Inertia
Friday, 28 June
After travels to Northern Ireland, return to a stifling city. Not the 50°C/122°F in India end of May or in Mecca last week that killed 1300 pilgrims, but too hot for comfort in the stone oven that Paris becomes in the summer heat.
It was a good getaway, Bangor, NI. There were serendipitous moments...
...and vistas of coastal living on this northern isle.
The change of scenery energised me, and I was hoping to make the most of my few days in Paris when I got back. I thought of heading to the new Aquatic Centre, the only new significant sports structure that has been built for the Summer Olympics which start in a month's time. The building sounds like a model of common sense and good green practice, a place that will be an important hub to a disadvantaged community after the Games. Not surprisingly the architects are women. After fretting about its readiness last year, I also considered revisiting the Olympic Village in St Ouen.
In the end I did nothing but make my way to the Monoprix in Neuilly-sur-Seine, meeting point to retrieve the dog. Usually Madame P brings Tasha to our door, but who wants to navigate a car through the Paris streets in these pre-Olympic times? With more public spaces and métro stations closing every day, I had to plan my route amid the barriers to the nearest convenient train to Neuilly.
My inertia was partly due to the heat, partly to a bad sore throat caught in Northern Ireland, but it was also because going anywhere, especially on the other side of the river as I did to pick up Tasha, seems such an effort.
The dog does have to be walked, however, so I still venture to the Right Bank in the morning, weave my way through the runners who can no longer huff and puff along the quayside of the Left Bank. Given the reduced space, my Tuileries dog walking group has splintered, making the experience feel even stranger. Occasionally someone I know will emerge from behind a bush on the lawns, but people have mostly found new routes.
Of course one cannot host 15 million people and the Olympic Games without disrupting the life of the residents. And an effort is clearly being made to put up the barriers as late as possible. But that doesn't make the whole business any less destabilising and stifling.
Where I live in the 7th arrondissement it has been eerily quiet. As you can see from the above photo, the place de la Concorde is otherwise occupied and is no longer feeding traffic over the bridge and into the boulevard St Germain. Pedestrian traffic has subsided too. With the dissolution of the National Assembly following President Macron's arrogant, foolish, misguided, etc call for snap legislative elections (first of two rounds this Sunday) that is proving to be a gift to extremist parties, the parliamentarians and their staff have gone home, meaning there are 500 fewer souls rushing to meetings, buying lunch or having a drink at the cafés in the evenings.
Indeed, it has often seemed during my limited wanderings this last week that at least 90% of Parisians have already left the city. The real-life urban buzz is on mute. One rare bird, spotted striding through the tourists and the barriers under the eyes of Charles de Gaulle...
...on my way home with Tasha, fumed: "Quel bordel." (Literally what a bordello, ie mess). "What a time to be spending 3 billion euros. C'est n'importe quoi."
And there is something senseless, out of whack about these Games, given what's happening in France politically, not to mention in the wider world. Maybe inertia is the natural reaction when you see a train wreck (the elections) and a deluge (the 15 millions Game attendants) coming straight at you at the same time. You freeze, like a rabbit in the headlights.
But lucky me. Yesterday I escaped to the broader horizons of the Perche. At Deux Champs, the tawny round hay bales were still scattered over the fields and are now set off dramatically against a bright green carpet. The clover and alfalfa have re-seeded themselves and are flourishing. The life cycle begins again, a reminder that this too shall pass.
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