The first guy was the ticket taker at Victor Hugo’s museum in the place des Vosges. Maybe he was my age—maybe he was older or younger—who can tell? And he was quite the flirt but very friendly and he seemed harmless. He kept taking my hand as we talked—I kept trying to pull it away while he continued to take and hold it and talk a mile a minute. We communicated in both English and French, which was quite entertaining. Since this is one location where the entrance is the same as the sortie (exit), I couldn’t sneak out without subjecting myself to his attentions encore and drat! (I thought as I came down the stairs)...he wasn’t on a break! Again, we went through the same grabbing and pulling of my hand and flirty conversation. And then he asked me to have dinner with him! I answered with a polite “Non, merci” and a smile and left, fortunately, with both of my hands.
A couple hours later while strolling through the Tuileries Garden toward the Louvre, another man passed in front of me and said, “Bonjour, ca va bien?” (Hello, are you well?) Being the nice girl from Iowa that I am, I smiled but quickly clipped, “Ca va” and kept walking. But several seconds later, I caught a glimpse of him out of the corner of my eye and realized that I was trapped—he was like a missile honing onto his prey and approached me again! He started speaking in French and then switched to English (was it the dumb look on my face?)—a French professor, he said, living here—again, I suspect, around my age. Before I could politely make my escape, he asked me if I wanted to go to Montmartre and have dinner with him. And before the final ‘n’ in “Non, merci” escaped my lips, he was off and searching for another victim! The more I’ve thought about this, the creepier it gets—especially if his idea of weekend entertainment is picking up tourists at the Louvre! PS – I have most of my blond hair (which is unusual here) covered with a hat but I need to be French and more aloof. Or, better yet, I'll say I'm running to meet my "husband." Yes, that will work.
And THEN Sunday morning between 1 and 3 AM, loud yelling and what sounded like the beating of drums in the streets around my apartment woke me. Was I dreaming? Since I had just visited Victor Hugo’s mansion that day, were scenes from his novel, "Les Miserables," still fresh on my mind? Was there a mob running through the streets?? What it some kind of riot?
Oh my GOD, is anyone being killed??? What was going on???I live within eight or ten blocks of place de la Republique, in which sits a very large statue of Marianne, a symbol of the French Republique. The monument, known as La Republique, was inaugurated before it was quite ready in 1880 for the first official celebration of the 14th of July as a national holiday. A new inauguration took place when it was completed in 1883; it was created by the Morice brothers.
Marianne, a popular name among the working classes at the time of the Revolution, personifies liberty and reason, which goes along with the French motto, “Liberte, egalite, fraternite.” This is carved on the statue as well as 12 bronze reliefs around the base which tell the story (along with the dates) of the establishment of the Republic. There is also a reference to Universal Sufferage, the right for everyone to vote, established by France as the first state in the world (1848). Interestingly enough, of course, it only applied to men (French women had to wait until 1945!)
A-n-y-w-a-y... It seems that because of this statue and place, it is the scene of many demonstrations. I’ve already seen several since I’ve been here—as well as busloads full of policemen parked up and down the streets plus other gendarmes standing on every street corner dressed in full riot gear with helmets, batons, and shields. They seem to be loitering—just smoking cigarettes, talking on their mobile phones, and drinking espresso. But they are vigilant and keeping their eyes on the scene under the statue…whatever the current demonstration is about. And I’ve never been able to tell.
So, I had no idea what was going on in the early morning hours of Sunday. I was tempted to bounce out of bed and go outside for a look. Fortunately, I don’t go anywhere without makeup so the angry mob was spared that sight. I grabbed the ear plugs from my night stand and went back to sleep.
But while taking a walk this evening, I believe I have solved the mystery. There’s a very large open warehouse-type building a couple blocks from my apartment in which a daily clothing market is staged. It's very large and some evenings, I’ve noticed neighborhood kids inside playing hockey on roller skates. Tonight the streets around the market building were blocked with many trucks; and workers were rolling up flooring, taking down stage lights, etc. Ahhh. There must’ve been a concert or a dance last night. That sits better in my mind than angry demonstrators carrying burning torches marching ten across down my street.Then again—it may have been a full moon on Saturday and I was dreaming all of these strange events.
