On and Off the Avenue

Since we arrived in Paris, I've been fascinated by the length and uniformity of the avenues and boulevards here. Before you roll your eyes, scratch your head or simply click away, let me try to explain. When Paris underwent an urban renewal in the mid-19th century -- bringing sewers and other such things that turned what was in many ways still a medieval city into a modern one -- broad avenues and boulevards were run across the city. The new buildings lining them were all the same distance from the street and no more than a certain height. The result is lovely sight lines as you stand on the sidewalk and follow the continuous façade to the horizon. (Our friend Lindsay talks about this, along with Sarkozy's own plans for urban renewal, on her blog.) In downtown DC, the buildings are all the same height, but the architecture's blah, and the effect is lost. In Manhattan, the straight streets and skyscrapers create urban canyons, but you feel like the city's going to swallow you up. In Paris, the sight of all these lovely old buildings calmly lined up is altogether different: it's graceful and pleasing, without being rigid. (It's especially pleasing for someone who appreciates order like me. When I was young, I would cry that my hamburger was "broken" after I had eaten through the middle and split it in two. At work today, my colleagues marvel at all the neat stacks of paper on my desk.) Vive la différence.

It's been said that the grid of Manhattan helps to contain the chaos of New York. I think that in Paris the long boulevards and avenues enable it. It's along the busiest streets that you'll find the most bustling outdoor cafés, for that's where the most people are walking and thus where the best people-watching is. Most Parisian cafés keep tables outside all year long, and the chairs are always facing the street. True, a recent law against smoking inside has driven some people outside, but many were already there because of this other, deeper addiction.

In a country where strikes are common, the avenues are also a good forum for protests. Shortly after I started working, there was a march down the boulevard outside my office. I don't remember now what it was about, but it filled the breadth of the boulevard, it lasted at least an hour and it was loud. Several weeks ago, Ashley and our friend Carolyn happened across a farmers' protest parade in Bastille. Again, hard to tell exactly what they were against (Carolyn tried to take a photo, but was shooed away by an organizer), but surely the symbolism of a convoy of tractors circling la place where the notorious prison was notoriously stormed during the la révolution was lost on no French. Ashley and Carolyn returned to our flat -- only to find that the march had followed them: Looking out our living-room window, they saw the tractors rolling down Boulevard Voltaire on their way to another place, Nation, where revolutionary blood was also spilled.

That, however, was not the strangest thing we've seen on our street. As we were getting ready for bed one recent Friday night, we heard a low whooshing sound coming from outside. There, down on the street, was a surging river of rollerbladers, taking up a full lane of traffic. There were a few yells, but mostly it was the sound of thousands of rubber wheels rolling across smooth asphalt. As we later learned, it was an installment of [Friday Night Fever], a regular rollerblading event. It was a cool early-spring evening, and it must have been a thrill to be among the throng of skaters surging down the boulevard. But to the two of us, there at our proverbial sidewalk table, it was pretty amazing.

-- MBB

From The Noveaux Weds

From The Noveaux Weds

From The Noveaux Weds

From The Noveaux Weds

From The Noveaux Weds