Paris Seems Like A Dream Part III (see February Archives for Part II)
The Night was Fete de la Musique.
All of Paris was alive that night. We left La Rez and hit the trains early in the evening but they were already packed. Only a few of the C line actually had air conditioners and this one certainly wasn't one of them. We sweated and breathed in hot air as we passed stop after stop until we got off the train at Les Invalides. It was crazy to think we could have gotten off at Champ de Mars with all the people there.
From Les Invalides (the great chateau/hospital looming across a tree-lined platz), we snaked our way through dozens of backstreets and bistro-lined avenues, stopping here and there to buy food and cigarettes. A bottle of Rose Wine was passed around as was another of Bordeaux. They disappeared quickly along with all the other bottles of beer and beverages.
A few of us started to play "Name That Song." Among the honks and hustle and bustle of the rest of the crowd, you could hear half a dozen Brit and American voices singing Huey Lewis, the Beatles, Oasis and Credence Clearwater Revival. With half of us drunk and the other half carrying them, it was a beautiful sight to behold.
One thing that did not change about the scene around us was the Eiffel Tower, except that it was drawing closer as we rounded each new bend. Finally, it reached up above us and we found ourselves walking on Le Champ de Mars. Tens of thousands of people mulled around as we met up (miraculously) with other people we were looking for and (sadly) loosing others who had come with us. We finally made our way into an all-standing crowd and the music began.
The concert was a dozen groups I had never heard of, but were obviously huge in Europe this summer as everyone sang along with each song. The only song I could sing along with was "Chiwawa!" (I actually think it's spelled that way), a Macarena-type one-hit wonder that exploded and evaporated in a period of months. We climbed our way onto a small embankment and could almost see the stage. Limitless masses swayed around us to the liquid pop culture pouring off the stage.
We soon got bored with the scene and made our way towards the river (shouting "Chiwawa!" at anyone unfortunate enough to get too close). Somewhere along the way, half of us got separated from the other half, not far from the bridge crossing the Seine.
Rather than shout and try to get peoples' attention, I sat down on the steps and pulled out my saxophone (i had been lugging it with me across town and it had served as both a crowd mover and improv seat). I stood and started to play "The Pink Panther." People who had been walking by slowed and formed a crowd. Little kids approached and at one point a little arab girl got courageous enough to dance with me. At the end of a six song set, I looked up to hear a huge ovation. It had also attracted the other half of our group.
We made our way across the bridge and onto the Trocadero, a huge grassy plane with a fountain in the center. There we took a break at the fountains and I pulled out my sax again to play while we picnicked. The crowds were still thick but there was room to lay on the grass. Several of us even got brave enough to dunk our heads in the water (Probably not the smartest move). Meanwhile the summer sun was just going down under the horizon.
Once we had regained our strength, we made our way up the stairs of Le Palais de Chaillot to get a good view of the night's finale. Rising up on both sides of us were the huge statues of men and the globes, a French tribute to science. I remembered standing on these steps when I had first come to Paris when I was 17. The area had lost none of its magic.
At the foot of the stairs, I ran into a dozen or so bongo drummers. Unable to resist, I played with them for a while. I then caught up with my friends and we stood, looking out across the Trocadero and the River Seine to the Eiffel Tower, still reaching up into the skies in front of us. As we huddled together on the lip of the stone parapet, hands closed together and arms reached around shoulders in anticipation of the moment.
Suddenly, all of the Eiffel Tower lit up in a million shining sparklers. It seemed as if countless japanese tourists had combed every inch of the monument and were now taking pictures of us with their flashing cameras. A hushed awe escaped from the crowd and then a million pairs of hands came together in a thunderous applause.
Satisfied but not satiated, we climbed to the other side of the palais and made our way down Blvd. Woodrow Wilson. We eventually reached the Arc de Triomphe. For the fourth time that night, I pulled out my sax and played, this time before one of Paris' greatest monuments. After a while, we packed up and headed down the road to "The Freedom," one of Paris' greatest bars for a little after party.
The rest of Paris continued to play well into the evening, with a band on almost every street corner. In the city of lights with a crowd that never sleeps, the magic of the city filled us all.
All of Paris was alive that night. We left La Rez and hit the trains early in the evening but they were already packed. Only a few of the C line actually had air conditioners and this one certainly wasn't one of them. We sweated and breathed in hot air as we passed stop after stop until we got off the train at Les Invalides. It was crazy to think we could have gotten off at Champ de Mars with all the people there.
From Les Invalides (the great chateau/hospital looming across a tree-lined platz), we snaked our way through dozens of backstreets and bistro-lined avenues, stopping here and there to buy food and cigarettes. A bottle of Rose Wine was passed around as was another of Bordeaux. They disappeared quickly along with all the other bottles of beer and beverages.
A few of us started to play "Name That Song." Among the honks and hustle and bustle of the rest of the crowd, you could hear half a dozen Brit and American voices singing Huey Lewis, the Beatles, Oasis and Credence Clearwater Revival. With half of us drunk and the other half carrying them, it was a beautiful sight to behold.
One thing that did not change about the scene around us was the Eiffel Tower, except that it was drawing closer as we rounded each new bend. Finally, it reached up above us and we found ourselves walking on Le Champ de Mars. Tens of thousands of people mulled around as we met up (miraculously) with other people we were looking for and (sadly) loosing others who had come with us. We finally made our way into an all-standing crowd and the music began.
The concert was a dozen groups I had never heard of, but were obviously huge in Europe this summer as everyone sang along with each song. The only song I could sing along with was "Chiwawa!" (I actually think it's spelled that way), a Macarena-type one-hit wonder that exploded and evaporated in a period of months. We climbed our way onto a small embankment and could almost see the stage. Limitless masses swayed around us to the liquid pop culture pouring off the stage.
We soon got bored with the scene and made our way towards the river (shouting "Chiwawa!" at anyone unfortunate enough to get too close). Somewhere along the way, half of us got separated from the other half, not far from the bridge crossing the Seine.
Rather than shout and try to get peoples' attention, I sat down on the steps and pulled out my saxophone (i had been lugging it with me across town and it had served as both a crowd mover and improv seat). I stood and started to play "The Pink Panther." People who had been walking by slowed and formed a crowd. Little kids approached and at one point a little arab girl got courageous enough to dance with me. At the end of a six song set, I looked up to hear a huge ovation. It had also attracted the other half of our group.
We made our way across the bridge and onto the Trocadero, a huge grassy plane with a fountain in the center. There we took a break at the fountains and I pulled out my sax again to play while we picnicked. The crowds were still thick but there was room to lay on the grass. Several of us even got brave enough to dunk our heads in the water (Probably not the smartest move). Meanwhile the summer sun was just going down under the horizon.
Once we had regained our strength, we made our way up the stairs of Le Palais de Chaillot to get a good view of the night's finale. Rising up on both sides of us were the huge statues of men and the globes, a French tribute to science. I remembered standing on these steps when I had first come to Paris when I was 17. The area had lost none of its magic.
At the foot of the stairs, I ran into a dozen or so bongo drummers. Unable to resist, I played with them for a while. I then caught up with my friends and we stood, looking out across the Trocadero and the River Seine to the Eiffel Tower, still reaching up into the skies in front of us. As we huddled together on the lip of the stone parapet, hands closed together and arms reached around shoulders in anticipation of the moment.
Suddenly, all of the Eiffel Tower lit up in a million shining sparklers. It seemed as if countless japanese tourists had combed every inch of the monument and were now taking pictures of us with their flashing cameras. A hushed awe escaped from the crowd and then a million pairs of hands came together in a thunderous applause.
Satisfied but not satiated, we climbed to the other side of the palais and made our way down Blvd. Woodrow Wilson. We eventually reached the Arc de Triomphe. For the fourth time that night, I pulled out my sax and played, this time before one of Paris' greatest monuments. After a while, we packed up and headed down the road to "The Freedom," one of Paris' greatest bars for a little after party.
The rest of Paris continued to play well into the evening, with a band on almost every street corner. In the city of lights with a crowd that never sleeps, the magic of the city filled us all.
