One of the things that made the parade historic is perhaps the $15-million extravaganza of fantasy and symbolism, which was called “La Marseillaise,” a parade described by Goude as a “slightly frivolous opera-ballet.” An intoxicating revelry with cultural performers from around the world.
One late summer day, just by myself, in one of my usual promenades before going home from school, a Parisian trumpet player was rehearsing in the narrow strip under the stone bridge of Pont de l’Archevêché (“pont” is bridge in French). The nearby bridge connecting Île de la Cité and the Left Bank.
The family were all smiling at the gate waving goodbye as I slowly drove down the dirt road leading to the main road on my way back to Paris. Once again, my heart felt heavy as I was leaving the family that I’ve long considered as mine too, in their idyllic country home after a long weekend filled with fun and laughter.
MANY YEARS back, during my wandering years in Paris away from family and friends, I somehow became profoundly fascinated by the intriguing blend of the insouciance and the less conventional lifestyle of few young people with contagious idealism and sincerity with whom I had hung out with and later became my close friends.