Vimy Ridge and a Park in Paris
I am lucky and grateful to say that I work in Paris. I have always dreamed of living in France, ever since the holidays of my youth: French Alps for skiing in winter, French Alps for camping in the summer.
I’ve never felt that much of a pull for the capital. Driving down to the Alps would take me along the Eastern flank of the country. We’d start in Calais, and pass cities like Arras, Reims, and Dijon. I’ve come to recognise the motorways, always somehow empty, regardless of the season or time of day. They’re only two-lane Autoroutes and still, there’s hardly any traffic.
From Calais to Reims, the landscape is rolling and eerie. In the distance, you can see slag heaps from coal mines. Every now and then, as you near Arras, you pass signs for solemn WW1 monuments. My favourite is the memorial to the fallen Canadian soldiers at Vimy Ridge, just before Arras on the A26. It’s on your left-hand side if you’re driving south. It’s a huge marble monument and from the motorway, you can see its main structure, steps leading up to two tall marble pylons. They stand projected at the end of a clearing between the trees and symbolise France and Canada, both united in their desire for peace and freedom. What you can’t see from the motorway is the statue of a woman looking east on the other side. This is the centre-piece of the monument and it’s called “Canada Bereft”. She stands looking towards the new day, mourning the thousands of young Canadian men lost during WW1. It’s quite an iconic statue. There’s even a photo of Hitler being toured around the site after the British and French lost The Battle of Arras in 1940.
You know you’re approaching the Champagne Region when you pass the town of Laon. It’s a hilltop city and its cathedral stands right at the summit. Proust compared the sight of the cathedral to Noah’s Ark atop Mount Ararat. You can also catch a glimpse of Reims Cathedral half an hour later. Every time we’d drive past Reims, I’d raise myself out of my seat, stretching to try and glimpse its proud face. Little did I know then that I would have the good fortune to spend a year in the city, living a two-minute walk from Notre Dame de Reims.
Later on in the drive towards the Alps, you pass signs for famous wine towns in Burgundy such as Nuits Saint George. There are also strange pieces of art dotted at the side of the road. There’s a whole movement in France called art d’autoroute which tries to engage drivers with sculptures placed on the grass verges. Between Dijon and Lyon, there’s a whole section of brightly coloured elves jumping over mushrooms.
All of this to say that Paris never inspired me as much as the Eastern flank of France. I could readily imagine myself living in the countryside, having a traditional French house in a small village. There would be walks through the hills that I’d get to love and I could sit out in a café early on a Sunday morning and read.
But here I am in Paris, and I do love it. It’s a small city when you think about it. You can walk North to South in 3 hours, and if you time it right, it can feel like you have the city to yourself: most people either cycle or take the metro.
My office is very central. It’s in the coolest part of the capital, Le Marais, which sits right by The Seine. There are vegan boulangeries, beautiful bars, and colourfully-decked greengrocers run by chaps from Tunisia.
In the mornings, I like to get to the office early, occasionally 2 hours early, so I can do some reading and writing before the workday begins. At this time of the year, it gets light at 8 AM, with the sun officially rising at 8:45. Around then, I go for a walk, to try and get some morning light in my eyes. Apparently, this is good for you. I certainly feel energised whenever I do it. It’s a strange sensation because it feels like a long calming caress down my spine. I feel more supported like I can stand straighter. It’s like I’ve had a long drink from some ethereal draught and the warmth of it holds firm along my torso.
I have a spot where I know the sun will appear. It’s on Île Saint-Louis, one of the two natural islands on The Seine. The other is Île de la Cité and is perhaps more notable for having Notre Dame plonked on top of it. But the former is nearer to my work and a lot calmer.
There’s a small triangular park on its eastern end, and it’s always empty when I head over there in the morning. If you walk past the benches and trees, there’s a lookout point east onto the Seine. It’s the spot where the river briefly splits to make its way around the two islands. Below where you stand, there’s a little lamppost on a concrete ledge and you can watch the water divide around it. It’s marvellous to watch the flow of water, a cocktail of The Seine and The Marne, on its journey towards the ocean at Honfleur.
The view eastward takes in a less orthodox view of the capital. It’s more industrial with glass tower blocks in the distance rising over a cast iron railway bridge. If you look closely you can see a slice of the 5th arrondissement, perhaps the plain trees of Le Jardin des Plantes. But you also notice two great railway stations: Gare de Lyon, and Gare d’Austerlitz.
I see the sun emerging from the side of Gare de Lyon. It comes out sideways as if squeezing itself free from an over-enthusiastic hug. I stand there for a while, read, and let the orange rays enter my eyes indirectly. Then I walk back to work.
