Paris, France

Image: The iconic Eiffel Tower late on a winter's afternoon

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Just a couple of quick photographs to let you know I haven't been asleep during my nine day sojourn in Paris. I have much to write, and will do so as time permits, but for now - as I ready myself to return to Greece - these two shots will have to do as an appetiser.

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Image: One for the romantics - Parisian sunset over the Seine

The Sound of Angels Singing

Image: Choir members taking a bow at the end of the concert
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So this is what the sound of angels singing must be like. Four and five part harmonies; soaring tenors, and deep rumbling basses, pure sopranos and sweet, sweet altos. I’m sitting in Notre-Dame Cathedral on a freezing December night listening to a concert of Marian Polyphonies of the Renaissance.

No, I don’t know what that means either, but by chance I noticed a poster pinned to a board during my visit to Notre-Dame de Paris (French, for Our Lady of Paris), and on the spur of the moment, decided to attend this performance of choral works under the expectation that no matter what language the works were sung in, they would sound spectacular – and I wasn’t disappointed.

Some of the songs performed dated back to the late 1400s, while at least two pieces were written quite recently by the French composer, Caroline Marçot who was born in 1974.

I’m assuming all of the twelve songs performed during the evening were sung in Latin, but could be wrong. It doesn’t really matter anyway. Conducted by Lionel Sow, the director of Notre-Dame’s youth and children’s choirs, the sound of the small choir of around 20 performers (children and adults), filled the cavernous heart of Notre-Dame with exquisite harmonies and fine, clear singing. It was the sound of those voices that made the performance so special, and transcended the need to know or understand what was being sung.

As you would expect, the acoustics in the Cathedral are perfect for this type of concert, and as far as I could tell, no microphones or amplification of any type was used during the night. In fact, the choir left the ‘stage’ and formed a circle right in the middle of the audience (just one or two metres from where I was sitting) to perform the last song of the evening – and the sound was indeed heavenly.

Concerts of choral works are performed on a regular basis in Notre-Dame Cathedral, so it is well worth checking the Cathedral’s website to see if your visit to Paris coincides with one of these events.

The Last Time I Saw Paris

Image: The Palace of Justice buildings overlooking the River Seine
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The last time I saw Paris, was during the summer of 1975. If I say nineteen seventy-five as quickly as possible, it doesn't seem like 35 years ago – but 35 it was! On several very brief visits to France in the early 1970s, I never spent more than a couple of days in Paris itself, so you can be sure I was looking forward to my current ten night stay in this amazing city.

Already I am overwhelmed by the possibilities. Paris is a photographers dream, as well as their nightmare. There is so much history here; so many amazing buildings, streetscapes, wonderful backdrops, and spectacular locales waiting to be photographed that one great image is immediately supplanted by another one, and many others after that. And that’s before one actually enters any of the dozens of famous museums and galleries or visits historic monuments that present tens of thousands of photographic opportunities. Millions, even.

…Image: Motorbikes and scooters disappearing under a cover of snow
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When I stepped off my flight from Athens on Friday night, the temperature was a freezing minus three degrees. I’d forgotten how cold that is, but Paris didn’t take long to remind me.

On Saturday it snowed for most of the day. That may not mean much to many readers, but it was the first time I had experience the magic of falling snow since my last winter in London in 1976! Yes, it doesn’t take much to keep me happy on a holiday as you might guess, especially since we don’t get much snow where I come from in Australia (in point of fact, we don’t get any). That’s why I was happy to slop through the streets while freezing every step of my first exploratory walk around the neighborhood surrounding the Palace Hotel, which I am calling home during my stay.

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Image: View of apartment blocks taken from the Pompidou Centre
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Its far too early to give you any sort of useable impressions, but one obvious change over the past 35 years has been the huge influx of new immigrants into France. I can’t give you a breakdown of immigrant figures, but there appear to be large numbers of Indians and Pakistanis, and migrants from former French colonies in North Africa. Then there are Lebanese migrants and of course, Asians.

I don’t know how much of that often talked about French arrogance still persists, but I suspect even that has been tempered by the new migrants who have opened businesses across the city.

For example, the small Boulangerie that I have adopted for my morning coffee and cake, turns out to be run by Lebanese (whose owner has cousins in Sydney and Melbourne, and who speak perfect English, and are happy to use it). The young woman at the Asian restaurant I ate dinner at the other night also spoke excellent English, which made me think they were originally Hong Kong Chinese. And so it goes. In the face of all these new migrants that speak at least three languages, and sometimes more, the French must surely have begun to adapt and change their attitudes to foreign nationals, and to how they communicate with them.

So far, my very limited French has got me through every important encounter where I have needed to use it, and I’ve managed to bluff my way through others when my language skills were totally deficient – which is most of the time. It’s all part of the great adventure that is international travel, and I’m looking forward to the challenges and rewards ahead.