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Originally build in the early 19th century at which time it was the first metal bridge in Paris, the Pont des Arts’ smooth, sparse arches span the Seine from the Louvre to an important looking building that will never be l’hotel de la Monnaie [the mint] no matter how many times I claim it is.
Courtesy Wikimedia CommonsThe subject of a George Brassens song, Le Vent, the Pont des Arts is classic, timeless, Parisian.
But at night, the bridge comes alive in a less savory way. Teenagers and college students of all nationalities flock its uncomfortable wooden slats for nighttime debauchery. Although it is mostly a popular spot for lycéens [high-school students] and lacks the authenticity of the Canal St. Martin and the class of the quays of the Seine, the crowded and tawdry bridge can still be a lot of fun.
I first visited the Pont des Arts under unusual and random circumstances back in November. You’ll remember the Chinese photography student named Marshall – with his too-skinny legs in his too-skinny jeans and his broken glasses taped together, seemingly par hazard but probably done just so to concoct and idealized artsy imagine – with whom Hannah had, bien sûr, made friends at the European Film Festival. When the last film of the night had been cancelled, Rebecca and I (somewhat reluctantly) and Hannah (inherently less so) took up Marshall’s offer of free entertainment for the evening. We ended up on the Pont des Arts drinking mini Kronenbourg bottles that Marshall had provided while he captured video for some sort of photography-related art project. It was an altogether bizarre but enjoyable evening that introduced us to the Pont des Arts camaraderie (I distinctly remember the blonde-haired, pink-cheeked French youth innocently offering up his white Dixie cup as he requested a bit of beer).
It seems only appropriate that my second and final encounter with Pont-des-Arts nightlife arrived on my final Saturday night in Paris. The experience occurred equally by hazard. I had spent an absolutely wonderful Saturday with friends. The day began at the Champs-Elysees stamp market (featured in Charade) where Rachel and I spent altogether too much money on old postcards. After lunch at Rachel’s place, as rain began to fall, the skies cleared and we met up with Rebecca and Amy for a lazy afternoon at a Marais café. Berthillon ice cream and a stroll along the quays of the Ile-St-Louis concluded the evening. We headed back to Rebecca’s place where she cooked us a lovely Frenchified American dinner. Stuffed and satisfied, we decided to venture back outside for a nocturnal stroll.
That is when, on a whim, we stopped chez Ed, the local épicier [grocer] – this time, we had to supply our own Kronenbourg – deciding to do the trashy American thing and join the crowds on the Pont des Arts. Rachel objected of course, but there was no stopping us. Why not enjoy such a warm summer’s eve among the drunken masses? The girl who puked mere feet before our original resting place on the bridge provided an adequate counterpoint, but we settled in elsewhere and managed to have a good night (plus, what Parisian night is not complete without a little public vomiting?).
With laptops, boom boxes, guitars and other instruments filling the air with the sounds of summer, we settled in to listen and observe. I particularly enjoyed a raucous version of the Cranberry’s “Zombie” and the mother who had brought her young daughter out to dance with the drunken guitarists. We applauded the cunning of Red Cross volunteers who swarmed the bridge looking for donations. We debated once again the function of that domed building that was not la Monnaie. We guessed and remarked upon who was American and who was not picking up multitude accents and languages. And I simply felt a part of something, there on the packed wooden slats.
There among something so un-American, so seemingly clandestine, four quiet, unassuming American girls sat, watched and listened, taking in for one of the last times (at least for me) the carefree breeziness of a Parisian night.
I think for any American studying abroad in Paris it’s obligatory to remark on the culture of social movements in France. Manifestations [protests] and grèves [strikes] are practically national pastimes. So much so that this tendency is frequently the butt of French jokes and jokes about the French – including France’s representation in Czech artist David Černý’s controversial Entropa piece.
The frequency with which lycéens [high school students] throw protests (like throwing a party…and skipping school at the same time) is certainly funny. It is equally frustrating how often the traffic on Metro and RER lines is perturbé [disrupted] due to grèves. It is nevertheless honorable that the French feel passionately enough about issues to take public action for change. Since the protest era of the lat 60s and early 70s, most Americans have become cynical and jaded (myself included…even at my young age). The French, while cynical and ironic in daily interactions, still seem to respect and privilege the art of the protest.
Although much different than the typical manifestations for workers’ rights or education reform (or against education reform, it’s often hard to tell), Paris has recently turned its focus to the Israeli-Palestinian conflict. Always a touchy subject, a recent pro-Palestinian demonstration on January 3 turned violent when protestors, among the more than 21,000 demonstrators present, took to burning cars, breaking store windows and looting.
Since then, protests have taken place each weekend as Parisians rush to show their support for Palestinians in Gaza.
When I received a warning in my inbox from the U.S. Embassy, advising that I avoid the pro-Palestinian demonstration that was to take place at 2:00 p.m. today in and around my quartier, I was more tempted to attend than discouraged from it. I did, however, have other plans for the afternoon and understood that in reality it’s best not to meddle with these types of things – especially in a foreign county AND especially one where racial and religious tensions are high.
On my way to the BiFi this morning, I did pass by part of the demonstration’s projected route. The C.R.S. vehicles lining Boulevard Montparnasse gave the normally lively and cheerful street an eerie vibe. On my short walk to the Raspail Metro station, I saw more C.R.S. vans and police cars than I could count. The authorities were clearly not taking any chances with the projected 15,000 “non-violent” demonstrators.
This scene immediately reminded me of October 17, 1961. On this oft-forgotten, sordid day in Paris’s history, Arabic-Franco tensions were infinitely higher. We were in the thick of the Algerian War, and the FLN’s presence in Paris was stronger than authorities would have liked. Likewise, Maghrébin [North African] immigrants lived in even worse conditions than today. The défavorisées [disadvantaged] banlieues were at this point literal bidonvilles [slums/shantytowns].
On October 17, 1961, a completely non-violent protest against a Parisian curfew directed solely at Algerians ended in tragedy when C.R.S. agents and police reacted severely and violently to stop the demonstration at all costs (Charles de Gaulle had given préfet of police Maurice Papon “carte blanche” to do so). Tens of thousands were arrested, hundreds were beaten and dozens of unlucky individuals were même [even] thrown into the Seine. Between 100 and 300 people were killed in the mayhem.Thankfully today’s protest remained peaceful. But scenes of the present are haunted by the hidden truths of the past, and it is important for the French and foreigners alike to remember this tragic and sordid day that France tries so hard to forget.
Les dimanches sont pleins de regrets [Sundays are full of regret].
It’s true. Whether I’ve had an amazing weekend, a boring one or slept through it all, I generally spend Sunday regretting the various things that I did not do over the weekend and wishing Monday would never arrive.
That’s pretty much how I felt yesterday. Luckily, the weekend was more toward the side of really amazing, and I was only regretting that I had not done enough homework – a meager and weightless complaint in the City of Light.
So most of the weekend was comprised of unabashed vegging out in front of a movie screen thanks to the European Film Festival at the MK2 Bibliothèque Cinéma just à côté de [next to] the Bibliothèque Nationale. The festival consisted of a bunch of low-budget/independent fictional films and documentaries from throughout Europe. The added bonus was that the whole thing was free for students! I even got a neat-o tote bag with promotional material for posterity.
Over the weekend I saw five films from France, Estonia, the United Kingdom, the Netherlands and France again. The majority were depressing including topics of: AIDS, high school violence, diminishing civil liberties and how wacked out and scary Russia is. The one mildly happy film was a documentary about a Dutch guy who explores the world of Flickr – this one reminded me of a This American Life episode set to slides of stunning photography.
They were all pretty good and for free 99, I wouldn’t complain anyway.
We also made friends with a random, artsy-looking Chinese guy at the films. When our last film of the night was cancelled on Saturday, we ended up hanging out with him on the Pont des Arts over the Seine. It was an interesting night.
Sunday I was movied out and actually tried to get some homework done. Although I didn’t really succeed, I did finish reading The Tempest which was a personal goal and will certainly help me in my exposé [presentation] on Aimé Césaire’s propre [own] adaptation of the play for my France-Afrique class (which has soudainement [suddenly] been cancelled until Thanksgiving because the professor had to head back home – to Congo? – for family reasons).
Before the sun had fully set Sunday night, I did venture outside at the encouragement of Rebecca to balader [stroll] the Boulevard Haussman where the grands magasins [big department stores] have set up beautiful and intricate displays in their vitrines [storefront windows] for Christmas. The children were numerous, but so were the lights and joyful sights. It was all very beautiful and put me perfectly in the holiday spirit…even if I was regretting my lack of studiousness as I enjoyed.
The French may not fête [celebrate] Halloween, but we sure did.
My super sweet friend Jamie decided that since her host family was out of town on vacation she would throw a mini Halloween (or ’Alloween, as the French would say) party. An excellent cook, she made a full meal for the seven of us: garlic bread and homemade 
guacamole with chips for an appetizer; lemon chicken, ratatouille and salad for main course; and, finally, chocolate/toffee bars and some sort of apple-pie-like thing for dessert. It was all SO amazing!
For holiday spirit, Jamie placed Halloween-themed confetti on the table alongside handmade Halloween-y nametags (mine featured a pumpkin for the “A”). And of course, there were costumes, including a panda, a cop, a gypsy, “the American stereotype of a French woman,” a flapper (me!) and a lesbian cowgirl. Themed drinks with eyeball garnishes topped everything off.
It was so much fun to kick back and celebrate among friends; I’ve missed that.
Saturday was a bit of a change of pace. As rain drizzled down on Paris, my friend Hannah and I had fun showing our friend Nikki and two other Smithies, who were all visiting from Geneva where they are studying abroad on another Smith JYA program, around town. We had our hearts’ set on visiting the Catacombs (a perfect Halloween-type activity), but, unfortunately, they were closed for the jour férié [holiday] Toussaint. Instead, we opted for the perfect rainy-day activity: hot chocolate at the renowned (and touristy) Angelina’s, which I had yet to visit despite the raves of my camarades [classmates]. Realizing that the overly strong hot chocolate would be too much for me, I opted for overpriced – yet enormous and excellent – ice cream.
It had stopped raining by the time we were finished so we decided to visit Montmartre where we strolled until we found the Café Des Deux Moulins, made famous by Jean-Pierre Jeunet’s Amélie.
It was a pleasure to have visitors since it gave me an excuse to do some of the touristy things that I hadn’t done yet. Sure, they are overpriced and swarming with non-français, but they I have to do them at least once before I leave Paris.
My second overpriced, touristy experience of the day was definitely worth it. The five of us plus another Smithie on the Paris program decided to take a nighttime tour of the Seine on the famed Bateaux-Mouches [literally, Fly Boats]. It was a chilly but clear night, and the ride was, in all, an amazing experience. Once I was able to tune out the droning commentary which repeated in at least five different languages (we felt sorry for the East Asians…when the narration finally got around to their language, the boat was presumably long past the monument in question), I was able to take in a delightfully different view of the city where I live. Each monument or important building was stunningly illuminated for the night, and the tour gave the best view imaginable of each. As usual, pictures could hardly capture the experience.
We topped the night off by discovering a cozy place where I ate what can only be described as French Indian Mexican food. The atmosphere of the tiny restaurant was incredibly charming and the service was friendly and welcoming. We even got free aperitifs and a free second pitcher of Kir (which we enjoyed as a digestif because our Geneva friends were dying to try it)!
I stayed in Sunday reading the entirety of a book that I had to finish for class today, but I found even the mundanity of school work a welcome and balanced addition to a perfect Parisian weekend.
Paris Plage began today along the banks of the Seine. Each year since 2001, the city of Paris sets up a makeshift beach along the Seine River from late July through mid-August. The "beach", complete with sand, palm trees, lounge chairs and more, occupies the walkway and stretch of highway along the right bank of the Seine.
Photo courtesy of The Associated Press
Photo courtesy of The Associated Press
