Transistions

Whew, what a day we had!

We just came from the Bataclan, the nightclub where some 89 people were killed, and two terrorists blew themselves up, two weeks ago. The Sunday immediately after the attacks we visited several of the cafes and bars that had been hit. The scenes of carnage were sufficiently moving that we could not face a visit to the Bataclan. So we avoided going there. I thought about going by tonight, while we were in the area, but we weren’t sure exactly where it was so we just headed home.

Our evening started with a concert at a nearby church (Saint-Vincent-de-Paul). We quickly realized we were not really keen on harpsichord music, but the next set included flute and violin. It was nothing extraordinary, but pleasant, and different: how many times had we been to a classic concert at a church, especially one built before my grandparents were born?

Church of Saint-Vincent-de-Paul, Paris 10em

On the way out we noticed one of the side altars had been dedicated to the victims of the recent attacks. It was a sobering moment.

We headed out, night fully in force but hardly dark; Paris just doesn’t seem to get dark. Always lots of lights around (City of Lights and all that). Saturday night around 6 PM and very crowded! Lots of people out and about, stores open (typically ‘till 8 PM), bars and cafes fully loaded. We walked on.

Our goal was a Transition Town gathering at a space about a mile away. We passed Place de la Republique, full of people and flowers and candles, with media trucks and cameras still out (hoping for something to happen, no doubt). We continued on, realizing our goal was further than we’d thought!

Eventually we arrived to a huge carnivorous space with thirty-foot ceilings and exposed riveted steel girders. It appeared to be a studio / art workshop / gathering place, with little done to improve the appearance. Funky, arty, hippy-ish.

Rob Hopkins, the founder of Transition Towns, was speaking about the recently-published book with 21 stories of transition towns. (To mesh with COP21?) The goal of the organization is to transition communities from intense resource and energy consumption to a more sustainable and locally produced economy. After a presentation made lengthy by the need to translate everything into French – Rob is from England – we had a chance to eat hot soup, drink good beer and wine, and meet some very interesting people. Overall, it was an evening about people coming together to build community, and work together to ensure the sustainability of our planet. It was one of many, many meetings and workshops in Paris these last few days (and in the coming weeks!) associated with the COP21 climate meetings that start Monday.

So we finally left, suffused with a feeling of connection, and of humanity (the hot soup helped, too!). It was cold, but we felt like walking a bit more, so we passed up the first Metro stop, and a couple of bus stops that would have gotten us closer to home.

Then, suddenly, there was a block full of flowers. It was a little “island” park, between the lanes of a major boulevard. Flowers and candles ran the whole length, along both sides. Flowers, candles, and signs, mourning someone lost, or stating solidarity, or defiance (“meme par peur!” – not even afraid!).

Flowers across from the Bataclan, two weeks after the attacks

And there, across the street, was the Bataclan, the shuttered concert hall. The sidewalk in front was far too small to contain the outpouring of support, and grief, so the entire park across the way was filled. We walked past the display, feeling the heaviness, sadness, the anger. What a switch from the uplift of the Transition Town meeting! It was overwhelming. And we could not escape the feeling that we had been guided there, to this historic, horrific, site. Why? How did we stumble, literally, upon this? Why were we lead here, instead of getting on that first Metro? A bit surreal, really, how these things happen…

The Bataclan itself, surrounded by mourners

We walked on, past the police van (that will probably be there for months more), back into the current life of Paris: cafes full, people eating, drinking, laughing with their friends. I wanted to shout to them, joyously, “Life after death! Rock on, guys!”