No doubt you've read or heard about the riots that took place in Paris last week. The good news is that they only lasted 2 or 3 days and were strictly confined to 1 or 2 neighborhoods, unlike those in 2005 which spread to over 200 communities throughout France. The bad news is that the violence escalated to an unprecedented level, with rioters actually shooting at the police. Various commentators have pointed out that this is what defines a civil war. Although the French can seem to exaggerate the seriousness of some political developments (and underestimate the seriousness of others) this is quite scary. Apparently anyone in France can legally own a shotgun (rifles and handguns are another matter) and the gun shops in Paris were sold out in the course of those 2 days. Further bad news is that, despite the grand promises which were made at the time, not much has been done since 2005 to ameliorate the conditions in the banlieus (suburbs, which in France means the decaying high-rise ghettos ringing most cities) which, in the view of the Left, give rise to riots. (The Right blames it all on drugs and gangs.) Nicolas Sarkozy is President now but was the Interior Minister in 2005 and his remarks at the time are believed by many to have made things much worse than they would have been if he'd just kept quiet. Keeping quiet has not been one of his more conspicuous talents, but he does seem to be learning that it IS possible and even, sometimes, necessary. In many ways he's the antithesis of the typical French high-level functionary. He's the son of immigrants, he was abandoned by his father, was educated in schools considered distinctly inferior to those attended by the elites, has appointed ministers of North African descent to his cabinet and seems just idiosyncratic enough to confound everybody and do something really constructive about what is really a tangled mess. People who have lived in fear of dark-skinned Muslims for decades are now even more afraid of criminal gangs from Eastern Europe - witness the expulsion from Italy of thousands of Romanians after the commission of a brutal murder by one of their compatriots.
Whew! Okay! On a lighter note, we went to the neighboring village of Ventabren on Saturday because (1) we hadn't been there before, and (2) a Marche de Noel (christmas market) was being held in their civic center. En route, we stopped by the Aqueduc de Roquefavour pictured below. It was built in the 1840s and is part of the Canal de Marseilles, which carries water from the Durance north of us to that city. Also, and most significantly, it spans the Arc River which, as you can see, is a beautiful little stream on whose banks we'll probably be spending a lot of time once trout season opens. The village of Ventabren is perched on a big hill and offers magnificent views in all directions. (The time has come for my regular technological disclaimer:
I don't know how many photos will actually be visible to you at the end of this process. I up/downloaded 10, but as I'm typing on this draft screen, which is a whole different thing from the actual posting, I see 6 pictures and 4 little red xes.)
Last time I mentioned the French friend of our neighbors who was so helpful to us while we were making the arrangements for this sojourn (she's the one who likes "the malls"). She's also fascinated with Native American cultures, having studied them in university, and became acquainted with our neighbors through meeting one of their fathers during one of her visits to the Navajo reservation in Arizona, where he was a public health official. Anyway, she (Edit, ay-deet, Edith - these english keyboards don't have accents, more's the pity) and her 3 daughters came over for dinner Saturday night and we had a blast. Lois and I collaborated on an all-american meal of brined, breaded and fried chicken cutlets, cheesy scalloped potatoes, haricots verts - I mean green beans, salad and good ol' fresh baguette. Edit is completely bilingual but the girls (16, 14 and 11) are in various stages of learning English, nevertheless we all muddled through quite successfully, with the aid of the many dictionaries that are scattered around the house. The kids eventually seemed to get bored (imagine that!) with the adult conversation so they watched the beginning of "Princess Bride" on DVD in English with French subtitles and borrowed it to watch the rest.
Yesterday Mike, who's been playing rugby on Friday afternoons (and had the exciting experience of witnessing two of his equitation classmates being thrown from their horses today, one into the electric fence - "It's a good thing it wasn't turned on," he said. "She woulda been fried!") had a play date with one of his school friends. They walked into Aix with the friend's family to see a movie but got to the theatre a little late so decided to see it next week. The movie in question is "Beowulf", which I gather is a recent Hollywood 'treatment' of this oldest classic of english literature. I'm a little worried that my memory is finally going because I've read it a couple of times and can't for the life of me remember the Angelina Jolie character!
Be that as it may, fortunately for the frustrated cinemaphiles there was a christmas carnival in full swing right outside the doors of the theater at the Rotonde, which is the hub from which the main streets radiate, so they were able to meet their minimum movie requirement of truly horrible food - cotton candy (barbe a papa - papa's [or 'pope's?] beard) washed down with soda pop followed by Nutella crepes. (Nutella is a hypersweet viscous chocolate-hazelnut syrup! Like Pepsi, it can take the paint off cars. [Do you think that's true about Coke and Pepsi, or just a folktale? I've believed it for 50 years. Speaking of significant fractions of centuries, there was a great article about Mickey Rooney in yesterday's Times (the London one). He's 87, he's been married to his current wife, Jan, his 8th (that's EIGHTH), for thirty-five (35) years and he and she are currently appearing in a production of Cinderella at the Empire Theatre in Sunderland, England. His favorite foods are Waldorf salad, potato salad, spaghetti, piccalilli (I'm not really sure what that is) and ice cream, but I think the secret of his longevity is revealed in the following admission: "When I'm around the house I wear shorts and argyle socks." Gotta be the argyle. He closes the interview by saying, "When Jan and I finally settle down (he's 87, remember) I'd like to buy a boat." I think I have a new hero!]
Where was I? Oh, yeah. So I drove into Aix to pick Mike up and tried to take some shots of the truly spectacular lights, most of which came out too blurry to show anyone. Those little doll-like figures are Santons, traditional hand-carved (Sure! Made in China, I'll wager!) Provencal Christmas decorations. I guess the goal is to collect them over the years and then buy the houses, barns and other accoutrements that go with them. The ones shown here are unusually big, 8 to 10 inches tall. Most are much smaller, like 3 inches. Hey, look at that one in the middle! It looks like Mickey Rooney!
P.S. My friend and critic penguindevil (see his comment on the last post) points out that I didn't include any pictures of the mall that I was so enamored of (of which I was so enamored. When Winston Churchill was criticized for ending a sentence with a preposition, he replied, "That is the type of arrant pedantry up with which I will not put!" A great man.) last time. I'll try to get over there this week and immortalize it on film - or pixels.
Also, a reader (or at least someone who looks at the pictures) has requested information on Jacques (3 minutes, shower included) Chirac, the former president who is being interrogated about his role in some big-time financial hanqui-panqui which occurred during either his mayoralty of Paris or his presidency, or both. I'll try to get au courant with developments, but at this point I can only tell you that he's the saddest looking man I've ever seen. With bags under his eyes that are even bigger than mine! And that's saying quelque chose.
Here's looking at you, kids!
Tom
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