Diary of a Frenchman: A Soldiers Story Part 3

From the diary of Pierre Maugin, Corporal 119th Regiment of the French Army, we catch a glimpse of a soldier defending France against the invading Prussian army, who have captured Napoleon III and surrounded Paris. From an entry dated February 2, 1872: "Bombs were falling everywhere. The ground was trembling. It was very cold. We got up at 5:00 in the morning and started shooting, and the Prussians fled. When a horse was felled everyone jumped on it and cut the flesh and put it in the fire on the end of our knives. Some ate it raw. It was very bloody." February 5th: "Today we were asked to lay down our weapons. We were considered as prisoners, we had to deposit our weapons in the Pantheon church. This church is very beautiful! Lots of bombs are stored here. On the 4th of February a census was organized to know how many men were eligible to vote. The trains were starting to work again. Some trains loaded with flour arrived from the south of France. In the fortresses we found wine and bacon. Onions the size of an egg cost 50 centimes a unit, and potatoes were 20 centimes!" February 8th: "Today we voted. I went to see the Notre Dame. There were 400 steps, and I could see all of Paris, but not to it's limits. We slept in the Louvre." Next week Corporal Maugin gets a little R&R!

Romance on Friday, Church on Sunday!

I am not a particularly religious person, but for some reason I enjoy visiting the ancient churches of Europe. The architectural beauty of the Gothic cathedrals are especially breathtaking - the scale massive, and there is nothing like a flying buttress I always say! Of course the most famous and popular tourist destination is the Cathedral de Notre Dame, and for good reason. I never tire of gazing at her from the Petit Pont, the prime time being after dark when her face is artfully illuminated, and the moonlight is shimmering on the surface of the Seine. The Sacre Couer in Montmarte is spectacular as well, with her tableau of Jesus welcoming one to the heavens with open arms painted masterfully on the huge domed ceiling. But my favorite chappelle of all is St. Eustache, located in the Chatelet/Les Halles district. I stumbled upon her one day as I was searching for the metro. Formidable in size, and obviously hundreds of years old, she called to me and I answered! It was a sunday afternoon, long before the evening service, and I joined a handful of visitors inside. Serendipitously, someone began playing the huge pipe organ, and the sound stopped everyone in their tracks! Powerful, emotional, and breathtaking, the sound echoed through the cavernous space, bouncing off those buttressess and searing the soul. It was a truly unforgetable experience. So when I heard there was to be a free concert of inspirational and popular music sung by a choir of 300, I was in! From Cole Porter to Mozart, Rodgers and Hammerstein to Andrew Lloyd Weber, the choir from Leeds and Newcastle sang their hearts out, and when they performed "Over the Rainbow" there was no holding back the tears - that damn song does it to me every time! There is a wonderful ambience inside St. Eustache. She is peaceful and calm, unlike her sister Notre Dame - perhaps because fewer tourists pass through. Maybe it is the positive energy of all the prayer that has taken place throughout the centuries that lingers unperturbed by the masses of sightseers that flock to Paris. Whatever it is, I like it!

Your Friday night French Ro-Com Part 3: "Mr. Low-key"

Waiting in a queue for a taxi on a Saturday night in Paris requires not only a great deal of patience, but stamina as well. Forget hailing one off the street Manhattan style - its not going to happen - especially after 2 a.m. But with good company, armed with a wine buzz and a full pack of smokes, it becomes an event! It was a beautiful, balmy summer night and the crowds that trawl the always hectic Quartier Latin were beginning to thin. "Low" and I made our way to the Boulevard St. Michel, and together with scores of drunken college kids and tourists located the taxi stand. It was to be a long wait as the fine weather had seduced us all into a state of euphoria, causing half of Paris to forget the metro closes at two. Not really wanting to go home but unable to escape the inevitable, we lined up and waited our turn for the next available cab. It had been an evening unexpected, serendipitous even. I had no idea that an afternoon of errands and a chance meeting on a terrace would turn into a very long walk and moments of sweet romance after midnight. But this being Paris, one must be prepared for anything! We had discovered we had much in common, the not least of which being our love of people watching. We were in prime location, a loud and lively group of "twenty-somethings" were laughing and flirting, taking us back to the day when our hearts were full of frivolity. A very elegant elderly couple strolled by arm in arm, he sporting a cravat, she perfectly coiffed and in pearls, reminding me of what I hoped to be one day. (Elegant that is.) The man next to us was attempting to bum a smoke, a national sport second only to a good manifestation. Low put his arms around me and we shared an embrace, more affectionate than crotch grinding. (5 bonus points) He gently rocked me as I snuggled my head into the nape of his neck, and suddenly everyone disappeared, fading into the night like ghosts. I shut my eyes and listened to the music of the city; cars passing by - some vibrating with the rhythmic beat of hip hop - the belaboured roar of the last city bus departing with it's late night cargo, silly young girls calling to cute boys from their fourth story balconies. In my reverie I hadn't noticed we were next in line for a taxi! Without breaking his embrace, Low kissed me lightly and pressed his forehead to mine. Looking downward, he asked me if I had plans for the next day. "I would love to take you to lunch" he suggested, "and walk around town a bit..." Fortuitously I had no pressing engagements for the following day, and I accepted his invitation. He told me to call his hotel in the morning, and we would plan to meet around noon. Just then a taxi pulled up. Low kissed me quickly goodnight, and opened the door for me. "I'll take the next one" he said, and the gentleman that he is, discreetly slipped 20 euro into my hand. "Will this be enough to get you home?" (another 5 points) I thanked him and he leaned in for one last kiss, lingering as we already staked out the cab. We looked deeply into each others eyes and smiled, and I cupped the side of his face gently with my hand. One more sweet kiss and he shut the door, I gave the driver my address, and with a wave I was on my way home. I leaned my head back and relaxed, gazing out the window at the lights reflecting off the Seine as we made our way to the peripherique and toward the banlieus (suburbs). The magnificent Grand Palais was glowing in the distance, magical and impressive. The french know how to light their monuments, their luminescence keeps the city alive long after her residents have gone to sleep. Mozart provided the perfect ambiance, and I rolled the window down to feel the air caress me as I floated home in my chariot. I had the feeling that tomorrow was going to be a very good day! But what was I going to wear? A little summer dress with strappy sandals? Jeans and sensible walking shoes? (He seemed to love walking). What the hell am I going to wear?! Find out all the juicy details of my sunday afternoon with "Low" next week on your "Friday night French Ro-Com". A bientot!

Your Friday night French Ro-Com Part Deux: "Mr. Low-key"

His beautiful blue eyes searched mine as he took my hands and turned me to face him. I couldn't help but smile, he was adorable in a boyish kind of way and just a little shy. He lowered his gaze breaking eye contact, swinging our arms together nervously. I sensed he had a proposition but was fearful of rejection, haven't we all been there? I waited patiently. "Would you like to share a bottle of wine?" he ventured. "I know a place where they have a fabulous cellar. My favorite thing in the world is a good bottle of wine! Of course it is up to you-whatever you want to do...." he added, shyly looking away. Being a lover of the grape myself, I agreed. "That sounds really nice" I smiled. He looked like a boy at Christmas who just got a new bicycle. "Great! It's not far, are you okay to walk? If your feet hurt we can take a taxi" he offered. (5 bonus points) It was such a beautiful evening - the weather was fine, the moon reflecting off the Seine like a million stars twinkling, the imposing figure of Notre Dame luminescent and magical providing the ultimate backdrop for romance. I preferred to walk. We joined the tourists and lovers crowding the sidewalks along the Rive Gauche strolling parallel to the Seine, the bateaux in the water below ferrying crowds of visitors like giant snails moving toward the Ile St. Louis. Houseboats moored permanently to their docks lined the shoreline, many having been there for generations. Low offered his arm, and for a moment in time I felt as if we had joined the ranks of the amourous, Paris has a way of casting her spell! Parisians were dining on the terraces as we passed by, (the peak dinner hour being from 9:00-10:30) the cleverest having secured the best seats to enjoy the parade. Black vested waiters scurried about with plates of confit du canard and bottles of Badoit while a Jack Russell terrier enjoyed his own plate of steak tartar at the feet of his master. Low led me off the main drag to a quiet street with no traffic and few pedestrians into a tiny but quaint cave. The heady aroma of oak and fruit was sensual, it was dimly lit with votive candles and I was sure I detected the undertone of a good Cuban cigar. If he was trying to seduce me (and I was quite sure that he was), he was certainly doing a good job! The place was as unpretentious as he was, and as comfortable. "Do you prefer red wine or white?" he offered as he perused the list. We were in agreement, red is where it's at and he subtly ordered a bottle of Bordeaux that was older than I am. We chatted and sipped and laughed until the proprietaire asked us to leave, it was closing time and yet it seemed as if time had stood still, losing all motion, relinquishing her power over us. It was now after 2 a.m., long past the departure of the last train home. There was nothing to do but find the nearest taxi stand and brave the queue - getting a taxi after the metro shuts down for the night is about as easy as finding one in Manhattan on a rainy day! We made our way hand in hand, our heads buzzing from the wine, smiling sweetly at one another. I liked Low, he was a genuinely nice guy and so easy to be with. We took one last lingering look at Notre Dame and before we turned to enter the maze of streets which would lead us to available transportation, he tenderly cupped my face in his hands and kissed me sweetly. We were accompanied by the proverbial "elephant" to the taxi stand. Another question loomed before us. Did Low ask me: a) to go back to his hotel, b) for my phone number, or c) to meet the next day ? Find out next week on your Friday night French Ro-Com!

Your Friday night French Ro-Com Part One: "Mr. Low-key"

I must admit, after my marraige of 30 years ended and I moved to Paris I wasn't at all interested in cooking. Living within the framework of traditional roles, it had been my responsibility to get dinner on the table each night - that combined with the simple truth that it isn't very interesting to cook for oneself led me to dine out regularly my first two years in the city. It was at one of these early (by french standards) dinners that I met Mr. "Low-key". It had been a beautiful sunny afternoon, and I found myself in the Marais, at the Place de le Bastille. There are any number of cafés surrounding the Rond Point, and it's a great pleasure to sit on a terrace to watch the show while enjoying a plat of typical french cuisine. A beautiful monument to the French Revolution is center stage, the gilded sculpture perched atop a giant column glowing in the sun. Traffic circles frenetically, weaving around each other as they aim for one of 7 exits on the "etoile". Crowds of tourists wander cluelessly searching for the Place du Vosges, while ultra trendy, affluent bohemians ("Les Beaubo") stroll with purpose - they are there to be seen! It's a noisy, smelly, fabulously french place to be. I carefully selected the best location possible (in the french tradition of the game); on the terrace, sun to the back, with just enough shade to make it comfortable, with a view of the action and no obvious smokers nearby. Famished, I ordered steak and frites and sipped on a coke as I marveled at a daring scooter boy escape almost certain death by city bus. The gentleman sitting next to me witnessed the same daredevil maneuver, and we both gasped in unison. "I can't believe he just did that!" I exclaimed, laughing. "I love it" he smiled, "Where are you from?" "I'm from California originally, but I live here now." "FABULOUS!" he cried, "I am in Europe for about 6 months. I've just been in Italy for awhile trying to learn Italian." He explained he was from California, dividing his time between L.A. and New York City. He was a pleasant conversationalist so I invited him to join me at my little bistro table. He was intriguing, he downplayed his work saying he "played in the theatre a little-it's not really work". Possesed with insatiable curiosity he preferred to ask the questions, deflecting attention from himself. We went deep, it was the eve of an historic presidential election. He was an Obama man, and I was still clinging to Hillary - even though it was obviously over for her. As we were debating the finer points of the Obama campaign a beautiful olive-skinned young french girl on a vélo, (not to be outdone by the daring scooter boy) sporting the lowest of low-cut jeans and two inches of coin slot executed a triple serpentine voiture bypass with an opposite flow poulet fry. All thoughts of politics disappeared as the most daring feat of stunt-biking took place right before our eyes! I think we were both a little turned on. Beautiful, totally fearless, with casually tousseled hair and cleavage 360°, she took on 2 Mercedes taxi's, a city bus, three motorcycles and a Renault. On a bicycle, with no helmet! "Low" and I locked eyes. "THIS is why I love Paris" I said with stars in my eyes. He gently took my hand. "Would you like to go for a walk?" Being the spontaneous woman that I am, naturally I agreed. We headed arm in arm toward the Seine for nowhere in particular, exploring Paris off the beaten path. Not far from the hustle and bustle were quiet residential streets, peppered with tiny bistros, shops full of antique books for collectors, and boutiques whose window displays promised one of a kind fashions (closed, of course!) We walked together easily and chatted about everything-and nothing. Before I knew it we had made our way to Notre Dame, the sun was setting, and Low had another invitation. He turned me to face him, looked deep into my eyes and popped the question. Did he invite me to: a) Go back to his hotel b) Go to the theatre to see a musical or c) share a bottle of really good wine? Find out next week on your "Friday night French Ro-Com"! (All stories based on true events. Names have been changed to protect the guilty.)