Random Observations

Paris, Île-de-France, France
September 06, 2016


Now That is a Bridge!

Observation No. 1: 

When did we stop making elegant bridges?-

Observation No. 2:

If you ride your bike through the Bois de Boulogne (a large park on the west side of town) in the middle of the day you will pass several mini vans parked on the side of the road with a bright scarf or sash tied on the driver’s side mirror. It was only after passing by several, not to be rude, but let’s just say Rubeneque women, me waiving and saying hearty “Bonjours”, did it dawn on me that they were hookers. I never quite figured if a sash meant “occupied” or “available”, but I thought it best not to stop, ask or take pictures.


I Serve Like Toonder
Roland Garos Statium

Observation No. 3

Tucked in the corner of the Bois de Boulogne I discovered, quite by chance, the famous Stad de Roland Garos. I only realized where I was when I looked up from my bike to the stone perimeter of a very large building and saw the name of my boyhood hero Bjorn Borg who won the French Open in 74, 75, 78, 79, 80, and 81. Admittedly not the most articulate fella, Bjorn was quiet and patient efficiency from the baseline in an era otherwise celebrated for foul mouth chair challenges from the likes of Nastase, Connors and McEnroe. I wish I could have seen the famous red clay.

Observation No. 4

My bike is a sweet ride, but after a day on Parisian cobblestones I have newfound respect for the pros on the Paris Roubaix.

Je Viens de Loin


Observation No. 5

Throughout Paris, you will find recruitment posters such as this. Not entirely sure how to interpret it. Literally, it says “I come from far away and I will go far” But I’m sure I’m missing something in translation. Have to ask Evelyne.


Observation No. 6

Saw these two fellas laying stone near Les Halles. I exchanged comments about “le grand marteau” with an elderly man nearby. I only knew the word because Evelyn mentioned it in our last lesson as a means to remember how to pronounce the name of her childhood village in the French Alpes.

Tomorrow morning I catch a train for those Alpes to find the mountain village of Marthod and Claude Fontanet, the boy seated in the front row of this photograph, now 62 years later.



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