The Pope & Margaritaville

The Pope came and went on a beautiful sunny Saturday, and as usual Paris performed to its highest standards for her glorified guest, seamlessly erecting then dismantling the stage and huge seating area in record time, most importantly in time for rugby to recommence on Sunday morning. Over 200,000 people attended the event in attempt to catch a glimpse of his holiness, whilst Tom jogs right past him and his entourage on the way to the service when on his morning run....figures.

The night before the service there was a candlelit procession from Notre Dame to Invalides, anticipating the Pope’s route the next morning, with many people camping out all night at Invalides just to get a spot. With my Catholic roots I felt guilty for not taking part somehow. Attending these huge events in the city you’re living in should be an simple feat, but you would be surprised how easy it is to still miss these attractions on your doorstep. It seems criminal but it just happens.

On the other hand, there are certain things NOT to be missed, such as the World Cup Rugby tournament last year, and for me recently, the Jimmy Buffet concert at the New Morning Club last weekend! A surprise invitation from a journalist friend who is good friends with Jimmy, I jumped at the chance to singalong to ‘Margaritaville’, and knew I had to go just to tell my sister Gail about it. A bit before my time, (she was more of his fan than me), I still grew up listening to his music and knew watching any American/English musician in Paris would be a treat because the venues are smaller and more intimate.

Sure enough it met all my expectations. Set in the heart of the African 10th district, the New Morning Club is famous for jazz musicians and African bands, but has also hosted even the likes of Prince. Chock full of chubby, ageing Americans in cheesy holiday shirts clutching their plastic cups of beer, swaying and singing to the music, it was a jolly and eclectic atmosphere with fans from all over the world, including Australia, Norway, and Abu Dhabi.

Always with a holiday flavor due to the subject of most of his songs, Jimmy played the laid-back host very well with a strong edge of professionalism aided by his loyal band and varied back up singers, one black lady called Nadirah Shakoor who used to sing for Arrested Development and now is coming out with her own album, and the lovely Tina from Los Angeles who just couldn’t stop grooving to the music. Visibly affected by that evening’s crowd, Jimmy promised to play until his bottle of rose was finished, and admitted he would always remember this night. He ended his encore with a solo rendition of ‘He Went to Paris’ which brought tears to many eyes. Always the Mississippi gentleman, he signed many autographs and t-shirts after the show, and even an inflatable monkey!

We had the great luck of being invited to the aftershow dinner at L’Avenue on ritzy Avenue Montaigne, just down the road from the famous Plaza Athenee where the Paris episodes of Sex and the City were filmed. Feeling very humble and out of place we show up and are invited to sit and eat with the band. Jimmy comes over to chat and I am speechless. The obvious tag a long, I do not want to come across as starstruck fan and ask for autographs or pictures, so I just stand there grinning stupidly and say ‘Great show!’

We meet the rest of the band and they are more than gracious, even happy to have new people to talk to after their gig. We meet the Mayer brothers, one of whom makes children’s music and promises to send our kids some of his CD’s (www.unclejimrocks.com). I am looking forward to hearing his songs called ‘Funky as a Diaper’ and ‘I’ve got a Butt’.

For any Buffet fans here is the link to view the interview my friend Matt did with Jimmy riding bicycles around Paris:

http://blogs.iht.com/tribtalk/travel/globespotters/?p=546

La Rentree

How quickly autumn overcomes the summer, before we are ready for it. All of a sudden the air turns crisp, and so do the leaves under your feet, and you feel chilly and silly wearing your summer dresses. It does not stop us from hoping for an Indian summer in September, therefore those dresses are not being packed away just yet, and I refuse to wear boots in any shape or form.

We have much to look forward to in Paris in September. The city comes alive after being abandoned for weeks in the summer, and though heaving it is somehow comforting to be once more full of Parisiennes. We are relieved to have our favorite boulangerie open again, and to see our resident homeless lady has returned to her favorite dwelling in the metro, although I don't expect she went anywhere for her vacation. Paris just doesn't do ghost town very well, and the constant flow of tourists are no match for its temporarily removed inhabitants.

The most exciting and current event to happen is the Pope’s visit next weekend. Not us personally, though he would be welcome, but he is coming to Paris on the 12 and 13th September to greet the French, on his first 'Tour de France'. Not sure where else he is on tour, but I have no doubt we'll be caught up in the festivities surrounding him as they are already setting up stands around Invalides, preparing for his arrival. My delusional husband thought perhaps his rugby fan club had gone to the massive effort to watch his team in action on the fields directly across from Invalides where they play every Sunday, until I informed him of the celebrity visitor. Over 200,000 people are expected to attend mass on Sunday, but we think we may just watch it on telly.

Also on its way is Paris Fashion Week. I've marvelled at this event for the past two years, purely as an outsider, not being brave or glamourous enough to ever attempt to get into one of these shows, the coward I am watches from afar, either outside the Louvre or underneath in the Carrousel, seeing all the pin thin models make their way in, followed by the fashionable spectators, digging for a glimpse of someone famous. This year will render more of the same I am sure, maybe I will venture even closer and get a toe in the door, to see the male models at least.

As always there are interesting expositions in all the major museums; Le Bon Marche has devoted almost one entire floor to ‘Buenos Aires’ where there are portraits of the local people surrounding a huge balloon like globe showing footage of dance, life and culture in the city. They are hosting salsa dancing every Thursday night as well, a nice little aside to late night shopping amongst the designer names, just pop upstairs for a dance with a handsome stranger in a major department store....as you do.

Only in Paris.....

Princess Grace Kelly

I went to the Grace Kelly exhibition at Hotel de Ville recently and was amazed by the seeming perfectionism this woman oozed. An Oscar winning actress who gives up her acting career to marry a Prince and turns into a ball hosting, poetry reading, dried flower art making, virtual saint of a mother of three. Looking at bits of her life encased in glass made it all surreal somehow, like she was a phantom Princess, with her gold oscar and white wedding dress floating on display, her ghostly presence visible in the background with grainy black and white clips from her movies, untouchable and unreal. Apart from her tragic and too early death, her life was perfect, so it seems. Surrounded by rich and famous friends, adored by a Prince and her children, she embodied all the roles of women endeavor to, rolled into one. Something just doesn’t seem right....

Then we discover she was not always ‘perfect’, as she engaged in an affair with a married man before she married Prince Rainier. Her father was blatantly against this, as his personal letters to her were encased in glass in the exhibit, open for all to read. Joking with my friend about this whilst reading the letters, an older French lady joins in our conversation. ‘Oh yes, he was having an affair with her”, she said, almost proudly confirming this man’s infidelity and then defending it with a quip that, to the French it just doesn’t matter....’zit is zee Franche waaay...’