The Grand Lockdown Tour

Posted on July 18, 2020 by Liz

A few weeks ago, C & I decided on the Grand Tour. It was going to be the European Tour, but geography which will become apparent, made that impossible.

In order for this to work, we had to dig out our holiday clothes and these are the only clothes we can wear for the week. The plan is to immerse ourselves in the culture and the cuisine and if possible send some postcards.

Monday – We began our trip by going to Portugal. We found our hotel very agreeable (housekeeping a little basic) and we were able to find a very good table on the terrace for breakfast. Avid readers of this blog may remember that last year we went to Lisbon for a city break. We loved it.

One of the things we did there was take a bus tour which passed along Av. de Berna where the Calouste Gulbenkian Museum is to be found. But on the trip last year we didn’t have time to visit, so on Monday as part of our Portugal day, we did. It’s a lovely building, set in gorgeous grounds and some very interesting art work.

Later C spent some time poring over her recipe books – it’s a sort of cookery holiday – and created some wonderful Pasteis de Nata. They were creamy and delicious. She was left with what might be described as a gallon of the custard mix and so we have enjoyed Flan on several occasions.

In the evening we dined on a cod and fennel dish which surely must have originated in Portugal, with its long coastline and love of fish, despite the recipe coming from The Skinny Cookbook.

Tuesday – This was a hectic day, not least because I was giving a talk to the Chelmsford U3A Local History group about my novel, The Girls from Greenway. And so, because of the lack of time, we took a detour from our European Tour to China, not least because it was going to be easy to prepare a vegetable stir-fry with noodles in the evening.

I had been to Beijing in 2000 to talk about domestic violence and changes to the Chinese marriage laws. Beijing was a wonderful place to be – we ate some fabulous food there, and in between busy days at the conference, we were able to do some exploring. I even managed to have a (very short) conversation with a member of the Red Guard in Tienanmen Square, asking if we could visit the Mausoleum of Mao Zedong (shi, bu shi? Yes no?). The answer was ‘bu shi’ (no) as there was a meeting of the National People’s Congress.

So now, we quickly visited Namoc – the National Art Museum of China, again a rather lovely light building with some tantalising, delicate paintings. By late afternoon C was suffering from jet-lag and we had to relax with large G&Ts, which was very possible, of course, in our comfortable hotel.

Wednesday – We were in France, the country that I love, visiting Paris, City of Light, but also City of Dreams, City of Culture…

We nipped in, briefly, to the Louvre, but the Musee d’Orsay held our interest. It has so many wonderful pictures, not least Les Raboteurs de Parquet (the Floor Scrapers) by Gustave Caillebotte.

After watercress sandwiches for lunch – a little known French favourite, for dinner we dined on the Elizabeth David and Barbara Pym stand-by – omelettes, green salad and white wine. It was to have been steak and chips, but travelling so fast through so many different cultures we have been eating a lot of rich food – and we will always have Paris.

Thursday – Italy. We spent the day speaking Italian – si, non, buon giorno. And then a wander around the Uffizi Gallery.

The last time we were in Florence we tried to go to the Uffizi Gallery, but the queue was so long and the day was so hot. We contented ourselves with looking at the copy of the statue of David outside the building, and if memory serves me correctly, we went to a nearby cafe and had a cooling drink of something akin to lemonade. This time we meandered through some of the famous rooms, including the Room of the Maps and the Botticelli Room.

It was my day to cook. Supper was pasta of course, a simple sauce of smoked salmon, lemon, dill and yoghurt, followed by panna cotta. It was to be tiramisu but we couldn’t get the sponge fingers.

We were looking forward to Greece and Austria…

Notre Dame

Posted on April 26, 2019 by Liz

We were in Paris, having supper at Le Vieux Colombier. C was flicking through her phone. Suddenly she said, ‘My god, Notre Dame’s on fire.’ We were surprised, but thought little of it, there was a fire in Saint Sulpice recently which came and went with little comment. I could see a sort of pale coffee coloured cloud drifting through the sky, but it wasn’t till we left the restaurant and began walking towards the river that we realised it was smoke from the fire. Photos of the fire were appearing on Twitter. A man passed us as we stopped by St Germain market to look at the sky. ‘Notre Dame,’ he said. He was an American tourist and he showed us a photo of the fire that he’d taken on his camera.

As we walked along Boulevard Saint Germain everyone seemed to be walking in one direction, towards Notre Dame – some people were running. Closer to Saint Michel the sky was full of smoke and the smell of burning was in the air.

Sirens were wailing and police cars and vans manoeuvred their way through the traffic, their blue lights flashing.

When we got to St Michel at the busy intersection with the Metro station and the bridge across the Seine, there were hundreds of people all over the road, there was no question of traffic moving. People were mostly silent staring along the river – people in despair, hands at their mouths, distressed, watching in silence they were all over the road – it’s a busy intersection. It seemed that everyone had their mobile phones in the air (me included) taking photos. All we could see at first was smoke behind Le Depart – a friendly restaurant we often go to – but we moved through the crowd, closer to the river and then we could see it – glowing red, as if reflecting the setting sun.

Occasionally the flames flared higher. Cars were hooting, police whistles blowing, and still the sirens.

We decided we were not useful there and came back to the flat. On the TV there was nothing but Notre Dame. Macron who had intended to speak to the nation about austerity cancelled his speech. Rich people said they would donate millions of Euros towards rebuilding the church.

The next morning we walked back to Notre Dame. We got much closer. The area was swarming with media vans and cameras on tripods and people speaking into them, carefully coiffed but importantly concerned (mostly).

The ruin/remains had become the tourist attraction itself.

We decided to visit Berkeley Books – an English language second-hand bookshop near Odeon, run by an American woman from Chicago. Recently someone smashed one of the shop’s windows so a friend of hers created a stained-glass panel (using some of the shards from the broken pane) and today it was being fitted. We went and celebrated something new and beautiful in the sadness of the city.

French elections

Posted on December 10, 2015 by Liz

Paris is awash with sunlight and rain.

And it’s Christmas. Christmas lights are everywhere.

There is an exciting Climate Change conference COP 21 in Le Bourget on the northern side of Paris, taking climate change seriously, looking for solutions.

And yet in the heart of Paris there is uneasiness. The results of last week’s first round of elections were devastating. The Front National has come top of polls in half of France’s regions. It is strongly anticipated that Marine le Pen will win next Sunday’s second round in the northern region of Nord-Pas-de-Calais-Picardie.

Seeing Marine Le Pen interviewed on prime time TV – France3 on 8 December – was chilling. She has tasted the blood of success and she wants more. Nor-Pas-de-Calais-Picardie is an extremely poor area where Le Pen appeals to those who feel they have been forgotten and Marine Le Pen has talked of the poor and the down-trodden. Interestingly, her niece Marion Marechal-Le Pen is appealing to a different group. She calls to business chiefs, talks of increasing grants to business and makes much more overtly anti-immigrant statements.

Deals are being done, Left and Right are agreeing not to stand to enable victory to the other against the Front National. Everyone is being urged to come out and vote on Sunday (Aux Urnes Citoyens!).

People are being confronted with the possibility of having to vote against their instincts to keep out the FN (memories of the presidential election of 2002 between Jaques Chirac and Jean-Marie Le Pen).

And still the memory of the dreadful events of 13 November are in everyone’s minds. The search continues for suspects, the focus shifts from town to town, philosphers ruminate on the aftermath.

The Mairie in the VIth is bathed in blue white and red light.

Sadness everywhere. But hope springs.

Charlie – the demonstration

Posted on January 12, 2015 by Liz

It had been announced that all transport was free. But the 96 bus wasn’t running. And in the Metro the platforms were crowded. Train after train went past, and still we couldn’t get on. Finally we joined the crush in a carriage. Some firm women by the door stopped others coming in as we seemed to crawl to Odeon, St Michel, Cite. We got out at Strasbourg Saint Denis, but it was impossible to leave by the Sortie on the platform. Everywhere were people, posters and flags in their hands ready to furl, ready to lift. Eventually we arrived in Boulevard St Martin. It was 2.30 and people were filling the streets in their thousands. There was chanting, occasional bursts of cheering, clappping. There was no internet connection and no phone connection.

We squeezed into Place de la Republique at 3pm. It was packed. Marchers, police vans, media vans, everyone with a phone, waving their arms trying to take a picture. The other roads leading into the Place were also heaving with people. The call had gone out for everyone in France to demonstrate, and it felt as if they were all here, in one square in Paris. People were clinging to lamp-posts, little children sat on their parents’ shoulders, friends clutched the arms of each other, a man murmured to someone who looked like his dad, ‘Don’t worry, I’ve got you.’ Others had clambered up onto the statue in the centre. People leaned out of the windows. Banks of photographers stood on balconies.

And so many people were holding cards, posters, signs. They held them for hours.

‘Je veux marcher!’ a woman said to me, but there was no question of marching. We moved forwards and sideways. It did feel to an extent that this was a demonstration of despair, people wanting to express their horror at so much of what is happening in the world, and solidarity with all those affected by injustice.

Apart from a few sirens, there were very few police (visible) and people joked that they were all protecting the government leaders from across the world, the leaders who had come to – to do what? Show respect? Join in? Score political points? Did they stand for hours, crushed, blocked, pushed into mud, waiting to move, did they hold placards in the air?

Leaving the Place was almost as difficult as getting there. Every street was filled with people, now going both ways. There were no buses, a few motorbikes tried to push their way through, but the roads were full of people. We had an arrangement to see some friends for dinner but getting home to change and getting back to them seemed an impossibility. And still there was no internet or telephone connection! We stood pathetically outside their door near Arts and Metiers. There was no-one. We were swirled along by the crowd down to the Pompidou Centre, and then came a text. Come to us now! We limped back to their appartment. We had been on the move for three hours, but it felt more like three days.

These friends have organised internet connection in their own home and have access to international TV channels. This was showing as we walked into their warm, bright living room. It was an extraordinary event, and being in Paris it felt important to be there. But twitter tells me that in today’s Telegraph there is an article that raises the issues that have to be borne in mind. The reactions for young people living in the area where the brothers lived, and why they feel as they do.

Charlie

Posted on January 11, 2015 by Liz

On Wednesday morning I was at my desk in London, desultorily doing some paper work, looking forward to lunch at Zedel – a French brasserie off Piccadilly Circus – and after that a trip to see The Book of Mormon.

Cal came into the room. ‘There’s been a shooting at the Charlie Hebdo office. Twitter is saying 10 dead.’ I couldn’t believe it. I didn’t want to believe it. An incident yes, maybe injuries, but not death. I am not a fan of strip cartoons. I knew Charlie Hebdo vaguely – France’s Private Eye but more irreverent. It is important in France. Even if people don’t read it they want to know what Charlie Hebdo is talking about. Everyone knows the style of the cartoonists.

But this was too terrible to contemplate. More tweets were coming in, from formal sources. Emails arrived in my inbox from FranceTV and Liberation. Serious injuries. Then at least 10 dead. Then twelve dead. It was true.

Lunch – although delicious – was a sad affair. Tweets were coming in. The first time I read ‘Je Suis Charlie’ I wanted to cry, just as our waiter was describing an item on the menu. I looked at him with tears in my eyes. And then the irony of watching the Book of Mormon. What religion can do. A wonderful show, I urge everyone to see it, but I watched with a lump in my throat. At home we watched the news and the gathering of crowds in Place de la Republique. the signe Je suis Charlie was everywhere.

Purely by chance I had booked a ticket to Paris the next day – Thursday, 8 January. The day President Hollande had said would be a day of national mourning. Security at St Pancras seemed tighter. Queuing to go through French passport control I read a notice pinned on a post – in French it said that anyone with any photos or videos of the incident or information about the suspects should speak to the authorities. At the passport control desk I noticed a large picture of one of the two men.

We were in France, still on the train at 12 noon when the announcement was made that there would now be a minute’s silence. The train didn’t stop but a cloud of silence descended on our carriage. At the Gare du Nord I didn’t notice as many police with guns. Perhaps they had been called away on other duties. Otherwise, life in Paris was going on as usual, the metro was running, passengers talking and laughing, tourists with huge backpacks, silent people reading novels.

In the flat I switched on France Info. The hunt for the killers was on. Apart from the weather and one or two headlines, Charlie Hebdo was the only subject of news. There had been a shooting in Southern Paris – a police officer killed, but that it seemed was unrelated, just a sad coincidence. One of the Paris digital news boards in rue de Rennes was saying that there would be a vigil in Place de la Republique that night. I wondered how the Mairie of the VIth was responding to the events and walked to Place Saint Sulpice. Outside the Mairie was a printed sign offering condolences to the families and extending solidarity.

News came in that the suspects had left an identity card in their car – could it be real? They had abandoned their black car and hijacked the car behind them, throwing out the driver. He had said he couldn’t leave his dog, so they let him take his dog. Then there was news that the suspects had been sighted in a motorway shop, stealing food and petrol. Such banal behaviour after such mayhem.

As night fell I took the 96 bus and went to the Place de la Republique. It wasn’t raining but the air was damp. I crossed at the lights into the Place. Already there were huge crowds, cheering clapping singing La Marseillaise in a sort of low moan. People held up candles, pencils, signs Je suis Charlie. There was chanting, all different sort of chants, as one ended another would begin – Nous sommes Charlie, Nous sommes Charlie: Liberté d’expression, Liberté d’expression: Charlie n’est pas mort: Maintenant Charlie est immortel: Dans la rue démocratie: On est unis.

On Friday I spent almost the whole day in front of the TV. In the morning came the news that the suspects had holed up in a printing establishment in a town to the North of Paris. There were long hours of shots of grass, with blurred images of men in balaclavas (the forces of order) moving around.

The had three hostages. They had two hostages. They let one go. They had one hostage. Helicopters flew low, TV presenters tried to find things to say. Experts in the studio ruminated that the men would be tired, hungry. Runways at Charles de Gaulle airport were closed. TV screens started to show the slogan Je Suis Charlie. Twitter accounts had black lines through as a mark of respect. People changed their twitter picture to Je Suis Charlie.

C was coming on the train. As she passed Charles de Gaulle airport there were the helicopters. It seemed very close. And then there was a shocking development. Another situation, in Vincennes, in the east of Paris, there had been hostages taken in a supermarket. It was called Hyper Cacher, Kosher Supermarket. Our hearts sank. This could not happen.

In a way, the murders of Wednesday were forgotten. Now it was all about how the situation in the north and in the east of Paris would be resolved. The main road, the periferique, was closed, buses and the Metro in that area were stopped. We heard that a threat had been made in the supermarket that if the two brothers in the printing establishment did not come out free and safe hostages in the supermarket would be killed. The man in the supermarket was known, he knew the brothers. Then the media were asked to move back from the area of the printers. It seemed madness – why should they need to be asked in such a situation?

There were shots, smoke. The brothers were out. Firing, shooting, shot. Something had to happen in Vincennes. The police went in – it was all on screen – they seemed so vulnerable. Surely they would be shot, they were in files, one behind the other, crouching creeping. There were flashes, shots, explosions. The hostages were out. How many injured? It wasn’t clear. 5 dead. 4 hostages and the hostage taker.

It was over. They were dead.

People sent emails and texts, asking if we were OK. And we are. In the VIth, life goes on as usual.

We are just preparing to go to the march in the Place de la Republique. It is discouraging to be marching with David Cameron who is said to be coming. The march begins at 3pm. It is now 1pm. Already the TV tells us that the Place is full.

Elizabeth Woodcraft

writing about the law, books and other matters of obvious importance

Tag Archives: Paris

The Grand Lockdown Tour

Notre Dame

French elections

Charlie – the demonstration

Charlie