Adventures of a Wandering Thirtysomething

It was inevitable. Eventually the Seattle weather was going to follow us. Of course it chose a national holiday. This is what Seattle weather does best.

We headed to the Bastille Day parade about an hour and half before it began. Blue skies, sun shining. A city of 11 million crammed onto one street. Despite being marched on a mile-long detour by the Paris police, Matt and I managed to locate a spot about 10 rows of people deep to just barely make out the Champs-Elysees.

On a side note, parade spectators in Paris are ordered by class. The bourgeoisie spectators have elite reservations for stadium seating. The middle class spectators have reservations to sit or stand on the sidewalks nearby, but barricaded from, the elite. And the minions with no reservations have to duke it out for a view behind the middle class barricades. Guess which group we were in?

So the parade starts. The president of France drives by amidst a chorus of boos (he has an approval rating about as low as George W. did), some military folks march by, and then nothing. And I mean nothing. For 30 minutes. I looked over a lady’s shoulder at her parade program, which indicated that this was to continue for another 1.5 hours. Really, France, really?! Finally, the deafening silence was broken by the French Air Force flyover of tankers, F-16s and other military planes to nationalistic tunes played by marching bands. France was redeeming itself.

And then, in the words of Forrest Gump, God showed up.

One minute we were dry, and the next we were drenched. And I’m not talking about some misty rains here. I’m talking full on tropical storm rain with wind, thunder, lightening and flooded streets. Thankfully I chose not to wear a white shirt or white pants or my goods would have been on full display. After a couple attempts to wait it out in souvenir shops and restaurants, we ended up just running back to our hotel, laughing the whole way as our soaked clothes stuck to us and we tried not to slip in our flip flops as the water came down in sheets.

God decided to take mercy on us later in the day and we were able to venture out, this time much drier, and walk the Champs-Elysees, check out the Place de la Concorde (where the guillotine chopped off Louis XVI and Marie Antoinette’s heads), and the Arc de Triomphe.

Despite a day gone sour by way of weather and the fact that the French could seriously use some tips on what “parade” means, Bastille Day redeemed itself at the 11th, or rather 23rd, hour with the fireworks show at the Eiffel Tower. I’ve been to some pretty incredible fireworks shows, but put one in a foreign country behind one of the most iconic landmarks in the world and set it to French music and it just takes it to a whole other level. By far one of the coolest things I have ever experienced.

Here’s a sampling of photos from Day 28 - VerHeul’s Do Paris:

Photo #1: The early stages of our parade soaking

Photo #2: The French flag waves at the Arc de Triomphe

Photo #3: The view as we waited for the fireworks show

Photo #4: Firewoks over the Eiffel Tower