Nuit Blanche

I have to admit, I don’t always get it, at least not right off the bat. I’ve commented on many French celebrations before. They celebrate bread, milk, cheese, wine, firemen, soldiers; you name it. But a two day “white night” celebration? Actually, my French tutor, Jean-Pierre, posted on his facebook, “nuit blanche” means more than white night. Apparently, it means endless night (as in sleepless) or, for those of us who can remember that far back, an all-nighter.

Advertised as a two day [or more correctly] two night celebration, each arrondissement will feature one or more sound and light shows beginning at dusk and running until dawn. After dinner with some friends from London whom we hadn’t seen in almost 33 years(!) and a “digestif” at Café de Flore on Blvd St-Germain, we said our farewells, swearing not to wait as long for the next get-together. Since it was a beautiful night and we still had a bit of a spring in our step (fueled by les digestifs?), we skipped over to Notre Dame. It was packed. There were more people in the front courtyard than at Michael Jackson’s funeral, Christmas Eve, or even the 14th of July. But there was no sound and light show that we could immediately see...it was already after midnight, so maybe we were a day late and a dollar short?

So we decided to walk to le Pont Saint Louis, our favorite bridge connecting l’Île de la Cité and l’ÎIe St. Louis . This involved trying to walk through a line 6 people thick by 1000 people long of folks trying to get into Notre Dame. After much jostling, we made it through the crowd and out the back side of Notre Dame to the bridge.

And there it was. On both sides of the pont, a huge open-frame metal and plastic construction of large boxes, one on top of the other, with flashing lights and electronic music glaring and blasting away. Like a monster erector set, box upon box after box lined both sides of the bridge forcing us all to walk through the light and sound. I could have stayed there all night. The music fit the light show and the light show was captivating. But the Hôtel de Ville also had a Nuit Blanche show so we slowly squeezed our way off the bridge and down the main street of Île St. Louis.

We passed the school on rue St. Louis en l’Île but the line to see the sound & light show was ever larger than the line at Notre Dame. So we crossed the Île St. Louis and popped out on the other side of the Seine and into the Marais, a few blocks east of the Hôtel de Ville. There was a large crowd of people in the courtyard of the Cité art school. We thought it was part of the “In-Crowd” taking part in a Fashion Week soirée [which was running concurrently with Nuit Blanche]. But it wasn’t. It was a theatrical performance by dance students performing to staccato music, what looked like to me, a human traffic jam, complete with crashes…we got a bit caught up in the mêlée and then exited stage left, stopping here and there to take shots of some of our favorite spots on the way. There was a large, friendly crowd at Chez Julien and their outside café, in the shadow of the beautifully-lit Église Saint-Gervais Saint-Protais, was teeming with people.

Now the Hôtel de Ville was completely different. Yes there were large crowds but no sound. And the light show consisted of colored neon lights spelling out the phrase “Celebrate the Differences” in two dozen or so languages. But it was fun to people-watch. All ages. All nationalities. And we both sat down and got 15-minute shoulder and back massages while we watched the light show….very relaxing.

Deciding that our Nuit Blanche night was over, we pushed back across the Notre Dame Concourse. There were still lots of people but the lines going inside were moving fast, so we followed the throng, And what a spectacle there was inside!

There were more people inside Notre Dame than I had ever seen before except maybe for Christmas mass. There was no sound except for a few melodic, tinkling piano notes being played over the loudspeaker system. And during the silent bits, even with all these people milling about, you could have heard a pin drop. And why so quiet, you might ask? There at the far end of the cathedral were these three eerie spotlights shining up at the ceiling.

The light was not the normal, incandescent, yellow glow that typically illuminates Notre Dame. These were a blue-white light that shone above and out from the large crucifix at the back wall. The lights would slowly dim and build up to a bright white. The spotlights created an ethereal, dare I say, heavenly aura to the whole church. The Rose Window was lit up from the Inside by the same blue lights – its stained glass was so stark and brilliant, in a way I’d never seen before. Katherine overheard someone whisper – is this supposed to be heaven?...

I had to sit down and take it all in. The piano notes, plinking one at a time; the lights going up and down in intensity. The crowds, silently marching around the pulpit

or stopping to sit in the pews all around me. I could have stayed there all night. And when I finally stood up to go home, I had to admit it, I GOT IT…Nuit Blanche…a beautiful, brilliant night in the City of Light.

Canal St-Martin

Yes, it’s been a while since my last blog.  I’ve been “facebooking” but that’s not a good substitute, I know.  And it’s not that there aren’t any sights and sounds that strike me funny peculiar, interesting or unique any more.  They’re all over the place.  It’s just that I can’t believe our two-year Paris adventure is almost over, since we go back stateside at the end of October.  I am in a panic; so much left to do and so little time.

We have a box of Paris city walks; 50 adventures on foot.  The walks themselves aren’t strenuous; one or two hours.  And the cards explain what sights to look for; the history behind the sights; explanations for the streets and their placement; where to stop for a drink or sandwich; and little tidbits that makes the walks more interesting.

Rather than start at the beginning of the Canal St-Martin walk from the Seine, we decide to do it “backwards,” so we took the Metro to the end-point of the Canal St-Martin walk.  We get off the Metro at Jaurès.  We get lucky.  As we pop up out of the station there is a very large peniche (barge) manoeuvering downstream towards the Seine.  It’s sitting in the lock right by the Metro station.  It’s one thing to look at the locks, it’s another thing to see them in operation.  The first thing you notice is the peniche itself – it’s huge.  On the Seine, along with all the other river traffic, the peniche is just another vessel amongst the many that ply their way up and down the Seine all day long.  But staring down at the lock, you realize just how huge some of these peniches are.  This one is empty but its cargo was sand.  A single peniche like this can transport 250 dump truck loads of sand with one pilot and one engineer.  Definitely the greener solution!

The peniche’s pilot [maybe I am doing him a disservice and should call him “captain”] does all the mooring himself.  He ties the boat onto the lead bollard just before the forward lock gates.  He actually does a double tie-in so that he can push or pull this huge peniche back and forth so as to allow the gates to open in front of him. That is, of course, after the water level has adjusted. It’s amazing to watch how he can move the peniche a few inches hither and thither by pulling on the massive ropes – the engines are turned off at this point since he can’t afford to use them in such a confined space.

Once the water level has adjusted, it’s smooth sailing until the next lock.  Our goal was to follow the peniche down the canal where it meets up with the Seine.   The first two or three locks made that task easy - they were ver

y close together.  The next lock was really down the road or canal, depending on your perspective.  And for a large peniche, it really boogied.  Our expectation of keeping up with it was dashed…until we caught up with it at the fourth lock…

Now there are two major engineering feats you realize as you watch a peniche sail down towards the Seine.  The first feat you realize is the length of these large peniches and the locks themsleves – they are identical.  The largest peniche fits precisely in the lock.  All the more reason to see why the pilot double-ties the barge on the bollard so he can push or pull the barge to allow the lock gates to open without hitting his hull (or smashing the lock gates).

The second thing you realize is the complexity of the lock system.  We are all familiar with “gate” locks.  You see them on the Erie Canal and on the C&O canal in Georgetown & Maryland.  Boat comes in, gates close, water level either raises or lowers; next lock gates open and voilà - boat or barge glides through.  On the Canal St-Martin, there are several different types of locks.  I’m not sure what came first. The canal or the roads that cross over the canal.  Either way, they developed several ingenious ways to accommodate the locks.  It essentially looks as though some very bright engineers (maybe Monsieur Eiffel?) sliced through the roads and turned them into moving locks.    Yes, the entire road is a bridge, which acts as the lock, which ingeniously rotates in the canal, which opens the gate and lets the peniche move on.  Luckily for us we were able to catch up with our big peniche at one of these rotating road locks - you can’t stop road traffic any old time a peniche comes through so the barge had to wait. (In another ingenious move, one of these “road” locks further up the Canal St-Martin, the entire road is hoisted about 15 metres in the air to allow the peniches and other craft to pass underneath!)

There were several of these “road-locks” but even with them slowing down the peniche, we couldn’t keep up.  Eventually the peniche beat us to the Seine.  But once we got to the second-to-last lock…incroyable!  We walked along the canal right beneath La Bastille beside some pretty huge yachts and many “permanent” house peniches  This part of the canal is “private” (and yes, you can rent these peniches) but public access is allowed during daylight hours, so we dove down a long flight of steps to the fancy towpath.  Beautiful.  And we were surprised at how quiet it was, despite the busy traffic approaching La Bastille above.    All boats fully connected to the utilities.  And just in case you need extra facilities, there are toilets and showers just a few steps off your peniche ….maybe next year for us?

But as we got closer to the Seine, we had to walk around a few diversions.  The first was a pedestrian bridge.  It actually was the lock.  It had a green and red flashing lights on it to alert walkers when the lock was going to open.  Nice touch.  I guess there are some completely unaware people walking over the bridge who can’t see the humongous peniche approaching the lock, eager to push out into the wide sweep of the Seine…oh well, it seems to work.

But we crossed back over the bridge since it was leading us westwards along the Seine. We slithered along a tight pass under a bridge, ignoring the “do not enter” sign, and voilà, there we were on the banks of the Seine, ready to head east on the Rive Droite.  In the distance was Notre Dame Cathedral; a few hundred yards from our flat.  It was a great walk.  Tired, thirsty, and hungry, it was time to wind our way through the “familiar” parts of our neighborhood, taking a quick backward glance at the mouth of the Canal St-Martin, wondering how many peniches have bobbed in or out of that lock since the canal was built in 1825.

Footnote:  A few days after the Canal St-Martin walk, we signed up for a week-long barge tour on the Canal de Bourgogne on the “Fandango.”

 Check out: http://canalsoffrance.com/cruisesfandango.html.  We will be gliding through the canals of Burgundy in September, and yes, we expect there will be a lot of “blog” fodder collected on that trip!  

Fête de la Musique

What can I say?  The French will celebrate anything.  They celebrate everything and anything.  The end of World War I.  The end of World War II.  The signing of a strategic alliance between Britain and France before World War I.  A celebration of wine.  A Fête du Pain.  A Fête du fromage.  A holiday celebrating sheep, cows, pigs, gâteaux, and even la grève [i.e. the right to go on strike although this fête is poorly attended.......       ]

Okay, maybe I am exaggerating but today and all of tonight, was the Fête de la Musique.  The French may also be celebrating the summer solstice, but June 21st is the celebration of music.  I was here last year for the fête but everything was so new that I didn't really grasp the magnitude of this celebration.  Last year I walked around to one or two places and gazed, like a deer in the headlights, not knowing what to expect or experience.  This year I was prepared.  But first a quick note.

France has a population of 64 million.  Paris has a population of 2.2 million and the greater metro area has a population of 11.4 million.  This year, competing with the fête, was the World Cup with 3 games being played today.  Maybe not quite the Superbowl [yet] but at least the playoffs.  You would think that would keep some people away.  But no.  Apparently, 82 percent of Parisians were out in the streets.  And from my walking around, they were all  in my neighborhood.

For perspective, and for those of you who have visited us, normally it takes 3 seconds to reach Blvd St Germain from our apartment - today it took about 3 minutes to work our way through the crowd just to reach the Blvd!!  We could hear a drummer across Blvd St Germain by the Cluny - he was drumming his heart out.  No, this wasn't just some head-banger beating the tom-toms.  This guy was good....no, great.  To date myself, think Ginger Baker or Keith Moon great.

After a few minutes of listening to the drummer, we ploughed our way back over  St Germain and worked our way down our crowded street, the music was hypnotic.  There was a band or artist nearly every 15 meters or so.  I must point out that it is illegal to play loud music on public streets but this is the one day that it isn't.  Everybody turns out to play, sing, dance, or just watch and listen.

Slowly, we made it to the bottom of our street, across Blvd St Michel, and towards Place St Michel.  It was a madhouse.  A sea of humanity and at least 10 different bands, dancers, drummers, and singers, all competing for your attention.  We crawled down rue St André des Arts, stopping at a steel guitarist playing Dylan and bluesy Sonny Terry & Brownie McGhee, a heavy metal band playing god knows what, and an accordian player accompanied by a singer before making it to our favorite band who now call themselves "Walking the Dog".

 

They play in front of La Dernière Goutte, one of our favorite wine shops in the 6ième..  Juan, the wine shop owner and who is unfortunately blocked from view by the lead singer, is the drummer.  Advertised to appear are four bands but, as we learned last year, "Walking the Dog" is their fourth incantation so it's just one band with four names.....but that's okay because they are very good.  After listening to a set, we continued to walk around the 6ième.  We probably listened to about five or six more bands [and I use the term loosely].  One colorful troupe consisted of sisters done up as clowns - les Soeurs Jacquines - not my verre du vin but they had great voices and were singing some wonderful old French standards, handing out the lyrics, and asking everyone to join in....which most of the folks did.....my excuse was that I haven't had time to learn to sing in French, I am still trying to learn to speak it....that, and the fact that I sound like a cat getting run over by a steamroller.

Anyway, on our way back home, we stopped off at one of our favorite restaurants, Fish La Boissonnerie to wet the whistle.  After downing a glass of  wine, we were ready to crawl back through the crowds to our flat.  The weather was perfect.  The crowds were friendly. The artists were encouraging but one glass of wine is not enough encouragement for me to sing.  However, on a final note, if you are planning to visit Paris, the 21st of June and the Fête de la Musique is not to be missed.

The World Cup & La Crise Économique

I just have to blog this rant. No pictures, just words.

We just got back from native Parisian Olivier Giraud’s one-man comedy show “How to Become a Parisian in One Hour.” The show is mostly in English, peppered with Olivier’s favorite French expressions (no, I cannot repeat them here!). There were more Parisians in the audience than English-speaking folks. That’s ironic. Parisians going to an English-speaking show to learn how to become Parisian (ou peut-être plus parisien?).  Olivier’s first lesson on how to become a Parisian is to be arrogant because “we are!” And as I’ve blogged before, the French are arrogant. Not “in-your face” arrogant. Sophisticated arrogance. So sophisticated, in fact, that they aren’t even aware of it. It’s a national characteristic. Pas de problème. And so is their irony.

As you know, the French are a world power in football [soccer to us Yanks]. They were actually 8-1 odds on to win the World Cup. Well, they drew with Uruguay [0-0]; lost to Mexico [0-2]; and then went on strike! En grève! Yup, these super-rich, spoiled, superstar elite athletes went en grève. They refused to train, to practice, or to listen to their coach. They even foul-mouthed their coach in the press and the media.

Of course, the French were livid. How could their national team disgrace themselves and the nation by going on strike? The final straw was losing to South Africa [1-2]. South Africa, a team whose only qualification for getting into the final 32 teams of the World Cup was that they were the host nation. In response, the team was sent back to France in steerage. Even Sarkozy demanded that he personally debrief Thierry Henry. The “en grève” French team had to explain itself to the President of France. I would like to have been a fly on the wall of the Palais de l'Elysée that day!

Now, for those of us not living in Europe, the Eurozone is in the crapper. Two year ago, when the US starting bailing out companies and loaning out money via TARP, Europeans were dismissive; we were overreacting. Today, the bankers and financiers are looking longingly across the pond and kicking themselves for not following the US lead.

Sure, we have an $8 trillion national debt but France, Germany, and the UK each have $1+ trillion debt. So now they are tightening their belts, making important budget cuts, and trying to reign in their social security systems. Just like Greece had to raise the retirement age from 55 to 60, the UK is raising the age to 67, Germany to 65, and the French, to the whopping old age of 62.

Needless to say, the French are going ballistic or at least 50 percent of them are. Last Thursday, nearly 50 percent of the country was en grève. Fifty percent! Subways, buses, regional trains, TGV, car factories, manufacturers, airports, pilots, farmers, students, teachers, everyone is on strike. The next morning on the news, François Fillon (France’s Prime Minister), repeated one more time that malheuresement, France can no longer continue to subsidize retirement ages of 60 years with full benefits and pay…

Ok, so here’s the irony. The Eurozone governments are all making the tough decisions to balance their budgets. And their people, for the most part, understand and are going along with the necessary cuts. So while the French national football team has disgraced the nation by going on strike, the French people find no problem in taking it to the streets. Power to the people. We deserve our full retirement at 60 with full benefits. Forget the fact that we only work 35 hours a week. Or that our schooling and medical care is provided for. Or that we get 6 weeks vacation a year plus holidays. And all civil service employees get paid 13 months salary for what I recall, even in France, is still a 12-month year. Spoiled? Pampered? Nope, en grève. Ironic, n’est-ce pas?

Fête du Pain

The French love their bread.  I love their bread....almost as much as I love their wine [which explains a lot about my expanding waistline].  On top of that, the French love festivals - they celebrate everything here - they have festivals to celebrate their love of festivals!  To the point, there must be a few thousand individual boulangeries and patisseries scattered throughout Paris.  There's an annual baguette bake-off where hundreds of artisinal bakers from all over France come to compete for the "Best Baguette in France" title.  So on an evening walk through the Notre Dame Cathedral courtyard, we came upon the "Fête du Pain" festival.

It was closed but due to open at 9AM the following morning.  As we walked around the courtyard, we could see all sorts of interesting, albeit, closed stalls, exhibits, and one very large tented hall.  Interesting enough to cause us to wake up early the next day and walk down for a real visit......and we weren't disappointed.

As noted, the stalls and exhibits were about all things bread AND what you may want to put on or in bread....think saucisson, beurre, and fromage.  And just in case you need to wash down this bread there were a few coffee and tea salons as well as the ubiquitous "magasin du vin."

But the really interesting thing was the huge hall.  Although we couldn't see everything inside the hall last night, what we saw was very interesting.  Outside the hall were huge electric distribution panels because inside the hall were dozens of massive commercial ovens.  During our nighttime walk, it didn't look like much.  But in the daytime, with the hall open, we were presented with an incredible sight.

Dozens of bakers were mixing flour, kneading dough, rolling all sorts of rolls, breads, buns, cookies and cakes.  And they were doiing it on a commercial scale.  In this one section, there were 4 or 5 bakers making baguettes.  Two dozen baguettes on a single tray were being made.  One baker would roll out the baguette and place it onto this canvas roll that wrapped around, what looked to me to be a bread gurney!  Except that the bread gurney didn't rise up and down like a gurney for people.  As he made each baguette roll, another bakery would take a simple razor blade that was attached to a straw, and put a slit down each baguette roll of dough.  When all 20 loaves were slit, the gurney was moved in front of the oven.

Now this huge oven contained over 20 bread trays, 10 trays on each side, all baking away.  The gurney was raised to the level of an empty tray slot, the oven opened, and the entire top of the gurney rammed into the oven.  Then the crank was turned and the gurney came out of the oven, sans the bread tray.....20 new loaves of bread a-baking.

Then the empty gurney was placed in front of a fully baked bread tray and rammed into the oven.  A repeat of the cranking and out came 20 fully baked baguettes.  And then these bakers would pick up 4 or 5 loaves at a time, right out of the oven, and bare-handedly carry these steaming hot loaves into a bread basket.  I guess one requirement for being a baker is not to be able to feel pain...or at least heat.

Of course, eating the fruits of their labor is the point but when bread is not enough, buy a sandwich.....

Another Mystery - Padlocks of Love

After solving the mystery of those rolls of carpet that are found on every street in Paris in our last blog, I mentioned those padlocks found on the guard rails of the walking bridges that cross the Seine. I guess I didn’t really notice them last year. I guess I was too agog looking at the Louvre, the Seine and the gorgeous Institut de France as I was walking back and forth on the Pont des Arts.  I mean, really, who would notice these padlocks of various sizes attached to the fences on either side of the bridge when you are staring at the Louvre? But having taken a 3 month break from Paris to get warm in Delray Beach, quelle difference?

I guess last year, I sort of noticed the locks; at least enough to ask Katherine what she thought of them. And as the year progressed, you don’t really notice two or three locks growing into 6 or 7 locks, then multiplying to 20 or 30 locks. You get the picture. Walking frequently over the Pont des Arts, the small, gradual increase in the number of locks goes unnoticed. It’s like looking in the mirror every day and then one day you become aware that your hair is way too long and you need a haircut. 

Well the first time this spring we walked over the Pont des Arts, it was like a lock plague had occurred.  Hundreds, no thousands, of locks were attached to the fences. This time I had to find out what these locks were all about.  Last year I thought that maybe the locks were remnants of bike thefts. You see these remnants all over Paris.  People park their bikes and lock them up next to a fence or lamp pole. Sometimes all you see is a broken wheel attached to the pole; the rest of the bike is gone. Sometimes you see a smashed bike. Sometimes only a bike lock. But on closer inspection, these padlocks are different.

Some of these padlocks are so small they can barely close around the chain link. And upon a really close look, there is writing on the locks. And then the mystery is solved. They are padlocks of love!  Names, initials, dates, and hearts are scraped in the metal lock surfaces. Undying love, forever declared, permanently on display for all to see.

So when Ross and his girlfriend, Diana, came to stay with us for a few days, we took them to the Louvre. We walked over the Pont des Arts and showed them the locks. Shock of shocks, the French lock police had swooped in and removed all the locks…..or at least most of them…..or more locks had been added since the lock purge just a few days before (the padlock purge made all the news, both the telly and the papers).... In any case, Ross and Diana continued on to explore the Louvre and we went shopping at le marché Maubert, our local market. 

On rue Monge, after Katherine had had her fix of "pain sucré" from the famed boulangerie "Eric Kayser," we spied a store selling several kinds of padlocks. We bought one for Ross and Diana.  That night, they worked on “engraving” their padlock of love (or "cadenas d'amour") and the next morning they placed it on the Pont des Arts.  Diana gave us strict instructions on where to locate it - "face the Louvre, then look for it on the left in the middle of the crossbar, after the second "poubelle" (garbage can)."  Sure enough, a few days after they left, we strolled over to the Pont des Arts and, voilà, there was their cadenas d'amour.  Katherine frequently walks across the Pont des Arts on her way to the shops on the rue Rivoli on the Right Bank so she's been checking on it (more regularly than I would like, I must say...) Soon enough,  the "cadenas d'amour" police will surely come along in the dark of night and snip it off along with the other accumulating hordes.   Until then we'll keep our eye on it until we leave Paris in October.  And who knows, maybe Katherine and I will lock our love on the bridge…

A Mystery of Paris

I love Paris. I really do, even if I am not fluent in French. I love what I see and understand.  I love the differences. And I love what I don’t understand; things that make you look twice and you’re still not sure what you’re looking at or why something is what it is.  For example………

Ever since last year I have been puzzled by two things. First there were these rolls of carpet that seemed haphazardly placed in the gutters all over the streets of Paris. Then, there were all kinds of padlocks that appeared on the Pont des Arts, the walking bridge between the Louvre and the French National Academy.

Now these rolls of carpet, about 1 ½ feet long and 4 to 6 inches thick and tied with a piece or two of string, just lie about in the gutters.  Which is hard to understand because the "maires de Paris", the mayors all 20 of Paris' arrondissments have the Green Machine (cleaning crews) out every day cleaning the streets. And these cleaning crews don’t mess around. They descend on streets in teams of 4 to 8 [maybe even more]. You can’t help but notice them; all dressed in their bright green uniforms. Everything about them is green. Their clothes, trucks, cars, street-cleaners, hoses, even their plastic garbage bags that they place on the garbage can hoops that are located all over Paris.

These guys come driving down a street; their water truck alongside the men with their hoses, power washing down the sidewalks. All the debris is directed into the street. Then they turn on the street water to flush the debris down the drains. Whatever doesn’t float or move into and down the drains, gets swept into the middle of street so that the street-cleaning truck can pick it up. But nothing or nobody removes the rolls of carpet?!?! They are like the Terminators of debris. Mini-monuments to street debris like plastic bags and cigarette butts that will never degrade.

But like a French foreign legionnaire looking for an oasis in the desert, I kept looking for an answer to these rolls of carpet.  I mean, they are just plain ugly and left in the gutters to unravel when, lo and behold, someone tosses out the old one and replaces it with a new fragment of carpet carefully tied with string!  The mystery is not too hard to unravel once you walk around when the gutters of Paris are being flushed.   You see, Paris has two water systems - the one that supplies fresh water to homes, businesses, etc and the other that flushes the gutters all around Paris.  Anyone who's been to Paris can't fail to notice this marvellous Parisian street water system.  The Green Machine turn them on to flush the debris down and into the sewers. You can’t walk through Paris without seeing at least one street with a gush of rushing water flowing down one or more streets and into a sewer. So you write it off as street cleaning; which it is. But then there are these rolls of carpet……

One fine morning just a few weeks ago, I woke up around 6 AM. A great time to get a jump start on the day. Do some grocery shopping or watch the marchés and the merchants set up their stalls. So on my walk around the neighborhood, there they were, the Green Machine out in full force, right in front of my apartment in the "Quarter Latin."  What a perfect time to ask about those carpet rolls. 

I must have spoken correctly, because without a word, one of the Green Machine "mecs" walked me down the street to the nearest carpet roll. Still silent, he kicked the carpet roll to one side of the water coming out from the street hydrant, looked up at me, and smiled. Then, he kicked the carpet roll to the other side of the street hydrant and exclaimed, “voilà.”  And the penny dropped. These carpet rolls are not the terminators of debris, they are water diverters placed strategically to shunt the water to either side of the spout from which the water is gushing (and the water can be quite torrential at times!).   Mystery solved….it is so endearing to think that although the French have invented and implemented the most ingenious of street cleaning systems, they have nevertheless come to rely on little pieces of rolled-up carpet tied with string to make the sytem work more efficiently!   You have to love it!   The only question that remains is who actually makes up these carpet rolls and puts them in place - is it the Green Machine or is it the proprietors of the shops and businesses?  I have a mental image of members of the Green Machine sitting around smoking (probably in some place where smoking is strictly "interdit,") chatting away and tying up these little carpet rolls!  Where do these little uniformly-sized pieces of carpet come from? Perhaps one of our French "amis" can enlighten me?   And what about those padlocks on the Pont des Arts???.....aaaah, more to follow.