Month: June 2018

Joan Baez in Paris

Joan Baez.  Just saying her name conjures up civil rights, protest marches, Bob Dylan, folk songs, social justice, Vietnam and on and on.  Joan Baez is a National Treasure.  I should say International Treasure.  The Parisians adore her.

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I was waiting for the metro one day last October and saw a huge poster advertising 10 days of Joan Baez concerts in June 2018.  The poster said it was her Fare Well Tour. I called my friend Barbara to see if she wanted to go with me.  Yes, indeed, she did.  So I bought tickets, made her put them in a safe place (I was afraid I’d forget where my safe place was) and last Sunday, we went to the Olympia in the 9th arrondissement to see and hear her.

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I was fifteen years old when I went to my first Joan Baez concert.  My family had just returned from a year living in Geneva, Switzerland. Some new friends took me to an outdoor stadium in the suburbs of Philadelphia.  She mostly sang folk songs then and played only an acoustic guitar. I had two of her records and knew every song.  Halfway through the concert, she introduced us to a friend of hers she thought we all should know:  Bob Dylan.  That was the summer of 1963.

I bought a guitar and tried to learn without taking lessons.  I grew my hair long so I’d look like a real folk singer.  I had a good voice so my parents let me play a song at family gatherings even if I only knew three chords on the guitar.

Over the years, she came in and out of my life.  When the album Diamonds and Rust came out, a relationship had just ended.  I played that album over and over and over.  I still can’t hear Diamonds and Rust without picturing myself in that small apartment in Berkeley, Calif crying my heart out for a boy I deeply loved.

She got herself arrested at an anti Vietnam march and met David Harris, Peace Activist, who she married and had her son, Gabriel, with.  “I went to jail for 11 days for disturbing the peace; I was trying to disturb the war.” Joan Baez, 1967 (Pop Chronicles interview.)  Her passion inspired so many of us.  I probably went to two more concerts over the five years following.

Last Spring, I went on YouTube and watched a concert she had given herself for her 75th birthday (She is 77 years old now).  So she was in the foreground of my mind when I saw that poster.  I kept telling people that Joan Baez was my first ever concert and now here it was  55 years later and she could well be my last concert.  It is amazing to think that for 60 years, Joan Baez has been a beacon of social justice in the world and she has done it a lot through music.  I don’t think she has ever slowed down.

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The Olympia is a lovely venue in the 9th.  It reminded me of the Paramount Theatre in Oakland, Ca but not as pretty.  There is probably not a bad seat in the whole place. I had gotten seats in the 2nd section of the Orchestra and we had tons of leg room.  After opening with Dylan’s Don’t Think Twice, It’s Alright, she played three or four songs I didn’t recognise.  Then she sang “It’s all over now, Baby Blue.” Out of nowhere I got tears in my eyes and I couldn’t stop them for the rest of the concert.  Every song from then on was an “oldie but goodie”.  Some her’s, some Dylan’s, one Woody Guthrie and one Pete Seeger.  I couldn’t tell you what I was crying about.  Maybe the rush of memories when I had such a passion for social justice (I still do but can’t often show up and do the footwork), for marching in protest of Vietnam and segregation. And maybe  a few tears because we had so much hope and nothing has changed, possibly it’s worse.

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She sang two songs solo then brought out the rest of her “band”. Her son, Gabriel, a percussionist, and Dirk Powell playing so many different instruments, I stopped counting. Grace Stumberg, who has a strong country-like voice joined her for three songs and at the end for the encores.

Did I mention how much the Parisians love her!!  I could see why.  She spoke French as much as she could.  With each song, she told the audience, in French, what it was about.  They clapped at everything and, in the end, gave her a standing ovation making her come back out four times.  All ten shows sold out and five more were added in February 2019 (this FareWell Tour could well last a very long time.  No one wants to see her go).  I tried to buy tickets when I got home and all five dates were sold out.  I don’t think there is another city that had nearly this many performances.

I bought a good poster inside the Olympia then a cheapie outside on the street.  They are now hanging on the inside of the bathroom door.

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And for those of you who didn’t get to hear her but would love to, the Olympia has made it available to everyone. Enjoy and cry your own tears!!!

https://www.arte.tv/en/videos/083355-000-A/joan-baez-at-the-olympia-in-paris/

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Joan Baez and Bob Dylan at the March on Washington, 1963

A bientôt,

Sara

 

 

Giverny

Is there anyone who hasn’t heard of the town of Giverny, 45 minutes west of Paris by train?  Claude Monet, the only Impressionist painter who actually got rich in his lifetime, lived and painted in Giverny for most of his adult life, 1883 until his death in 1926.  The gardens that he created are the most visited gardens in the world. It is estimated that 28,500 tourists visit his home and the famous water-lily pond every week during the seven month season that the gardens are open to the public.

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I am lucky enough to be here for a week with the artist, photographer,writer and teacher Elizabeth Murray.  Lizzie lives in the Bay Area.  During the 1980’s, she visited the gardens, fell in love with them and furiously advocated to become a volunteer gardener.  She was not only successful at that, by the time she left, she had nine gardeners working under her. After 30 years, she feels that she can now lead creative workshops here and give the gardens and the surrounding area the respect that this amazing place commands.  She is able to talk and teach and transfer the love of every living thing here to her students.

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The wheat fields, full of poppies, in the hills above Giverny

What is extraordinary is that she has maintained her relationship with the Gardeners and the mutual respect allows us, her students, to enter the gardens at 7am each morning and stay until the Gardens open to the public.  We then leave, go back to La Reserve, where we are staying, and have classes, work on art or writing or go for a visit to a nearby town.  At 6pm, we again have access to the gardens and can stay until 8pm.  This, of course, means that the thirteen people that make up our group are alone in the gardens with only the gardeners.  This is more than a private time, it is a sacred time.  The birds chirp happily away once all the tourists are gone but other than that, it is the quiet of nature.  You can hear the flowers welcoming the morning or saying good night to each other.  Many of them fold their petals back into themselves as they ready for a night’s sleep.

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I am not a watercolorist or oil or pastel painter.  When I was young, I thought it would be so romantic to live in a Paris garret and paint.  I would have starved quickly as I don’t have the requisite skills!  But I did want to capture beauty that moved me and I turned to photography.  It was always a hobby.  I loved it and, today, am loving the ease and quality of the iPhone camera.  All these photos were taken with my iPhone 8.

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Rose trellis at the back of the first gardens
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Looking through the arbors of the Grande Allee to Monet’s home.
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The water-lily pond

Because we were present in the gardens in the early morning and again at the end of the day, we were able to appreciate the change of light, the very thing that Monet sought to understand  and to paint.

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My roommate painting with watercolors.               Early morning.
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These two boats were once use to maintain the water-lily pond.  Now they sit and have become an iconic picture of the pond.

I had originally thought that I would use the inspiration of sitting in the gardens and drinking in the beauty to write.  Lizzie told us that to paint would force us to really look, to really see what was in front of us.  We had to bring the commitment to be present.  And though, I didn’t do anything extraordinary, I sat.  I looked.  The time would fly by.  Over the five days and ten times that we were in the gardens, my hand got better at expressing what my eyes saw.

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The famous Japanese inspired bridge.  On the other side, the pond opens up into hundreds of water lilies plants.  They only open up their little heads when the sun is out. (Early morning)
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One of our group who works only in pastels shows us an afternoon’s work.

Not many people, even those that live here in France get the opportunity to live for one week in Giverny.  And much less to visit the gardens twice a day when there are no tourists present.  It is an experience that I will savour for a lifetime.  The lessons are only just beginning to be apparent.

I can’t close without mentioning where home was for the week.  La Reserve is a beautiful large country home of five bedrooms situated in the hills above the little town of Giverny. There is also a Gite, a cottage with three more bedrooms, a living room and kitchen.  Valerie and Francois Jouyet, the owners and our hosts, are some of the loveliest people I have met in France.  Valerie is the cook and,oh boy, can she cook!  Francois was ever present with a huge smile.  There were also Flaubert, the giant dog, 2 cats-one 23 years old and one 2 years old, five rescue donkeys and a rescue pig!

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http://www.giverny-lareserve.com/en/

For more information on Elizabeth Murray, her workshops and her art, please go to:         https://www.elizabethmurray.com

A bientôt,

Sara

Eurostar

Once upon a time, if one had a reservation on the Eurostar to go to Paris or to London, you just had to show up a maximum of thirty (30) minutes before departure and all would be well.  Three hours later you would debark in either London or Paris patting yourself on the back for saving all that time by not taking the plane.

Not anymore.  Not in this era of Terrorism.  The French and British may not have school shootings every week but both have suffered horrendous attacks authored by ISIS or those wanting to be connected to ISIS.

So the other day when I took the Eurostar to London, I knew to get to Gare du Nord an hour early.  I immediately stood in a long line of travellers.  First, we electronically checked in.  Then we passed through French Border control.  I handed the officer my passport.  He looked at my name and photo.  He went back and forth with a very serious look on his face.  What was he looking for?  I wanted to offer that I had a French residency card.  I kept silent.  It seemed the prudent thing to do.  After what seemed like two or three minutes, he stamped my passport and I joined the snaking line of travellers moving slowly towards the UK Border Control.  Everyone seemed calm.  Some people chatted up the person in front of or in back of them.  I heard some laughter but most people were like me, just wanting to get to the departures gate without bringing any attention to themselves.

Ten minutes later, having passed through Border Control without a problem, “How long are you staying?” and “Where will you go when you leave the UK?”, we had finally made it to Bag Security check.  I didn’t have to take my shoes off.  My titanium hip did set off the alarm bells.  So I got the usual pat down.

I made it to Departures with five minutes to sit if I chose to before the snaking line formed again to descend to Quai 5 and board the train.  People politely stepped on board, stored their suitcase and found their seats.  Never did I hear the heavy sighs of impatience that one often hears in the US, the pacing up and down of people feeling entitled to be different.  You can see the wheels in their minds churning in resentment of being made to move like cattle through all the check points.  But, if something horrible should happen, they’d be the first people on the horn, complaining that the government should be doing something about those terrorists.

I’ve grown to be quite grateful for all that these officers do to try and protect their citizens, ex-Pats and many visitors.  It’s not convenient that’s true but I’ll take inconvenience any day over the alternative.

So if you are coming to France, the UK, and now Brussels and Amsterdam and plan on taking the Eurostar, be forewarned.  Arrive at least an hour ahead of departure and you will not feel stressed!!

A couple of days later:  I have arrived at St. Pancras an hour and a half early to return to Paris.  Trying to get information is not fun.  The Brits working here are not nearly as polite as the French.  But, as in Paris, there is a long snaking line of quiet people who, for the most part, are not stressed.

It only took me thirty minutes to get through to the departures room and so had plenty of time to eat my dinner before we left for Paris.

A bientôt,

Sara