(This post has been sitting in my drafts folder for a little while waiting for a final paragraph. The 14th July was a while ago now!)
Saturday was the 14th July and to celebrate the fête nationale, as happens every year, there was a concert on the Champ de Mars followed by a fireworks display at the Eiffel Tower. In years past, we have sat on various bridges across the Seine, streaming the concert on the radio and watching the fireworks amongst the ooh-ing and ahh-ing crowds before making our way home through hot streets and on jam-packed metros at midnight. It's an event which, more than any other, means Paris in the summer to me. It's busy but relaxed, and after the 14th, many people leave the city, everything starts to close down and life is mainly to be lived in quiet parks, enjoying the sleepy streets, until the end of August when Paris comes back to life again.
This year, we watched the concert on TV and, as I remarked to UFM, we might as well have been hundreds of kilometres away, like the viewers in Brittany or the Lozère, so distant did it seem.
Then they performed Nessun Dorma, a piece which sends shivers down my spine ever since I saw Turandot performed in the Arena de Verona on a hot summer's night even more years ago. I was working at summer camp, and after a busy morning of lessons, songs and silly games, my fellow tutors and I would soak up all that is wonderful about Italy: strolls around Verona city, bike rides across the hot, sleepy plains to little villages where we would eat gelato and drink Aperol spritz before it became trendy, and family life with our Italian hosts who over the years became dear friends.
And sitting at home on that warm summer's evening with two little ones asleep in the next room, I was grateful in equal measures for the life I have now and the fact that my twenties and early thirties were filled with so many awesome adventures.
Saturday was the 14th July and to celebrate the fête nationale, as happens every year, there was a concert on the Champ de Mars followed by a fireworks display at the Eiffel Tower. In years past, we have sat on various bridges across the Seine, streaming the concert on the radio and watching the fireworks amongst the ooh-ing and ahh-ing crowds before making our way home through hot streets and on jam-packed metros at midnight. It's an event which, more than any other, means Paris in the summer to me. It's busy but relaxed, and after the 14th, many people leave the city, everything starts to close down and life is mainly to be lived in quiet parks, enjoying the sleepy streets, until the end of August when Paris comes back to life again.
This year, we watched the concert on TV and, as I remarked to UFM, we might as well have been hundreds of kilometres away, like the viewers in Brittany or the Lozère, so distant did it seem.
Then they performed Nessun Dorma, a piece which sends shivers down my spine ever since I saw Turandot performed in the Arena de Verona on a hot summer's night even more years ago. I was working at summer camp, and after a busy morning of lessons, songs and silly games, my fellow tutors and I would soak up all that is wonderful about Italy: strolls around Verona city, bike rides across the hot, sleepy plains to little villages where we would eat gelato and drink Aperol spritz before it became trendy, and family life with our Italian hosts who over the years became dear friends.
And sitting at home on that warm summer's evening with two little ones asleep in the next room, I was grateful in equal measures for the life I have now and the fact that my twenties and early thirties were filled with so many awesome adventures.
I was pretty sure the title was going to be a commentary on life with two little kids, glad to hear they do sleep! ;)
ReplyDeleteHaha - it was only originally a working title which I forgot to change but I like it!
DeleteNice post---I often feel the same way.
ReplyDelete