An exhilarating month...or so
Jim's Musings from Paris August 2024
Wow! What a month! From Biden’s disastrous debate performance to the snap legislative elections in France to the assassination attempt on Donald Trump to the hateful and lie-filled Republican convention to Biden’s selfless resignation as the Democratic party’s presidential candidate to the ascendancy of Kamala Harris as one of the most energetic and joyful candidates for US president in a long time to the classy and controversial opening ceremonies of the Paris Olympics 2024—it’s been quite a ride. After summer’s long refusal to arrive in Paris, we survived our first canicule (heat wave) and are now riding a wave of beautiful, blue skies and gentle breezes. We’ll see how long that lasts—because one thing I’ve learned living in France for three years is that you can’t count on the weather. It’s always a surprise.
And France itself is always a surprise. The nation was able to avoid its descent into the fascist quagmire of right-wing autocracy after the leftist parties (Communists, Greens, Socialists, and the more radical France Unbowed) joined forces to create a new coalition and, along with President Macron’s centrist supporters, provide a bulwark against Marine Le Pen and her 28 year old boy toy, Jordan Bardella. Bardella comes off as an AI-inspired construction, spouting his coded hate speech and plotting his party’s victory with a smarmy smirk. After some fancy maneuvering, all within the guidelines of the Fifth Republic’s Constitution, the onslaught of the extreme right was halted. Granted, there is still no new prime minister and France’s politicians have a lot to learn about compromise and collaboration, but the Olympic Games were able to take place in an atmosphere free of the shadow of fascism—for the moment.
For the first week of the Olympic Games (les jeux olympiques in French or just JO), we left town to join family in the country, in what was once the ancient province, Le Berry. In 1790, the province was divided into the departments of Cher (Upper Berry) and Indre (Lower Berry). We were once more entranced by the bucolic landscape, stunning sunsets (and sunrises), the delicious cuisine, and picturesque villages brimming with history. Last summer’s August newsletter describes some of the province’s attractions.
This summer we visited the village of Gargilesse-Dampierre, one of France’s most beautiful towns, where the writer George Sand kept a small house, now a museum, with her last lover, Alexandre Manceau. Wandering through narrow streets with galleries and shops, visiting the amazing Romanesque church with some incredibly preserved frescoes in its crypt, and dining, deliciously, at a laid back, out of the way, restaurant reminded us of the best of French culture and made me more determined than ever to seek my French citizenship in the next year.
Of course, we were also on grandfather duty during this long week. I have very strong memories of summers when I was Léo’s age. They seemed endless—days full of adventures on the farm and in town, sunshine and storms, eating watermelon, corn on the cob, and soft-serve ice cream from the local Tastee Freeze. I hope that Léo’s days in the Berry stay with him as well. He and Jairo built a fort on the banks of the nearby creek, explored the fields and forests, stalked foxes, and thrilled at the low-flying bats when darkness descended. They tried to camp out under the stars but, in the end, the lure of a comfy bed won out.
Besides outdoor adventures with his abuelo and a daily devoir or lesson with his mother or grandmother (most French school kids traditionally and dutifully complete daily workbook lessons during the summer), Léo had the opportunity to improve vastly his swimming skills at the regional pool. We all cheered him on, just as we cheered on French swimming sensation Léon Marchand to his four gold medals. We also watched an excessive amount of fencing. The French seem obsessed with escrime (fencing). They’re very good at it—and French television showed every rencontre (match) that featured a French fencer.
My French family was surprised to learn that I had studied fencing in high school as a unit in our physical education program. Do any of my fellow West Leyden alumni remember those fencing lessons? We had all the equipment except for the fancy computerised touché sensor. It was one of my favorite PE activities—or am I dreaming this?—because my brother, two years older than I am, doesn’t recall doing any fencing in high school!
And what about that opening ceremony? We were all glued to the television during the four hour long spectacle. I found the pageantry of the event captivating. A close friend, Chris Hariasz, suggested that taking the ceremony out of the stadium, onto the river and into the city itself, made it seem “more human…less totalitarian.” I realized that something that had always bothered me about the opening ceremony, with its regimented and nationalistic parade of athletes, was the throwback to Hitler’s 1936 Berlin spectacle. This year that association never intruded on my enjoyment of the French celebration. The athletes on boats, moving freely down the river, the indelible images of diversity and inclusion amidst the grandeur of Paris, all showcased France as a place of wonder, beauty, and possibility. While I feel that the choreography often lacked originality and we all know the French have trouble rocking and rolling, when they stuck to the great chansons, flawlessly rendered especially by Lady Gaga and Céline Dion, the story of revolution and liberty that unfolded was especially meaningful, coming so closely after the elections. In the various tableaus and in the magical horse and mysterious rider galloping down the river, we saw the promise of France—and can only hope that something sticks from these games as the country grapples with its future.
We all came back to Paris on July 31 and, on August 2, we went to see the Olympic flame burning electrically under the giant balloon in the Jardin des Tuileries. This was a nice coda for Léo since we had taken him to see the Olympic torch when it passed through our neighborhood on Bastille Day and he had his picture taken with one of the carriers. We also experienced some of the urban sports in the arenas occupying the Place de la Concorde—3 X 3 basketball, skateboarding, break dancing, and BMX freestyle. Léo was thrilled by the skateboard trials we watched and we all went home that night on the Métro, happy to call Paris home.
Here’s a Spotify playlist to keep you in the Paris mood long after the 2024 Olympic Games: