Bastille Day

July 14th dawned with thunder and rain, dampening our hopes to see the fireworks at the Eiffel Tower. Bastille Day is a big national holiday that commemorates the 1789 storming of the Bastille prison, a symbol of the uprising of the modern nation, and of the reconciliation of all the French inside the constitutional monarchy that preceded the First Republic, according to Wiki. So, we had breakfast and still sans umbrellas, decided to catch up on reading, writing and laundry. We were soon interrupted by the entire French Air Force flying very low right over our open front windows. Seems we're on a flight path that extends a straight line drawn right down the Champs Elysees, where the President and other hardy parade-watchers were reviewing French military might.

I daresay it was impressive, but living in a world in which Paul explains that Europeans just do not use energy as we do in the US, and thus sneakily turns off the fan after I fall asleep; then I have to wake up and turn it on while he's asleep, etc. etc., it strikes me as a greater waste of energy than my personal fan.

Later, during a break in the precipitation, we scurried 1/2 block to a local bar/restaurant where we had a very tasty ourdoor lunch, while watching a very long intense deluge, under a very functional awning. The downspout for the entire building emptied to and across the sidewalk right at my feet, so I was pleased I had worn some amphibious beach walking shoes for the occasion. We also got to see about 50 or so camouflaged (but we could still see them) French army tanks zooming right past us down Rue Diderot. The parade seemed to have come to us in the 12th arrondisement. Is this a great city or what?

Late in the afternoon, glory be, the sun came popping out and there was hardly a cloud in sight. Paul fixed us another great dinner of delicious salad with Bresola, Rabbit and Chicken pates and a nice wine. About 8:00 PM we set out with half our bottle of wine and some cookies, headed for the Seine and the best spot to see the fireworks. I had initially thought to see it from the Trocadero, right across the river from the tower, but Benjamin our host warned us it could be too crowded there, eliciting in us fears of trampling. So we walked west along the right bank, pushing to get a good bridge spot closer to the Eiffel Tower. We stopped about 9:30 to grab a good seat on the ledge of the Pont de Concorde. There were already crowds everywhere, but they continued to grow denser until it was finally dark about 10:45. To make us really want it, they taunted us with sexy dazzling twinkle lights all over the Tower, and finally started the explosions at 11:00 PM. While we waited we chatted with fellow bridge sitters, a young girl from Seattle who's an undiscovered Pop Singer, about how Malcolm Gladwell tells us the Beatles got their start, and the guy with her from Vancouver. They had just met at a Youth Hostel and both seemed like good kids and very strong at the requisite body press to pull oneself up onto the high bridge railing without catapulting ones self over. We sat at a lower level and Paul helped to lift me backwards; I don't think it was agile in the least.

The fireworks were great! We should have continued walking further east to be more beneath them, but the crowds may have been overwhelming. The finale seemed to be the best ever in our short lives, but that may just be the magic of the Seine and warm Paris nights talking. Getting a Metro home at the Place de la Concorde was another cause for trampling concern, but Paul held my hand and directed us out of the pack further north to Place Madeline where the station was only slightly crowded. The arriving trains were packed, but 4 people got off, we squeezed on and home to bed, tired but happy.