Paris Journal 2008

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We got back into the swing of things by walking to the Parc Georges Brassens yesterday evening to hear a concert by Vieux Farka Touré, a musician from Mali. (Thanks again to Jim H. for sending me the list of “Paris quartier d’été” concerts.) Vieux has been compared to Jimi Hendrix and I sure can understand why. He is just as good as Jimi, if not better, as a guitarist. Vieux started out, however, as a natural-born drummer. His father was a well-known musician, and Vieux performed with him before defying his father’s wishes that he become a soldier. Instead, Vieux went to music school where his talents were fully discovered and developed. His band filled the park with people who were dancing to the sound of this strange and wonderful African rock. We had a fabulous time there, and a lovely long walk home. We dined after 9PM at the brasserie across the street from our local church. The place is called Brasserie Tour Eiffel, but it is definitely not a tourist place. It is a bit too removed from the Eiffel tower geographically, and somehow it has successfully discouraged the drunk young English-speaking backpacking penny-pinching noisy tourists who stay at the very low-budget Three Ducks hostel which is nearby. The dining room is decorated with photographs of the tower when it was under construction. Of course, the brasserie is older than the tower, and I am sure that workers from the neighborhood worked on the construction of the tower as well as all of the other attractions that were being built then. My guess is that the brasserie received its current name because this is where the construction workers and their families went, not because of tourism. So when we go, we are often the only English speakers there. The other English speakers who show up there tend to be thirty-something year old people who are living and working in Paris. Last night, they weren’t there. We were the sole Anglophones. I was wearing my Obama button. At one point, our server was processing the check for a nearby table and he noticed my button. A look of great confusion went over his face. This is probably because he assumed I was one of those English speaking EU citizens (British, Irish) or he assumed we were some other kind of foreigner (German, Belgian) speaking French with such an accent. The button didn’t make sense to him until he figured out that we are Americans. Not what he expected. (We are frequently mistaken for Germans if not Brits.) Earlier in the day, I was wearing the Obama button when I went out to buy bread and a French newspaper. The woman who was in line in front of me at the newspaper/magazine/stationery shop noticed my button and waited for me outside the shop. She was about my age. She stopped me politely and began a passionate lecture (entirely in French) in which she told me how much she despises McCain and Sarkozy. She also went on at length about her disgust with the French news media who always refer to Obama first and foremost as “black.” (She is white, BTW.) “He is AMERICAN, above all!!” she exclaimed. She went on to tell me all these things that I already know about Obama – where he was raised, who raised him, etc. – because I think she wanted me to know how well-informed she is and therefore she has the right to be so passionate in her opinions on this and related subjects. I did notice that she had just purchased €13.62 worth of magazines in the shop. She probably is very well-informed. She asked me where she could buy an Obama button. I told her “sur l’ internet,” and I gave her the name of the web site. I didn’t have the chance to say much else, other than to agree with her often, but when she complained about the news media in France calling Obama an “homme mediatheque,” meaning that he just panders to the news media and is really a shallow person, I told her about my impressions of him when I first met him on March 31, 2006 (see July 22, 2008), before he was a candidate for president. She was very satisfied to have her opinion validated by my personal experience. A couple of other women started to approach us, tentatively. I think maybe they thought I was out there campaigning. But my friend, the French woman, was doing all the talking and I was standing there agreeing, holding onto my bread and newspaper like any other innocent shopper. So after this fifteen or twenty minute encounter, my friend and I did a fist bump and bade each other a cheerful good day. Neither one of us wanted to attract more attention. We’d had our fun.

Wednesday, July 30, 2008 Brasserie Tour Eiffel, like many Parisian restaurants, now has added a burger to its menu. It is called the Mac Eiffel, and it is truly prepared in the American style – but slightly better. Instead of a slice of raw tomato, it has a slice of cooked tomato. Nice touch. My photos of Vieux Farka Touré and his band are all from the back, because Tom, as a drummer, wants to be where he can see the percussionists. There was too much of a crowd to move around much. It was wild. Vieux Farka Touré is the one in blue, with the hat. Sign my guestbook. View my guestbook.

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