History is deeply woven into the intricate fabric of this country. As much as there is pomp and circumstance in its tales, there is cruelty and horror intermingled with the bravery and honour. Soldiers, for instance, still figure prominently in the forethoughts of the French. Citizens here who go about their business, stoic and perhaps even defiantly after the recent and not-so-recent acts of barbarism but I suspect that warriors in France are not as out of place as they are in Canada. They are proud of their soldiers, proud of their histories and their hard-fought battles and very proud of their generals. Aside from Wolfe and Montcalm, how many generals can an average Canadian name?
Anyways, Day 2 was spent getting to know our neighbour…the military school a few blocks away, the military museum and, of course, our best friend, La tour Eiffel. The military school has multiple disciplines, evidenced by the separate (now unused) entrances) for Artillery and Cavalry. While the facilities are still used, the façade is mostly used as a wall. But don’t be fooled by the ornate columns or the plaques destined for visiting tourists…the soldiers wearing full body armour and carrying automatic weapons are not simply part of the décor, they are there to protect the facility and seem to take their role quite seriously.
This soldier, however, took time to reassure two worried little tourists that soldiers can be cuddly too. After seeing them nervously scoot by him, he called out “Vous voulez une photo?” “Hell yeah,” they said (in their own child-lingo, And I, of course, smiled and decided to place my trust fully in the training given these young soldiers, trusting that neither of my kids would get accidentally….well, you know. And, in case you are wondering, no…my daughter is not really as tall as this soldier…but yes, he might have been the runt of the litter.
The military museum required more time to explore than what was available to us so we opted to tour the courtyard and the church within (called l’Eglise du dome — so called because it houses the mortal remains of Napoleon under a large golden dome). The church, of course, is spectacular, as is anything associated with the Emperor of France. Once inside, my sister prompted the children to light candles in memory of their departed grand-mother. That scene was oddly juxtaposed with the one of giggling Japanese school girls fiddling with their iphones and taking selfies. But then, the Jesuits didn’t make much inroads in the far east during their expansion period…
The museum is on our hit list for the coming days. With a forecast of 39 degrees in the next few days, I’m thinking the inside of an air conditioned museum sounds a whole lot more civilized than a foot-patrol along the Seine. Even at 32 degrees, the walks in the baking sun are hard on the little ones, never mind the old leather head. So we head back to my sister’s apartment where we return to civilisation, uncork another bottle of wine she must divest herself of before her planned migration back to Canada, and watch the sun go down on Paris.
The view from the kitchen isn’t bad either…
