.  While the Sacre Coeur de Montmartre is actually located atop a hill, the St. Vincent de Paul only seems to be because of its placement on land that was built up.  Thus, while it stands over everything else in a neighborhood that doesn't have (thankfully!) high-rise buildings, it doesn't dominate the way the Sacre Coeur or even the Notre Dame do in their environments.

Interestingly, the church's organists have included some distinguished musicians.  The one you are most likely to recognize, though, is one whose name you associate with something else:  Louis Braille, the inventor of the tactile writing system for the blind still in use, virtually unchanged.

From there, I passed by the Place de la Republique.  Given that any number of riots or rebellions (depending on your point of view) have begun there, over every sort of cause imaginable, it's not surprising that some of the gilets jaunes have protested--and probably will protest again--in that square.  There, I found something one of the gilets jaunes--or people who are in completely different parts of the political, social and economic spectrum--might have written:

La France est un dictature!! La resistance est un devoir!  You don't need to know much French to get the gist of that:  France is a dictatorship!  Resistance is a duty!  Actually, you could substitute the name of many other countries, including my own, for France: Most countries, I think, are dictatorships, whether of political leaders or the economic elites.

After some more walking, I reached the Centre Georges Pompidou and enjoyed a crepe and coffee in a nearby cafe.  Then I walked to Paris Bike Tour, just across the pedestrian- and bike-mall known as as Rue Rambuteau from the Centre.

The first thing I noticed is that they occupy a smaller space than I recall from the last time I rented one of their bikes.  And it was closed.  Turns out, from December to March, they are open "only by reservation."  In one way, it's not surprising, as there probably isn't much demand for their tours during the winter.  But I had to wonder whether Velib, Ofo and other services have eroded their rental business.

So, I guess I'll be using Velib after all: I don't want to spend too much of my remaining time in search of another rental outlet.  Or, perhaps,  I'll get lucky and find a cheap used bike somewhere.