An American’s observations of a first time trip to France.
It’s alternately called the ‘the bridge of wishes,’ or ‘the lover’s bridge.’ Tradition holds that lovers should kiss and make a wish when passing beneath the little span called Pont Marie. Opened in 1635, Pont Marie links the Left and Right Banks of Paris.
The photographer’s ‘blue hour’ is fast approaching. That’s the magical, oh too short, window when the sun has just set and everything takes on a blue-ish hue; when the lights of the city add points of gold and yellow and the red neons of restaurants and bars add a flourish of gaiety (as if Paris needs a flourish of anything).
I’ve made the short walk from the Saint Paul Metro Station. Standing mid-span, leaning against the sun warmed stone of the bridge I watch the throngs heading from work to home and family, or to a cafe for evening cocktails with friends, or heading for an early dinner at a bistro overlooking the Seine, to luxuriate in a cassoulet.
Or just out for a stroll,
because
good God dude, it’s Paris and that’s what you do.
I suppose you could stay home, have KFC takeout and watch reruns of Friends. In that case you don’t deserve to be in Paris. Okay, maybe Paris, Texas, or Paris, Illinois (yes they exist).
I’m waiting for Clara, my Aperture Tours guide who will take me on a three hour night photography excursion. My night photography experience is limited, hell, almost non-existent, because in America a photographer carrying around a tripod at night might as well be wearing a sign saying, ‘mug me please.’ Safety at night with a thousand dollars worth of photo equipment is one of the many topics that Clara and I will talk about during our walk.
Cora and I have been in Paris for four days and I’ve fallen in love with La Ville-Lumière. Don’t try to tell me that Parisians are snooty and hate Americans. They’ve been the friendliest, most accommodating people I’ve met anywhere. They might hate our president, and rightly so, but if they sense that you’re a sane and un-MAGA’ied American, and during your stay you’ve been tossing around some ‘bonjours’ however poorly pronounced, then you’ve become a member of the club.
Turning to look out on the Seine towards the setting sun, the clouds are irresistible. There’s enough light that I don’t have to set up the tripod. Just steady the camera on the bridge.
A short time later a young, slightly built woman carrying a backpack approaches, headed straight towards me. I figure it’s Clara and she knows it’s me; I’m the only one on the bridge with a tripod and a camera bag.
We greet each other and she quizzes me a bit on my photography experience. I give her my stock answer, “I dabble.” I like that she starts by leaving the itinerary up to me. Do I want to photograph sites or to focus more on technique and composition? I leave myself at her mercy and we agree that she’ll take me to some of her favorite spots. Over the course of the next three hours she’ll take me to some famous sites, and school me on composition, and I’ll learn more about my camera than I’ve known since I got the damn thing.
Her English is excellent and while it’s accented I can tell Clara isn’t French born. Clara Abi Nader was born and raised in Lebanon where she earned a bachelor’s degree in Photography from The Lebanese Academy of Fine Arts, before heading to Paris for a masters in filmmaking.
Before leaving the bridge, Clara challenges me to try framing a shot through one of the openings in the bridge. She asks if I’ve ever tried this kind of framing and I tell her no, completely forgetting about the images I took of the Golden Gate Bridge through a cannon port at Fort Point below the bridge. I try a couple shots looking down the Seine and think – ‘meh.’
After returning home I’ll look at images that are askew and at first (second and third) glance, not worth saving. But I’ll save them anyway. Months later, for this post I resuscitate one; for the story if not for the quality of the image. Not horrible and not great. Art in miniature – I guess. The clouds help towards waking the dead image.
As we begin our walk, Clara asks me what kind of photography excites me. I tell her that I’m all over the map. I’ve gone from landscape to wildlife to trains to cemeteries to old stuff to people to architecture.
When she asks me what I’ve shot in Paris I mention the Japan Bridge, a modern pedestrian span located at the modern La Defense area of Paris.
She remarks wryly that I’ve certainly been capturing the essence of old Paris. Despite her ironic comment (no offense taken), I’ll come home wishing I’d spent more time at La Defense.
As Clara and I walk she tells me that one of her passions is street photography. Appropriate, because we stop at a corner and she points to a domed building in the distance. Just a domed building, I’ve no idea what it is. I set up my tripod and I’m ready to take a photo of the building, but she has another idea in mind and it includes stepping back to include a woman seated at a cafe, gazing at the view. Yeah, street photography.
I’m always a little leery about including people in my photos without asking for permission. But in this case it seems clear that I’m focusing on the dome in the distance and the twilight sky. The woman watches us for a few moments as I set up before she goes back to the view.
What started out as a photo of the Palais De L’institut De France has become a short story. A woman whose companion has left (two spent wine glasses at the table) and she’s remained. A business meeting? A lover’s rendezvous? A lover’s break-up? Just two friends catching up? Or what the hell, maybe she’s a two fisted drinker. Whatever the story, is there any better place to be than where she is in the photo below?
Clara has been walking me around and around and I’ve no idea where we are. Well, we’re in Paris but other than that . . .
We stop on the Petit Pont – Cardinal Lustiger, and there she is. In France you can find a Notre Dame in any city or ville, but there really is only one that matters. And she’s right in front of me. I’ve already passed her a few times during the trip but she’s never looked quite as beautiful as she does now. Blue suits her.
I set up the tripod and Clara instructs me to take a few different images at different focal lengths and aperture settings, asking after each image if I’m satisfied with it.
By now, Clara has opened up a new world that is my camera and shown me features that I never knew existed. The damn thing came with a physical booklet which is daunting enough, but once you download the entire instruction manual you have a document that seems about as long as the Bible – only a little less confusing.
What amazes me about Clara is that she shoots with a Nikon, but she’ll take my Canon 90D, fiddle with it a little and then show me a new feature. Maybe she’s just trying to make me feel better when she tells me that a modern DSLR has so many options that nobody can reasonably know all of them.
We continue along the Rue de la Cité, and then stop after crossing the Pont Notre Dame. At a corner she points to a building lit up in the hues of the French tricolor. We’re setting up a shot to capture the colors of France and the whites, golds, and reds of light trails. As I’m getting ready to shoot, some people pass quickly in the middle of the scene but Clara tells me not to worry about them. If they stop or move too slowly they might appear in the shot but at a run or a fast walk they will be like ghosts. I may know the concept now but I’ll be dipped if I could explain it.
We’re backtracking to Petit Pont – Cardinal Lustiger, where we stop again. This time we’re aiming the camera across the Seine in another direction away from Notre Dame. It’s another street scene across the river, and we’re waiting for light trails from boats plying the Seine.
Off in the distance is the icon of Paris, the Eiffel Tower, shimmering gloriously. A beacon of light rotates from the top of the tower lighting the sky; as if this very symbol of Paris needs to have attention called to it. We’re going to try to capture the beacon. In order stop the beam, I have to ramp up the ISO. We make a couple of attempt and finally – got it. It’s not great. The piers of the bridge are a little too soft for my liking.
Clara is taking us on another hike. It’s getting darker and we’re passing through some darker, less traveled streets. I mention to her that I would never do this in an American city. “Why,” she asks.
I explain that there’s a risk of getting mugged for your gear, your wallet, possibly your health, and maybe your life. I tell her about the T.V. news crew in San Francisco that got robbed of all their gear. She wonders how that can happen and I explain that it’s because getting a gun in America is almost as easy as getting a croissant in Paris. It’s an exaggeration (a slight one) but she gets the point.
As we walk we talk about the relative safety of cities we’ve been to. she tells me that the safest she’s felt in a city was in Madrid. I can’t argue with that. It seems like nobody ever sleeps in Madrid. Two in the morning and the hordes are still walking the Gran Via.
(I have done some nighttime urban photograph and felt relatively safe. In Prague I took my camera and tripod along a riverwalk near the Vltava River to photograph the Prague Castle at night. Nobody sketchy there unless you count strolling couples and families. I took night photos from the riverwalk in Chicago because that city stations legions of police in popular areas).
We’re in the recess of an old building facing the Palais De L’institut De France. I’m framing the old dome through the arches of the building.
Another walk, this tine towards Paris’ second (third?) most recognizable monument.
As we walk I bring up the subject that I feel is almost a necessity when I’m talking to a resident of any European city. It’s the gross, orange elephant in the room. I start where I always start, that is unless the other person brings up the subject first. I tell Clara how mortified I am about what’s going on in America. With the subject broached she asks questions and I try my best to answer.
After ten years of Donald Trump I find that it’s still an undertaking to explain how America could ask for a second round of calamity. As usual, my apology enters the conversation and I get the kind and understanding response that I’ve become accustomed to. It goes something like, ‘I understand that not everyone voted for him, and I’m sorry that you are going through this.’ I’m always touched by the generosity, especially during this second coming,when Trump is not just working to destroy America but the whole wide world.
The Louvre. There’s a crowd of people taking photos with their phones between the bars of the iron gate in front of the famous golden pyramid. One man with a DSLR is trying to maneuver his tripod so he can shoot between the bars. This would be a great time to have my Platypod, a handy little gadget that lays flat on the ground that I’d be able to mount right up to the gate. The bonus to this gadget is that the low angle allows me to accentuate reflections off the ground.
Clara shows me how to lean the tripod and wedge it against the bars of the gate. The man with the tripod near us watches and learns.
We’re off to get another angle of this classic structure from the other side. When we get there, we find that the area has been fenced off. There are more than a few people who are disappointed that access has been closed off. Clara approaches a guard and asks him why the area has been cordoned off by a chain link fence and a small army of security guards. (No it wasn’t due to the robbery. That occurred after Cora and I had returned home). The guard explains that there’s a reception for the rich and famous as part of Fashion Week.
Well! I guess my invitation was lost in the mail.
Fashion Week. That explains why rail thin models are posing for photographers at famous locations throughout Paris.
Nothing for it but improvise, find an angle at a spot with a shorter fence and wait for the pacing guards to be out of the viewfinder.
We stop for one last shot of the pyramid with light trails in the foreground
After a magical three hours we head for the metro station. We’re both taking the same train so we have some moments to say our good-byes before Clara hops off at her stop.
I’m alone on a metro train with a tripod and an expensive camera. It’s another one of those, no fucking way I would do this in an American city moments. Here in Paris I might just as well be carrying a sack of groceries.
My station is Champs-Élysées, which is near Place Charles de Gaulle and the Arc de Triomphe. It’s still bustling with tourists taking selfies and crossing the roundabout to get to the famous monument. They aren’t taking their lives in their hands so much as putting their lives at the mercy at drivers in a hurry to get somewhere.
When I get back to our apartment Cora is still up, waiting for me. I won’t sleep well tonight. Still too excited, still trying to commit everything I learned to memory.
If you’re ever in Paris and looking for a photo tour, contact Aperture Tours and ask for Clara.
The Life in My Years 
Wow, Paul, it was a magical 3 hours. You came back with amazing images.
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