Swooping, Dancing, Raining and Leaving

Greetings from Rome!

Due to difficulties in wifi availabilities, time restrictions and, to be honest, energy reserves, it has been quite a while since my last blog. Sorry about that.

I will talk about our time in the Eternal City at a later blog, but for now I want to tell you about our time in Paris.

Our time in London was very rewarding. It was exciting to be a part of a world-class city that was bracing for the upcoming Olympics. You could sense the excitement, and anxiety, as you walked the streets. I cannot count how many helicopters flew overhead during our stay there. Once even swooped down and seemed to check us out while we were gazing at Buckingham Palace. Now that I look back, that may have just been Prince Harry on a joyride I suppose.

But after a great many days of rain, sogginess and grey skies of London we were ready for a change. 

So off we went to experience the rain, sogginess and grey skies of Paris. While the weather was disappointing at first, we refused to let it put a crimp in our croissants.

To celebrate Bastille Day we went to the Fireman’s Ball. Apparently, each year, Paris firefighters host a dance complete with a dj and dance floor in the station house where they park the engines and live music and a fair in nearby public spaces. The deluge outside made for the interior dance floor to be quite popular. I have never danced in a fire station before so it was a unique situation for me. Mind you, the only time I have ever been in a fire station before was when I took children through on a tour in Kamloops and when I was a cub scout. I do not recall the firefighters being so...buff...and toned during those tours many years ago, but I can certainly attest to the youthful vigour of the Paris Fire Brigade.

The kids all gussied themselves up for the night and we took a photo in the hotel lobby. They looked so happy...and dry. We took another photo when we returned and, believe it or not, they looked even happier soaking wet. One of them commented that the craziness of walking in high heals down a dark street while having water dumped on you from the sky kind of made the evening.

This is one cool group of kids.

They do, however, like to dress up. We’re going to the Eiffel Tower...let’s dress up! We’re going to see Notre Dame...let’s dress up! We’re going to the breakfast room to have croissants and chocolatines for breakfast...let’s dress up! It’s no wonder so many of them had overweight suitcases. 

We were charged a hundred pounds by Easyjet in London for our excess baggage. And this is after they reduced our charge by two-thirds!

The last time I was in Paris was when Eric and I had our impromptu honeymoon. We stayed in a no-star hotel where the window didn’t close properly and the bed was basically a mattress on the floor. We decided it was like La Boheme but without the really loud singing...and the death. I packed the wrong shoes and dirty laundry instead of clean clothes because it was so last minute I had only twenty minutes to pack. In fact, instead of packing the instructions to our new camera I packed the instructions to our new waffle iron. This was not of any use in Paris for the record.

Anyways, while I enjoyed seeing Paris again, I kept thinking of Eric and when I was last in Paris. It made me a little homesick.

The Louvre was just as overwhelming and intense the second time around. We got there early and I dragged the kids through the museum at breakneck speed to the Mona Lisa in order to avoid the crowds and get it done. It was like an overwrought version of The Terry Fox Run but with me at the back hissing “Hoof it, bucko!” and “This way! No, THIS WAY!” I admit that it wasn’t my most scholarly portion of the trip. But we got to the Mona Lisa early enough so that we only had to share it with sixteen thousand other tourists and the kids eventually took their photos and wondered what the big deal was all about.

Good question, by the way. It is my humble opinion that what makes this painting so very famous is the fact that it is so very famous. Enough people tried to steal it, write about it, make up controversies and mysteries about it and talked about it that the general population was forced to come to the conclusion that something famous was going on so it became famous.

You know, like Kim Kardashian or Justin Beiber.

I am not saying that it isn’t a masterpiece. It is. I am just saying that the hype has taken over the subject. It is not the most impressive masterpiece around. It is not ever da Vinci’s most impressive masterpiece around. It is just the most hyped masterpiece in the western world.

Anyhow, that is my humble opinion. Please send your emails of complaint and disgust to www.idontgiveadamn.ca.

After we separated for a while and then getting hopelessly lost in one of the larges museums in the world I reconnected with the kids and had them present to me a painting of their choice and discuss the themes we have been exploring in class. To have young people use the great masterpieces of western art as a tool to explain the major themes you are exploring with them in preparation for post-secondary studies is a great moment indeed. As a group they are still feeling their way around this larger discussion of the heroic quest, hieros gamos, and the idea of balance but you can sense the synapses firing as they take these ideas and apply them to these paintings.

One of my favourite things in the Louvre is Nike of Samothrace. This headless statue of winged victory is the inspiration for the swoosh found on every runner made by Nike. This connection was immediate for the kids, but they wanted to linger and examine the imposing figure that looms over a great staircase.  After awhile, I dragged them through the museum to see the Venus de Milo and other famous works of art, but it was the Code of Hammurabi that thrilled them the most. They had heard so much about it in some of their previous courses that they were thrilled to see the real thing.

During one of my quieter times I found myself alone in a cafe trying to do some marking while having lunch. A couple sitting next to me were speaking in English. She had a British accent and he was obviously French. I tried not to eavesdrop but the tables are so often very close to each other. She kept getting up to go the washroom and returning with a sigh and he kept fidgeting with an envelope. They spoke quietly but did not whisper. Her voice sometimes shook but she never cried. They never touched their drinks and I don’t even know if they had food.

It became very clear as I tried to mark that next to me was the moment that a relationship was going to end.

They spoke of practicalities. Her brother had picked up some of her smaller furniture items and a trunk. He would keep Euclid (which I assumed was a dog) as agreed and he would make sure her former employer would send the final cheque to her aunt’s address in Lyons.

He handed her the envelope saying he purchased the best seats he could afford and she thanked him and called him a sweet, sweet man. Then she gave him a key and told him that she was sorry it did not work out.

He told her he was grateful to have the time she allowed.

They got up and kissed a long, long time. Then she left without looking back.

I had finished my lunch but I don’t think I marked more than one or two papers during this whole time. When I left the cafe the man was smoking a cigarette out on the patio, looking down the street in the direction where the woman had left.

It was sad, to be sure. But it was also just a little beautiful. I suspect it had had its moments of anger and ugliness, but that day in Paris it was a simple recognition that the shared narrative had come to its natural conclusion.

That afternoon it seemed perfect that it was raining in the City of Lights.