May manifestations (demonstrations) in Paris

Manifestations (demonstrations) have been an art form throughout France for years. Many books have been written about the manifestations in 1968 which brought significant changes to French society. May 1st is an annual day of manifestations, a holiday on which thousands of union workers gather to march in solidarity with each other and sometimes in support of specific concerns and issues.

The police usually issue advisories on anticipated parades so that people can avoid the parades and have time to find alternate routes. We noticed that the right wing Front Nationale was wisely granted a permit to march far from the socialists and at a different time.

As we approached the Bastille in search of demonstrations, we saw things were a bit behind schedule. Spectators were starting to gather, some found great cafe tables from which to ponder events. Some climbed for a better view.

The professional photographers who had seen all of this before, knew which vantage points were best for getting pictures of the demonstrations coming up the street.

Police were also out in force, with lots of vans and their riot gear, just in case. They were impressive, but friendly and willingly posed for cameras. I am guessing that the police were positioned to ensure that none of the demonstrators took the street leading to République, where the supporters of the Tamil Tigers were demonstrating.

Thankfully the day was festive rather than confrontive. Parents pushed infants in strollers and vendors sold the obligatory muguets (lily of the valley), the flower one absolutely must have on May 1st (for reasons unknown to me). Even beggars managed to get some, and they were dreadfully expensive (of course our garden in Vancouver has hundreds, so buying them would never occur to me).

Eventually, we heard the distant rumble of whistle blowing, loudspeakers blaring, voices chanting, and live music being drummed. The first groups were finally coming up the long boulevard, well-organized and disciplined. Many groups proudly carried banners proclaiming their union affiliation. Some people marched, arms linked in solidarity.

One group even had its own photographers riding on the roof of a support van--while moving with the demonstrators (check out the telephoto of the photographer kneeling). I could only envy their vantage point. The van's back doors were left open so that people could get water, juice or snacks.

Soon, it was manifestations for as far as the eye could see. The day was clearly going to be billed by the press as a big success.

The PCF (Communist Party of France) never lets an opportunity for publicity pass without notice, and their flags were sprinkled here and there, though in greater numbers than they muster in elections.

Some lycée (high school) teachers were marching, for education is facing serious cuts and difficulties in France, as is true around the globe.

Archeologists were also demonstrating--their funding is also being threatened and certain important projects are being cut.

I enjoyed watching one seasoned professional photographer. He would watch for a break, determine his best vantage point on the road for the next group of demonstrators, and then wait patiently, observing things unfold. Other people would be shooting frantically, but he knew the sort of pictures he needed, and so he waited, waited, waited. It was a lesson I needed to observe. He was visibly a professional, having two SLRs on his neck and an enormous camera backpack--all in professional black.

Sometimes organizers would spot him and abruptly halt the demonstration so the marchers could line up better and the photographer get his pictures. Both the photographer and marchers wanted the pictures to be good.

One lad had an interesting homemade sign (click on the pictures to enlarge them):

After he walked by, I could see the writing on the back of the sign, indicating (ironically) that he now has a job and will be moving to Kaboul.

Many workers--and citizens generally--argue that the real crisis is not just financial but it is in fact President "Sarko".

The largest union, CGT (Confédération générale du travail, General Confederation of Labour), had what seemed to be thousands marching behind their various banners. One member got ahead of one of the subgroups, and on a prearranged signal had everybody stop so he could dramatically light a flare and, after holding it aloft to great cheers, bend and burn the letters "CGT" into the pavement. People loved it.

There were children throughout the manifestations. I like this shot showing a father blowing a whistle while carrying his young daughter. Many families are utterly loyal unionists, passing stories of their struggles from one generation to the next.


Eventually we got tired and started walking towards the advancing demonstrators. We walked for blocks, and there was no sign of things concluding. After two hours, we were tired of the noise, and the waves of banners, balloons and people became repetitive. I stopped, jumped into a slight break in the parade and took this last shot, looking back toward the distant greenish monument at the Bastille, the one seen in the first picture of this series. I envied the folks in the balcony (upper right hand corner) for being able to watch and be home at the same time. I should also point out the sign on the chap in the lower left hand corner: "Rêve générale"; grève is 'strike', rêve is 'dream', a play on words which set the tone for the day.

Fearing the subway might be closed at Bastille (I later learned it was), we went by foot to another line, and then home to hear what radio said about the demonstrations.

Pont du Garde, France

The Pont du Gard is possibly the most famous remaining aqueduct constructed by the Roman Empire's engineers, politicians, workers and slaves. This massive structure brought about 5 million gallons of water daily to Nîmes, carrying it about 50 kms from the springs near Uzès. They say that the engineers designed this aqueduct so carefully that the water was required to drop a mere 50 or so feet over the distance of 50 kms, a fall of about 34 cm/km. Much of the bridge spanning the Gardon River still survives (12 spans are missing), and the three levels of arches are indeed spectacular, both visually and as a feat of engineering. My friend Bob once climbed to the top and (foolishly?) walked the length of the top. Obviously, if one slips, there is limited time for a final prayer.

As Romans began constructing this massive structure, one can only imagine what the local villagers and farmers thought, for they would never have imagined such a project being possible. The aqueduct was yet another symbol of the authority, ingenuity, power and economic might of the occupying forces.

The large archways both reduced the amount of material required and allowed the river to flow unimpeded whenever it flooded, as it often still does.

Over the centuries, the flooding has only slightly eroded the pillars, which remain in remarkably good shape, considering they are more than 1,900 years old.

Part of the aqueduct served as a bridge/road across the valley.

Looking down from the bridge, you see the valley created by the River Gardon.

Standing on the bridge/road, we can look up at the underside of the second level of arches.

The entire structure was constructed without cement--the stones were cut so that they fit perfectly. The Romans are credited with inventing cement, but even they apparently sense--or knew--that something this heavy would be more than their cement could withstand. Some of these individual stones weigh 6 tonnes.

I am assuming that these square holes once held a wooden structure which served as scaffolding for the builders. As I admired the grandeur of the aqueduct, I wondered how many men fell to their death while working on this masterpiece.

Janice is photographing a few of the plants which somehow manage to survive on the part of the rocky riverbed which serves as a floodplain.

Tour Eiffel, Paris

There is a constant stream of people climbing the stairs in several of the Tower's four legs. From these stairways, you can see for miles through the protective metal fences. There are places to pause and rest. Some youngsters think the point is to 'win', other folks like to enjoy the internal structure of this enormous steel spiderweb, watch the activities on the ground slowly recede, and contemplate getting a gym membership.

Looking up, past level one, to level two.

The first observation level.

"We're so cool!" Actually, most people were keeping their coats on, but I guess the downside is that they then have difficulty displaying their underwear.

Tourists never get much time to themselves here. There are scores of vendors pushing cheap trinkets on you. These days there are many young men, possibly from India, Sri Lanka or various countries in Africa, going through the throngs independently, yet obviously working in groups for safety. I suspect that many of these men do not have working papers. In the afternoon, I suddenly heard many feet running, looked up and saw these guys scooting away from the Eiffel Tower as fast as they could go. They had spotted policemen who were possibly checking for permits. Judging from the smiles, this scenario is reenacted several times a day. Everybody knows that once the police have moved on, the vendors will once again be flogging the cheapest replicas imaginable of this famous monument.


Tourists are also besieged by women, who I assume are gypsies. They have been a well-known sight in Paris for more than a century. Over the past decades, I have seen them begging in the metro's underground hallways or sitting on streets, sometimes holding very young children who are sound asleep (I was told they are drugged). The ploy right now is for these women to approach tourists and ask "You speak Eeenglish?" If they get your attention--and they always do, they then thrust a well-worn handwritten paragraph in your face, usually telling of a mother needing a serious operation, etc. I learned by accident that if I have a French book title clearly displayed on my lap, these women leave me alone--likely because they do not have the message in French at hand. One friend told me that some gypsies now work for the mafia, but I obviously cannot confirm the report.

I like this picture of the women because it was taken just after they huddled together for their final instructions for the afternoon. The women were laughing, chatting, etc. Suddenly, as they brok up, their laughter stopped and they assumed their theatrical downcast looks of abject pathos and misery, their bodies went from being erect to being slumped, and they spread out, shuffling along, working the crowd, "Excuse, you speak Eeenglish?"


Many tourists visit Paris for only a few hours or a few days, and are invariably exhausted from trying to see 'everything'. I often observe combinations of excitment and exhaustion on people's faces. Those who actually pause to rest are very wise indeed.


I waited nearly 30 minutes to get this shot. I suddenly realized that a few of the tourist buses had this fascinating advertisement and that, if I positioned myself just so, I could juxtapose the ad with the real thing. I obviously have too much free time.


The Eiffel Tower is one of the world's leading tourist attractions, and possibly the best known symbol of Paris. In my youth, I willingly climbed the stairs to level two. This spring, I spent an afternoon around the tower on April 20th but gave up the plan to ascend the tower after seeing the long lines of people waiting to take one of several elevators or to climb several stairways, and after surmising that even if I climbed the stairs to take pictures, I would always be trying to shoot through the wire fencing which protects climbers (and keeps young guys from scaling the beams). So I stayed on the ground, taking pictures of the structure from below, usually against a rather dark-grey sky, or I watched people from a safe distance with my 200mm lens + 2x converter.

Strong as the tower is, we are not allowed to go to the top level, which is now used solely for broadcasting (and is one reason the tower has been preserved). There have been long discussions about this "temporary" structure, for it was never intended to last more than a few years. By now, however, Paris cannot afford to let it disappear, and that which was once both a marvel and an eyesore, is now inseparable from the capital city.

Cafes in Paris near Sacre Coeur and St Eustache

Very pregnant

Four men and three beers

Two women three beers

Conversation

Stairs to the north of Sacre Coeur, leading up to the cafes

Le Refuge (at the top of the stairs)

Oblivious

Men only

Cigarette

Another cigarette

Why finding peace in the city can be difficult

Chips to go

Parisians love their coffee and their cafes. As soon as the sun starts to warm the days, Parisians find outside tables where they can relax, talk, read, check email, have a beer or Coca, or just watch the world pass by. Even as planes fly overhead and as cars pass within several meters away, or as pedestrians almost bump your table, these cafes provide a quiet answer to the hectic pace of life and places where friends can meet without worrying about preparing to entertain guests.

Taking pictures of people at cafe tables is not easy. Most people sort of know that once they are outside, on public sidewalks and streets, others can indeed take their pictures. But this does not mean that everybody welcomes intrusions into their private moments. Since I am somewhat shy and never want to be confrontational, I have developed a method for taking these pictures. I am learning to cradle my camera in the crook of one of my arms. The lens points about 70-90 degrees from where I appear to be looking. The camera's settings have been fixed for the lighting, I shoot at a fast speed in the hope of avoiding image blur, I usually set the lens somewhere around 35mm (wide angle), and set the automatic focus so that it picks up close images. Then the trick is to find people who are engaged in each other, or possibly supremely bored, and, when shooting, it is important to keep the camera reasonably level to the horizon. I find this enormous fun and equally unpredictable. Expressions change during a heated conversation, a cloud suddenly changes the light conditions, someone unexpectedly gets between me and the cafe tables, and so on.

These pictures celebrate friendship and cafes around the world.