Last April myself and my wife spent a long weekend in Paris, a kind of belated honeymoon. It was the first time I had been to what Joyce supposedly called "a lamp for lovers hung in the wood of the world." But that quote came into its own when we boarded the tourist barge at Pont Neuf for a night cruise.
The Eiffel Tower was cleverly lit, like something woven out of bronze. Bridges, bridges, bridges, each with its little bleat of greeting/waving.
But the bank-life looked absolutely enchanting by night, more lively and less heat-exhausted than what we'd seen from a day-cruise the previous afternoon; full of impromptu or organised music-sessions, the aftermaths of candle-lit dinner parties where people drank wine and dangled their legs over the quay wall, dancers (reminded me of Paula Rego's painting 'The Dance'), hand-holding couples, Le Dejeuner Sur L'herbe without the herbe... a sense of peaceful yet vibrant life, a kind of ideal vision.
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