Tag: European travel

Fireworks, and the Party in My Pants

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The calm had descended on the family and the Great Shutter Disaster of 2025 had been long forgotten and etched into the annals of family history. Tonight would be about fireworks, food (surprise, surprise), and the party in my pants.  Not that kind of party — this was France, not Netflix. But I did end up with a surprise performance later that night…

Bal des Pompiers: Fireworks, Firemen, and Fashion Crimes

We were all relatively refreshed after lunch and snoozes.  The plan was to head to Saint Cado to watch the traditional fireworks display, and who doesn’t enjoy looking at lights in the sky? Think Guy Fawkes meets French revolution, except we don’t burn anybody, and we celebrate with explosions, merriment, dancing, and firemen.

Tonight would be the “bal des pompiers” which I must remind you has nothing to do with firemen’s balls… Well, maybe towards the end of the dance, but that is none of my business. You could see a cross section of French society: the young teens trying to outdress each other, parents with children trying to keep an eye on aforementioned children, parents of a similar age to me looking at the young teens trying to think how anybody could let them out dressed like that, other older parents looking for food, and quite a lot of us looking for booze.

Organisation Française: A Joyful Mess

The organisation was very French, un joyeux bordel, and yet there were signs of some very organised organisers taking orders, firemen cooking various dishes, and others serving and selling the booze.

We drove down and Marina et al followed in their car. We saw the high-vis jackets telling people where to go to park. We were told to go to Car Park 3, because of la dame in the front seat of my car. La Dame was none other than my mother-in-law who was already in a good mood, flattered to be referred to with such deep respect.

A French Family Comedy in Real Time

We saw Louka, Jessica’s other boy, in a queue for something, and as the evening wore on there would be sightings of more offspring like in a French family comedy film.  Gisèle noticed a friend and her son, and this was the perfect opportunity to sit down, as my darling wife’s bad back was playing up.  All of a sudden we saw the Marina party, and they joined us.  

The Soundtrack to a Slightly Tipsy Night

The music from the French DJ was blaring out across the square, which is usually such a quiet place.  Not Bob Sinclair or David Guetta, but Bob Sincliair C5, and David Guet-Apens.  French hits from Claude François, whose songs are guaranteed to get French into a frenzy and doing specific dances.  Even after 30 years of living here there are still songs about the Phare d’Alexandrie, and barracudas that still traumatise me.  “They” seemed to be loving it and really getting into the “mood!”  There is a law against the shooting of crappy DJ’s.  A pity, really.

Moules Frites and Other Mistakes

Raymond and Vincent were sent away to get food.  There were so many lines of people to follow but I eventually caught up to the boys.  We were in the line for Moules Frites, which is a pretty good line to be in.  Little did I know…  but more about that later. I bought Moules Frites — fortunately nothing to do with the bathing costume of a similar name that modesty forbids me from mentioning.  But those who know will find it funny.  With the Moules Frites you had a piece of bread and either an apple tart, which had nothing to do with young teenagers dressed inappropriately, or Far Breton, which unlike the one from Alexandrie, had prûnes…  But more about that later.

Brownie Points and Last Frites

I turned up with my trays of Moules Frites, for my wife, her mother, and myself.  I was later told by my mother in law that she wasn’t really hungry and that I really shouldn’t have, as she was eating the last moule and the last frite, and that yes, she would have the apple tart.  Classic lose-lose situation.  

I had won brownie points galore when I got back with some cold beers for my wife and I.  Well, one does aime to please. 

Fireworks and Finding the Car

At just after 11.10pm the fireworks started.  We all oohed and ahhed at the appropriate times, and when it was all over played at find that car.  I’m not usually very good at that game but tonight I was on fire (more about that later), and we eventually made it home.  Bliss.

The Party in My Pants

It was up to bed for me for a good night’s sleep.  But, yes, little did I know, I was to be awoken in the middle of the night with a stomach ache.  The party in my pants was under way.  I let out a botty burp, which wasn’t the best idea of the night, and dashed to the loo.  I sat down and had my own personal fireworks display down below.  Explosions and oohing and ahhing..  I managed to clean myself up and discarded my underwear, which bore the brunt of the opening salvo…  An hour later, I had a repeat performance.  This was fast becoming a night to forget — or at least to flush from memory.  

The Seafood God Has Spoken

The seafood god had sought vengeance, and it was my turn to pay.  The French have a healthy respect for the seafood god, as his attacks are notorious, and the scars are worn as badges of honour.  Lesson learnt.  More respect and an extra pair of undies.  A true rite of passage.  I just wasn’t very fond of him having that right to my passage…

The Pyrenees Mountains – and the Pont d’Espagne which isn’t in Spain

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If the Vendée is Jane Birkin — elegant, understated — then the Pyrenees are full-on Marilyn. Proper mountains. Vast. Unapologetic. Even in May, some peaks were still capped in snow.

I was in Lourdes hoping to strengthen my faith. I think Killian needed that too — but more than anything, he needed his mountains. Now, finally, I get it. Up there, I saw him more clearly: less the boy I once knew, more the man he’s becoming.

Like most of us, he has his issues — but he’s working through them. And sometimes, he even lets me help. Those are the moments I think I might just be getting somewhere as a father.

He’d decided we were heading to see his beloved mountains. The place? The Pont d’Espagne — yes, in France, despite the name. I may have mentioned that. Maybe.

We left the impressive foothills of Lourdes behind and climbed into the real mountains. Snowy peaks against blue sky and drifting clouds. Windows down, music low, we drove toward the famous pont. It had better be worth it.

Killian and I travel at a relaxed pace. If the view’s good, we’ll pull over. Get the camera out. Take a few shots. See what happens.

Sometimes it works. Sometimes it’s a fiasco. But more often than not, we come away with something.

Oh no! Catastrophe! A village where you can park, and go and get an ice cream. Ah well. We took one for the team, and the lady behind the counter told us that the previous week they had snow and were shut, yet this week everything looked just like a day in May should look like. Ice cream seems to have this way of just hitting “that” spot. It’s not the tidiest of foods to eat, but it’s one I’ve developed a great fondness for it over the years.

I was already learning how to approach the infamous concept of the hairpin bend. As you know, a full head of hair hasn’t been my issue for years — let alone hairpins. But the name fits. The main thing is to drive slowly, carefully, and not die… Given I’m writing this now, reports of my untimely demise were, as they say, greatly exaggerated.

We arrived at the Parc National des Pyrénées. You go through a barrier that didn’t seem to be working — one that had given up on life and was just standing to attention, waiting for whatever ‘it’ might be. So, being the thoroughly decent chaps and all-round good eggs that we are, we tried to find a ticket. We couldn’t, but since we had tried, we said something that rhymes with bucket, and started walking to see, at long last, the bloody bridge. It had better be worth it.

I had the X100F with me and Killian was carrying my DSLR and kit. What a good lad he is. He later said that if I wasn’t lugging it around, we might’ve gone just that little bit further. So back to the pont…

Before we even saw the bridge, we heard it: the sound of the water was tremendous. Water is a primeval force, and this was huge. I wanted the “money” shot, and decided to try with the X100F, giving it a sporting chance. The Canon 6D Mark II, with its stabilised lens, would come out on top. Handheld at 1/6th of a second? Not ideal — but fun to try. You get the feeling of movement in your shot, and with the magic of ND filters, you’re not overexposed.

The site itself is just astounding — not just because of the view or the sound, but because of the raw power of the place. Killian led me grumbling up the hill and we sat down to have our picnic. We fed the ants a bit of our pâté en croûte and watched them discover it, then devour it completely. And devour it they did.

He led me past the téléphérique — closed, of course — and followed the river until we reached a wide, flat-bottomed valley with water snaking through it. We saw traces of horses and wild boars, which are a lot less boring than you might think. I noticed the clouds coming round the mountains as they go, but not singing. I don’t know a huge amount about mountains, but that’s usually a cue to get back to the car…

The walk back to the car was just about being father and son — taking the mickey out of each other as we went. It seemed to be the way we operated, and I wouldn’t change it for the world.

China Homeward Bound – XianJu to Shanghai, Shanghai to Beijing, Beijing to Roissy, Roissy to Nantes, Nantes to St Hilaire.

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It’s a “long” title, and it was also a “long” journey. We left our hotel at 7 am on the 3rd of January, and I arrived home with feet under the table at 5 pm on the 4th of January. My mind is still on strike and the memories a little vague, but I’ll try and keep going for as long as possible.

Group 1, i.e. the other group, would be leaving at Terminal 1 in Shanghai, and Group 2, i.e. my group, would be leaving from Terminal 2 in Shanghai. There was a small and very select group that were going to do the “extension,” including my friend Eléonore. We managed to get our suitcases into the “system” at the airport check-in. And then through security, which, due to my sports jacket hack, went very smoothly. All we had to do then was to find somewhere for lunch. I had been in a group for the whole tour and headed off on my own to try and find something to eat.

I did find something to eat—tofu and crab, with a bowl of greens because it’s healthy! And a cup of tea was served with my meal. I spotted a hamburger place just next door to where I was eating and alerted the group via WhatsApp. I took my time eating because I could. I don’t like being rushed. Apart from getting onto the plane on time, my only task was to find a gift for my wife that would please her and, at the same time, be very Chinese. I bought tea. Because why not? And the shop looked very luxurious, and I was sure I couldn’t mess it up.

We flew from Shanghai to Beijing, and part I of our trip home was over.

The wait in Beijing seemed to go on forever, and our flight was at 2:40 am local time, which would mean a night flight back to Roissy. Beijing airport is a rather large place where most everything seems to shut at 5 pm. This was going to be a long wait. I resisted the temptation to go and have a “couple” of pints at a bar that was still open but still felt the need to have a drink of something. That something would be a bottle of water. We had our gate and waited for our flight to leave.

As you know, I can generally fall asleep anywhere and at any time. But even for me, this was going to be a tad tricky. I managed to charge my phone thanks to my colleagues and lay down on a bench to try and get some shut-eye. The sports jacket and jumper make a rather good pillow, and I felt slightly more invigorated when boarding the plane.

Maybe that wasn’t a good thing. Anyway, I made my way to my seat, which was at the very back of the aircraft, and tried talking to my neighbour, who asked me if I spoke French. I did, and I could tell she had a plan, that girl. She wanted to be able to have two seats so she could lie down. I asked the hostess if those two empty seats were going to be available, and she took pity on me, saying that they were technically for crew and that if one of the crew asked, I would have to move back and sit with Miss Two Seats.

That sounded very fair, and Miss Two Seats seemed to be happy. I used the pillow for my back, and the blanket was just large enough to snuggle into. Did I sleep like a baby? No, he said, going for the understatement of the year award. No, he did not, but I think he at least managed to snooze, which was good enough. We had breakfast on the plane, which would be my last “Chinese” meal. Part II of our voyage was over.

We landed in Roissy and played everyone’s favourite game—go to the loo, and then on to baggage reclaim. The trombones had been put in with the suitcases and, of course, were the very last things to be put onto the conveyor belt. I have to admit to a rather tense moment when I was wondering if my suitcase would ever turn up. Eventually, it did, and we were reunited. The trombonists were soon reunited with their trombones, but it was all very stressful and a grand moment of solitude for them. We eventually found what we thought was the exit, turned around because it wasn’t the exit, and headed off to another exit to meet our colleagues in Group 1, who had arrived a wee while before us. We were herded along, with Mathilde and Titaua helping us cross the road. You’ve guessed it—we got on the bus, except this bus would be taking us back to Nantes. Part III of our voyage had begun.

My memory was still hazy, and I think we stopped off in the Perche—the place, not the fish, but maybe they had them in the local rivers. I’m not here to judge. We all traipsed into the service station and were greeted by the overpriced sandwiches. Not a chicken foot in sight. It all felt such an anticlimax after the food in China.

We arrived eventually where we had set off from in Nantes. Part III of our voyage was nearly over. Kate and Virginie were there to pick me up, and that hug was particularly tight and lasted quite a while—or so it seemed. Had I missed my family? I will say yes, of course. It will save us many arguments at home!

Part IV of the trip had begun. My wife drove us home through the rain. I entered the house that I had left two weeks earlier. I had been on tour, I had seen things that I had never seen before, I had eaten things that I had never eaten before, and I even managed to save my special Christmas chocolates from the inquisitive looks from the two women in my life. Killian wasn’t there, so Kate had first dibs on which mug she would like. The chopsticks were put away. Tea was made, and the day ended up at home. I was a little tired…

The Opening of the Film Archives – Le Hangar à Bananes July 2016

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Continuing our journey through the film archives, we find ourselves on the Île de Nantes, home to the iconic Hangar à Bananes. Let’s rewind to July 2016, when I captured this vibrant scene with my then favourite Canon AE1. Once a shipbuilding powerhouse, Nantes had cleverly repurposed its abandoned infrastructure into a bustling hub. The area is now home to the fantastical Machines de l’Île, the historic Chantiers Navals, the towering Grue Jaune, and of course, the Hangar à Bananes itself. Back then, the Hangar was a hive of activity, buzzing with picnics, impromptu barbecues, and lazy afternoons under the summer sun.

My goal was to capture that unmistakable “Summer Vibe.” As always, I started with the architecture, drawn to its striking modern lines, a refreshing departure from the stark brutalism of the 1970s. The clever use of texture and the innovative design of the apartment buildings particularly caught my eye.

That summer, the Voyage à Nantes festival had a brilliant idea: communal barbecues for everyone. Genius, right? You simply brought your food, and they provided the grills, charcoal, tables, and chairs. It might not be Texas, but the French know their way around a barbecue, and being the food lovers they are, they go beyond the usual sausages and burgers. It was a true testament to what a public space should be – a place for everyone to gather, share, and simply enjoy themselves.

Then there was the dancer. He was just filming himself with a GoPro, but the way the sunlight caught his movements and the glistening sweat on his skin was mesmerising. It was a fleeting moment, the first and only time I’ve ever photographed a dancer, but it left a lasting impression. There’s something undeniably captivating about the human body in motion.

My wanderings continued to the edge of the island, where the mighty Grue Jaune – now a “monument historique” and a symbol of Nantes – stands tall. Walking past and through this enormous yellow crane was an awe-inspiring experience.

Along the riverfront, the Anneaux de Buren, a series of massive rings, stretched out in a mesmerizing pattern. At night, they transform into a dazzling display of vibrant reds, blues, and greens – a photographer’s dream, offering endless possibilities for capturing leading lines, geometric shapes, and unique framings of the cityscape.

And of course, no photo series of mine would be complete without the obligatory bike shot. It’s a bit of a tradition for me.

Even now, in 2024, the Hangar à Bananes still exudes that same “Summer Vibe.” It remains a popular spot for after-work drinks with friends and colleagues, boasting a variety of restaurants, bars, the HAB Gallery, and the infamous “Warehouse.” While the area can get a bit dicey later at night, it’s perfectly safe and enjoyable for a daytime visit or an early evening soirée.

The Opening of the Film Archives – Nantes November 2016

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Following our last trip to Carnac, the film archive now has a look at Nantes in the autumn of 2016. These photos offer a glimpse into how I approached photographing a city back then, and if I’m being totally honest with you, still do. I treat the city much like a model on a photoshoot. The goal is to capture not just the physical landscape, but the essence and atmosphere of a place, allowing viewers to get a feel for the city simply by looking at the images. In this series of pictures, Nantes reveals herself and her architecture, resplendent in the autumnal sunshine.

Over time, I have come to know the city and appreciate her architecture. Buildings are not only a reflection of the architect but also of the people who live in them. They add character to the city, allowing her personality to shine through.  I enjoy looking at the lines, and the shapes of them.  They inspire me.  They tell the story of the people who, either work, or live in them.  They are not just mere edifices.  

You will notice as we go through the archives, I might not respect the timeline slavishly. My aim is to give you an aperçu of my world at the time through film. I know you will be able to take this affront in your stride and not hate me!

We’ll go from the bains douches municipales, through to the Sainte Croix church, to the Stalinian 1950’s architecture of the Social Security building, passing by the odd shop, Hausmanian architecture, and even a shot looking towards the Cathedral.