Parisian Nights.  Part II.  Montparnasse et Montmartre.

First of all, well done for not missing part two of this incredible recitation of fifty-something outings in a lovely part of the world, except where my wife is concerned.  She didn’t come because of her great wariness of Paris and all things Parisian.  I did want to come, which is how I can write this second instalment.  Her loss.  She just missed out on all the fun, fun, fun!

So, where was I?  Definitely in a great mood, probably not in the fittest states if I were driving, and heading gently back to my hotel after having said goodnight to friends!  I had missed out on pudding after my evening meal and knew that I had the Cyrille Lignac raspberry tart to look forward to.  I found my room and actually get into it without having to call for help.  It was a warm evening after a warm day, but the coolness of the evening was starting to arrive.  O happiness, I could get my window open and still reserve my modesty with the blinds.  I hit the deck.  Well, I didn’t hit.  It was like sliding into bed in a happy, sugary, raspberry mood and I drifted off to sleep.  Hotel pillows seem to have this magical way of sending you off to dreamland….

I had set an alarm, just in case, but woke up at 6am.  Far too silly, but it allowed me to emerge at a leisurely pace, which seems to be my general speed at the moment.  Mass was at 11 am, so I had loads of time.  Breakfast was between 8am and 10am.  So definitely had loads of time.  Now came the epic battle with the shower.  Trying to work out how to operate it and not getting shot with cold water.  Yay, it was possible and turned out to be a lot less challenging than I thought to begin with.  I even got the rainfall showerhead to work.  It was lovely just being able to chill, listen to Radio 2, and take my time without guilt.  I floated down to breakfast, in an incredible mood.

Hotel breakfasts are something I quite enjoy.  Self-service, and a chance for me to pretend to be healthy, with yoghurt, fruits, cheese, ham, pain au chocolat, cornflakes and, most importantly, a nice cup of tea.  Once you figure out the various dispensing machines for the hot drinks, you’re fine. I finished before 10am to respect the fast before Holy Communion, and floated back up to the room and looked after my skincare and beard care routine.  I may be a fat git, but I like to be a well-groomed fat git.  Bag packed, and ready to check out knowing I could leave my bag at the hotel until my train, a very useful service. 

The Church was on the Boulevard Montparnasse, just beyond the cinemas and cafés.   It was a beautiful church dedicated to Our Lady, and the frescos high up on the walls were perfect for visualising the episodes of the Rosary.  An old lady came up to me and gave me a hymn sheet and the Parish bulletin.  She was one of those sweet old ladies that you can’t just say no to.  I saw others that tried but saw how futile it was.  Obviously an old girl on a mission.  Three priests as well.  Music that brought a tear to my eye.  It was lovely.  After mass, I said my Rosary and headed off into town.

We had arranged to meet up at the Abbesses metro station in Montmartre which has one of those Art déco metro entrances that you see in all the photographs.  I got the typical shot and regretted not having stayed around to get more detailed shots.  Maybe next time.  Because, as Arnie said, “I’ll be back!”  We met up at the appointed time and meandered through the streets to the Funicular.  I would not walk up those steps.  Let me bring you back to the leisurely pace concept mentioned earlier.  As we were going up, I showed them where I would probably have had a heart attack if I were taking the steps…  We got to the top and spied an Irish pub.  Well, it would be rude not to.  We ordered a couple of pints from the typical Parisian waiter.  The man was running around like a madman.  We knew straight away that he wasn’t having a good day, showed appropriate empathy, and won him over.  There was the pub itself, a speaker blaring out rock music, and the guy was covering three terraces. Another girl looked after serving the food.  We waited, waited, and waited some more.  We gave the order to the waiter, whose back was obviously giving him gip, and jokingly said he should try some cocaine for the pain.  He jokingly replied that he was already on cocaine, and I think having seen him zooming all over the place, I believed him.  It was just poor management, and a lack of staff, and they were doing what they could.  Anyway, we were about to leave and the food came.  Not the right order, but the right order was there fairly soon afterwards.  We were debating if we shouldn’t just cut our losses and leave and just pay for the drinks.  Anyway, we saw people coming up the stairs that we had given up on.  Some were actually running up “and down” and “back up again” obviously being far too sporty for a Sunday Lunchtime.  We saw a “pétasse Instagram” posing and being photographed by her mother.  Obviously getting the Paris trip shot for her feed.  Something I would never do…  Maybe I should?  Big dude being a “pétasse” and posing like a pretty, young, twenty-something.  It could be style and a sociological view of beauty standards on the Internet.  Or it could be bloody awful.  Maybe not then.

We looked over the panorama of Paris, trying to identify the buildings we could see.  I even saw a tower in Romainville near where I used to live when my wife and I lived in Paris, or rather just outside Paris, in those close suburbs you see on the news, but not for the good reasons.  I do love living in the country.  Sacré Coeur is an amazing church and crowns Montmartre like Our Lady, keeping an eye over Paris and the Parisians, making sure they do nothing too stupid.    We wound our way through the narrow streets towards Place de Tertre, which had been overtaken by restaurant seating pushing the artists to the edges of the square.  I kept my eye on Dom who was keeping his eye on Vanessa.  It was mid-afternoon and after nearly 30K paces in the weekend; I was knackered, and those taxis were looking very appealing.  We walked down to the bottom of the hill and saw a poor tourist being ripped off by the game of the three cards and you have to follow the Queen, etc.  A good old-fashioned tourist scam.  It was simple spotting each member of the team, and I felt sorry for the poor guy. 

We arrived on the boulevard, but the heat, fatigue, and knee had got the better of me.  I’m not good at goodbyes. In fact, I would even say that I hate them.  We hugged goodbye, and I descended into the abyss of the Paris metro, arriving parched at the hotel to fetch my bag.  I must have looked awful as the guy went and got me some water.  Maybe looking like a fat old guy has certain advantages to it?  I took my bag and crossed the road to the Montparnasse train station.  I could buy some food and water.  Knowing exactly where I would go to eat and drink, English voices that reminded me of young English public school boys filtered through.  It’s always strange hearing your own language in a foreign country, even though you might expect it in Paris.

I was headed to the platform when my train came up on the boards.  My electronic ticket worked and allowed me through the gates.  I boarded the train and sat at a table for four.  The other seats were taken, but being in first class, people attempted to be quiet.  The lady opposite me offered to take my bag for me and put it in the rack at the end of the carriage.  I felt guilty because it was heavy, but she was very gracious about it.  My headphones and tablet gave me that sense of privacy and I watched YouTube on the way home.  In the group chat, I informed everyone that my train was on time and I wished them a pleasant trip home.  Normally it was planned that my son was going to pick me up at the station in Nantes, but Virginie told me to get a ticket from Nantes to Montaigu, which I did at Montparnasse and told me she would pick me up at the station in Montaigu.

Once home, I just got naked and went to bed, in a very non-sexy way.  I just wanted to get to sleep as soon as possible.  Work would start at 5am the next morning.  Not the easiest of things.  It was a wonderful weekend, and I was so happy to have met up with friends from home and Sergio from Nantes.  It was like having a bit of home coming to see me and was just what the doctor had ordered. With all the various Facebook posts and reels, and I suppose this article, we have dragged that weekend out to nearly three weeks. So Happy Birthday Vanessa.  Welcome to the 50-year-old club.  It would appear that it happens to the very best of us.

Noia

Sometimes it’s good to be good to people. I mean it’s always good to try and be a good person, as subconsciously, I would like to think that we are all called to goodness and to be decent people, despite the example given to us by the Conservative party over the last three years. Maybe there is hope and they will put past delinquency behind them.

Anyway, I’m not here to bash Boris, however pleasurable this might be. I’m here to talk to you about how I once took some photographs for somebody who was very kind about my work. It was for a guy called Elvis, who, despite the song, was not seen down the chip shop, but at a barber shop. You can see the original photos here and I have to admit that I was pretty happy with them.

Elvis was the owner of the barbershop. But he was above all involved behind the scenes in professional football, but the poor lad was going through long covid and not in a good way. Later on, whilst in training and getting thinner, he discovered a lump. It’s not the thing you want to hear when you’re about to have a new addition to your family. Thankfully, God has this way of looking after us and it was discovered and treated, and he now has a young daughter as well as his other children.

His elder daughter wanted to confect a “book” to present to various modelling agencies etc. Elvis thought of me. I of course agreed because it’s good to be good, and even better when that person is a friend. Then I went and caught COVID. Yes, I was one of those optimists who thought that with his three vaccines, he might have just escaped the dreaded lurgy! Oh silly me! Anyway, we managed to get a date together that was good for the both of us, and where good weather would be slightly more likely. I suggested taking my portable studio after the success with Hervé, so we wouldn’t have to worry about inclement weather, but we agreed on shooting on location.

We eventually decided to go to Trentemoult where the coloured houses would provide some colourful backdrops. And despite the harsh sunlight, we found lots of spots in the shade. Yes, you can have too much light. The rendez vous point was given and when they arrived we went to a café for a brief and to tell Noia how things were going to happen. Elvis, bless him, was wonderful carrying my reflector for me.

We wandered around, ooohing and ahhhing, agreeing on how pretty it was and how colourful it was, and how it was probably a good idea not to check out the house prices.

The shoot was done, we went to another café, had a beer, chatted and put the world right.

For this shoot I used the Canon 6D Mark II, with the 85mm F2.8 lens and the 50mm F1.8 lens. I would also like to thank Sean Tucker, for his expertise and tutorials for his editing techniques that I used here as I wanted to try something different and get back into Photoshop.

February Continued…

In my last article Dear Reader, I promised you some colour photography and in this article, you’re going to get it.  The sun was still warming my back and it felt good to be alive again!  I talked about missing out on the Jaune in the Grue Jaune, but not this time.  Shorter article maybe but some great colour for you.  When I bought the Fujifilm X100f one of the things that had was the Classic Chrome film simulation, which was supposed to emulate Kodachrome which of course died in 2009 and can no longer be processed.    The X100f of course has other film simulations, which you can look up on the web, but that Classic Chrome look just got me.  A slightly more subdued colour range with a certain warmness and something that you just can’t quite put your finger on, which reminded you of an age gone by in photography.

I mean the whole camera seems to have a certain vintage vibe to it despite all the technology hidden away inside.  The little knobs and buttons everywhere just remind you of a film camera.  How was I supposed to resist?  As you can see in various articles and various photo galleries, I didn’t resist and I’m still OK with that!  I even went on to acquire an XT2 with interchangeable lenses, which offer me more variety in the kinds of shots I can take, as well as keeping the same feel to my shots. 

Everyone says to shoot in RAW.  I can hear them even now saying, “Shoot in RAW you fool!”  Well I do, but I also shoot jpegs to have those images already colour edited to fit that Chrome feeling.  It’s consistent and I still have my RAW files to fall back on if needed.  The Fuji Jpegs are amazing and it helps me to cut down on the amount of editing that I have to do.  I’m basically lazy, so if I can avoid doing something and yet get a perfectly satisfactory result, then I’m going with the path of least resistance. 

On this outing, I was using the 18mm (24mm equivalent) lens with the XT2.  Again, I’ve talked before how I decided to go wider instead of longer, and if any of you are laughing at this point, get your minds out of the gutter!  I’m talking photography!!

So without much further ado, let me present you with some colour photography taken on the XT2 in Nantes.  

P.S.  I think I found the banana….

Cassiopée, Queen or Constellation?

The Cassiopée that I will be talking about is neither. She is not a star that looks like the letter W, nor is she an arrogant queen of Aethiopia who annoys the god of the sea. Mine is a barber. She works where I get my beard taken care of was part of the article showing a series of portraits that I did for the salon O Barber, 2 rue de Paré, Nantes.

She is part of this generation that is our future and is part of the Instagram experience, where image has become the king as well as a projection of self-image. Back in the day, when I had hair, yes Dear Reader, there was such an age even though it was many many years ago, we expressed ourselves through our clothes, what we smoked, and the kind of beer that we drank. Now they use a little device that lives in your pocket and broardcasts to the world. Scary isn’t it!

Anyway. Cassi was very happy with the photos I took of her in the barbershop, and asked if it were possible to have some new photos. I of course jumped at the chance to add to my “œuvre” and to add to my “répertoire.” Since the barbershop photos, she had changed her look, as you will be able to by checking here. I was very flattered that she asked me. I asked what kind of photos she wanted, studio, or on location, and black and white or colour. She chose location and colour. I remember my son’s ex-girlfriend Elise, who said I should try and do more colour photography as it was something she thought I was good at. Well, for once, she was right about something, so I thought, right matey, let’s get some colour. Cassi suggested the Île de Nantes, with its machines, and the famous Buren Rings, but my mind went back a week to where I had done my last photos. Trentemoult. It’s a village that just breathes colour and I knew I would be able to get something good out of my location.

Like most plans that have been well laid out, things never seem to go to plan. We had already pushed back the rendez-vous by one hour to avoid the rain. Great. I was bang on time, and even managed to find a parking space, which was part of the plan… What wasn’t part of the plan were train delays, replacement bus services, the wind coming off the river, and my model being an hour late. Improvise, adapt and overcome. We ended up chatting on Instagram following her progress, and my need to improvise, nearly lead me to a café terrace, adapting to a beer, and overcoming the wait, but I resisted, and remained patient, getting out of the wind. Even the ferryman had problems sailing up to the quay.

She arrived, apologising with as much gusto as the wind, and I said not to worry, let’s get out of the wind and start shooting. She was very soon at ease and we got on with it. Wondering around the streets using the coloured walls as backdrops, and getting the shot. In my mind I had been wondering about the colour of her outfit, and how to incorporate complimentary colours into the shots. She wore a little black dress with white polka dots. Perfect! I would take my series of shots, show her on the camera screen, and it gave us both confidence in the process. Wandering around I would see a wall, see the colour in my mind and say, could you possibly just put yourself up against this wall please? Which she did with grace. Then can you just crouch down, thinking how lucky I was not to have to do the same. Middle age and arthritic knees do not mix well.

It’s a beautiful little village, and very bohemian chic, or Bo-bo, for the French.  Very stylish, trendy lefties, ecologically aware rich people, who have gentrified what was a fishing village on the Loire, but still allow the hoi polloi like me to come along and use it as a film location.  At every turning, we would get a new colour and new feel to each photo.  I have actually done black and white photography here too and it works just as well, but the colours are amazing.  Did I mention how colourful the place is?  Because it’s really colourful, and makes the rainbow flag look quite boring!

After an hour we had a certain amount of photos and I had something I could work on.I offered to drive her to the station so she less things to worry about, dropped her off and went to the pub!  Because I can, and more so because they’re open!!  I improvised, finding a spot on the terrase, and Simon, Stephanie, and Evan, greeted me with fist bumps, which has become the new handshake.  Simon came over and asked would I like a Guinness, so I decided to adapt and say, yes please.  It was lovely just sitting down watching the world go by, judging it, and looking at pretty women.  I was overcome with joy.  What more do you need.  Well, a couple of friends that I hadn’t seen for eight months whilst the pub was shut due to government Covid restrictions, invited me over to their table.  At last I was able to talk bollocks again and make people laugh.  Pure bliss!

On Monday Cassi was already asking me when she could have her pictures.  Apparently patience is not her forte.  I said that I would start the editing process and the inevitable cull of photos that Monday evening.  By the end of the first night  the cull had been done.  Some because the composition was off, some didn’t turn out the way that I had hoped, others because the auto focus hadn’t focussed they way I thought it had.  By about ten that night she already had some images for the Gram. 

Where it gets surreal is that I put some of the images in my stories on Instagram, and Google, in it’s wisdom suggested some collages for me, that I added on at the end.  So I thought what the heck and why not. Little did I know that Cassi would react.  She asked me very nicely and kindly to remove one of the stories, because she thought her cheeks were too big on the photos proposed by Google.  I of course took the photos down, but it pushed my mind into questions of self worth, self image, the place of the image in this modern world where we are no longer just an image, but ust create a public persona and sell ourselves to the world!

I told her that I thought she looked lovely on each photo that I had taken. I mean we have to love ourselves. To put not too fine a point on it, I entered Dad mode!

“Right, you know I’m a Dad, and strangely enough I see the world through the eyes of a Dad. I will therefore talk to like a Dad. You will listen, and listen well. We are allowed to have complexes concerning our physical aspect, especially with al the images that are on Instagram, Facebook, on on the more traditional media. We live in an age where “Image” is king. Well you have to put it in its place. There are men who like arses, some boobies, some like skinny girls, some like girls with a bit more body. But that only counts in physical and sexual attraction. You can’t base a long-term and durable relationship on just being pretty. If you boyfriend just stops at your physical appearance, it might be time to change boyfriends. There is already so much hate in this world, and enough people to hate us, why waste time hating ourselves, when others can do it perfectly well for us. Shouldn’t we love ourselves the way we are already? With an unconditional love? And here’s something else, we are more than just our good looks! We are our own person! we have so many facets that shine in this world. Sometimes it’s hard to see ourselves shine, but we still shine despite that! There I’ve said it!!! Think what you may. You’re a great girl. You are pretty. You have beauty. Please let yourself shine. The world needs it!”

Sometimes this world that we live in is so perverse. The media fills us with all our complexes. The say we are too thin, so bulk up, or we are too big, so slim down. You have long hair, then cut it. You have short hair, then let it grow. You have curly hair, then straighten it, you have straight hair, then curl it. The day we can accept ourselves the way we are, the world will become an easier place to live in.

I’m fat. There, you might have already guessed it. Do I look like Brad Pitt? Nope. But then again, Brad doesn’t look like me. His loss. Do I love my body and do I have issues with it? Yup. Will that stop me living? Nope. Will I ever be a top model? Probably not. Do I care? Not in the slightest. I am me. My body helps me move around, to love, to work, to hug my wife and children. That’s a damned good start.

Anyway. Let us leave the stage for Cassi and the colours of Trentemoult! Canon 6D Mark ii, and the 85mm f1.8 Canon lens.