Spring has sprung, and now the sh** hits the fan. Well, that's what we're afraid of, anyway. Our lovely view can look like this:
Or like this:
Or like this:
Gorgeous spring weather is bringing people out in droves, and we have this sneaking suspicion that this will soon translate to people talking, smoking, drunkenly singing, and -- avert your eyes if the horror is too much for you -- playing the accordian at all hours of the night. (I don't say "day and night" because, as you know from the last post, nobody does anything for the first half of the day here....)
On any given day, we run across at least one accordianist. Often, it's two -- one on either end of our small pedestrian bridge. Rain, snow, or shine.
There is often a jazz band in the middle. Or two. They start staking out their spots in the morning, then wait a few hours for the passers-by to start passing by.
There are other street performers as well, some regulars: the bike-show guy, the classical-violinist, the bubble-making guy, and (at night) the crazy home-made-pirate-bicycle-ship-that-is-politically-protesting-everything guy, for example.
There are hordes of people coming for the island's famous ice cream, and for the beautiful views of Notre Dame, and for the charming cafés right beneath our window. And naturally, this brings in the buskers. It was only a matter of time until our girls thought of busking themselves. Here they are on a quiet Sunday morning with a neighborhood friend, dancing their hearts out and passing the (pink cowboy) hat. They make no money at this endeavor but are extremely proud when an old man joins them for a dance. G also bravely sings a song a cappella at an unattended mike one evening. She earns no money, but enough praise to encourage her to consider busking for her Sunday supper from now on.
As for those accordianists, we hear a lot of "La Vie en Rose." In fact, there is one older busker who posts himself outside the garden to Notre Dame and plays nothing but "La Vie en Rose," in varying versions. I think even he is bored of it, because he now alters the song so dramatically, it's not always recognizable. Begging the question, why not play something else?
Other regular songs from the accordianists on the bridge include Dr. Zhivago's theme, "O Solo Mio," and an old French song called "La Seine" (not to be confused with the song "La Seine" from the new animated film Un Monstre a Paris, A Monster in Paris). For some reason, I also hear several songs from Fiddler on the Roof, both from the accordianists and, more logically, from the violinist. And there's occasionally some Eric Clapton or Simon & Garfunkel. You would think there would be more Edith Piaf.
But I don't meant to imply that it's all bad. If living here is like being plopped in the middle of a movie set, then this music serves as the perfect soundtrack. When I'm writing in the apartment during the weekedays, sometimes I can hear the faint strain of the accordian, or the chattering of people walking by, and even though I'm alone and sitting in silence, I feel like I'm still part of the city. And nothing will make you feel like you're in Paris more than walking around outside looking at the Seine, and Notre Dame, with that soundtrack playing. The girls, of course, love it. During the after school, weekend, and vacation hours (which is when they're around to enjoy it), there's nearly always a concert -- and a veritable party -- going on outdoors. Last night, Anthony and the girls stood on the balcony, enjoying a classical piano recital while I cooked dinner. When we return to San Francisco, will it feel boring and tame? Or blissfully quiet?
In a correspondence with David Downie, the author of a wonderful book of essays called Paris, Paris: Journey Into the City of Light, he wrote me, "Welcome to Paris, and god bless anyone who can listen with charity and grace to the street performers. How long will that last on your part? We have now had 25 years of them under our windows in the Marais, and I am verging on the homicidal."
So we appreciate it for the moment, but still we fear the late spring and summer: When it's hot out, and we want to open our windows, will be letting in too much smoke, chatter, and accordian? We'll see. And so will all of our visitors. What we really need now is for the new trend on our bridge to be an invasion of retro-French mimes.
Or like this:
Or like this:
Gorgeous spring weather is bringing people out in droves, and we have this sneaking suspicion that this will soon translate to people talking, smoking, drunkenly singing, and -- avert your eyes if the horror is too much for you -- playing the accordian at all hours of the night. (I don't say "day and night" because, as you know from the last post, nobody does anything for the first half of the day here....)
On any given day, we run across at least one accordianist. Often, it's two -- one on either end of our small pedestrian bridge. Rain, snow, or shine.
There is often a jazz band in the middle. Or two. They start staking out their spots in the morning, then wait a few hours for the passers-by to start passing by.
There are other street performers as well, some regulars: the bike-show guy, the classical-violinist, the bubble-making guy, and (at night) the crazy home-made-pirate-bicycle-ship-that-is-politically-protesting-everything guy, for example.
There are hordes of people coming for the island's famous ice cream, and for the beautiful views of Notre Dame, and for the charming cafés right beneath our window. And naturally, this brings in the buskers. It was only a matter of time until our girls thought of busking themselves. Here they are on a quiet Sunday morning with a neighborhood friend, dancing their hearts out and passing the (pink cowboy) hat. They make no money at this endeavor but are extremely proud when an old man joins them for a dance. G also bravely sings a song a cappella at an unattended mike one evening. She earns no money, but enough praise to encourage her to consider busking for her Sunday supper from now on.
As for those accordianists, we hear a lot of "La Vie en Rose." In fact, there is one older busker who posts himself outside the garden to Notre Dame and plays nothing but "La Vie en Rose," in varying versions. I think even he is bored of it, because he now alters the song so dramatically, it's not always recognizable. Begging the question, why not play something else?
Other regular songs from the accordianists on the bridge include Dr. Zhivago's theme, "O Solo Mio," and an old French song called "La Seine" (not to be confused with the song "La Seine" from the new animated film Un Monstre a Paris, A Monster in Paris). For some reason, I also hear several songs from Fiddler on the Roof, both from the accordianists and, more logically, from the violinist. And there's occasionally some Eric Clapton or Simon & Garfunkel. You would think there would be more Edith Piaf.
But I don't meant to imply that it's all bad. If living here is like being plopped in the middle of a movie set, then this music serves as the perfect soundtrack. When I'm writing in the apartment during the weekedays, sometimes I can hear the faint strain of the accordian, or the chattering of people walking by, and even though I'm alone and sitting in silence, I feel like I'm still part of the city. And nothing will make you feel like you're in Paris more than walking around outside looking at the Seine, and Notre Dame, with that soundtrack playing. The girls, of course, love it. During the after school, weekend, and vacation hours (which is when they're around to enjoy it), there's nearly always a concert -- and a veritable party -- going on outdoors. Last night, Anthony and the girls stood on the balcony, enjoying a classical piano recital while I cooked dinner. When we return to San Francisco, will it feel boring and tame? Or blissfully quiet?
In a correspondence with David Downie, the author of a wonderful book of essays called Paris, Paris: Journey Into the City of Light, he wrote me, "Welcome to Paris, and god bless anyone who can listen with charity and grace to the street performers. How long will that last on your part? We have now had 25 years of them under our windows in the Marais, and I am verging on the homicidal."
So we appreciate it for the moment, but still we fear the late spring and summer: When it's hot out, and we want to open our windows, will be letting in too much smoke, chatter, and accordian? We'll see. And so will all of our visitors. What we really need now is for the new trend on our bridge to be an invasion of retro-French mimes.
Photo from mimethegap.com
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