Thursday, 15 July 2004
The Rockets Glared Red... and Blue, and White, and Green
So, it's been pretty much a lifetime tradition for me to see fireworks every year. I suppose that would hardly be surprising for most people I know. Not because I know them, but because they're American or French or British or Chinese, and the U.S. and France and the U.K. and China (and thereabouts) celebrate big events with fireworks.
Today just happens to mark the storming of the Bastille, and start of the French revolution - ushering in a reign of terror that eventually led, logically, to the installation of an emperor. Um, wait - that doesn't seem right. Oh, there was a bit of representative democracy in there and a king and stuff. Anyhoo, it was a pretty big deal at the time - at least for those who hadn't had their heads chopped off. Now we're all civilized and everything, and it's the Fifth Republic.
So I spent a goodly amount of time at the airport, celebrating the birth of French populist government by waiting for Heather's plane (and, incidentally, Heather). Then: rush rush, bus, roll luggage - *phew*, she's home. Five o'clock.
Five o'clock! I was supposed to be at my friend Ritu's - all the way across Paris. Her parents are in town, and she invited close friends (may I call myself that?) over to meet them. Fortunately, my tardiness didn't hold anyone up. Very yummy food, and very nice to meet her parents and her friends who move in her other social circles.
Of course, this being the screwed up summer that it's been, the day was perfect until this point: sunny, and even warm (it's been March-like rain and chill up until now). After this point, when it was getting close to fireworks time, the threatening clouds came rolling in.
And Matt and Lauren (remember them?) had received their shipment from the U.S. (finally!) today. So, too tired to come to the fireworks. Totally understandable.
And Heather, who'd taken my suggestion to nap, was more out of it than she ever was before going to sleep. Oops on my part - I'm not a doctor, but I play one in real life. So, she's out - totally understandable.
So that leaves me (Ritu's party people weren't in the picture). And I figure - hey, all these things are a sign that I shouldn't go see the fireworks. Besides, I'd wanted to see my friend John, who tends bar, before he leaves on his summer vacation. It's been since March or so (or is that just the weather playing with my head?) since I last saw him.
So just as the fireworks are starting up, at 10:30, I get into the neighborhood. Walk over to the bar... Aw, maaan! It's closed... John must already be on vacation.
I started walking back to my place, then turned around and headed to the place de la Concorde. (Once home to the macabre theatre of the guillotine, now mostly known for being in between the Louvre and the Champs Elysées - oh, and there's this Egyptian stele/obelisk, too).
the fireworks, as seen from la place de la Concorde (to the right: the stele/obelisk)
See, ever since I was a kid, I've enjoyed the fireworks. I've made a point of seeing them just about every year (this is about where you came in). My birthday being so close to Christmas, my parents came up with the idea that we'd celebrate my "half birthday" on the Fourth of July. Cool: fireworks for me!
I guess there's always been this half-sentimental attachment to seeing fireworks, for me. When I moved here in 2000, my arrival nestled comfortably between two big events: I spent the Fourth in the U.S. and the Bastille Day in France, seeing each holiday's fireworks. Ever since, I've celebrated the French holiday but not much of U.S. Independence Day. John, before. John, after.
I could comment on my spot being a bit too removed from the immediacy of the loud booms (normally, I arrive earlier and get much closer). I could mention the two American boys next to me, obviously bored ("hey, he's spitting again!") and annoying their older sister. I could mention wishing I could have shared it with someone else, for once, at least this year.
the grande finale: the darkened Eiffel Tower starts sparkling again
But none of that will stay with me. The flaring streams of light, they will. The waves of applause after the "fake" finish and the actual grand finale, they will. The unassuming, yet spectacular cap to the event: lighting up the dark-until-then Eiffel Tower with the sparkling lights - that will.
Making my way back to my place, I walked through the lights and the sounds and the smells of the foire foraine that camps out this summer, as every summer, in the jardin des Tuileries.
And that is how I saw the fireworks this year.
Comments
Hey there, longhair.
Not anymore:
http://www.johnkeller.com/blog/2004/08/04_2135