Went to see JLG / JLG, a Jean Luc Godard film / video / home movie / essay. My French wasn’t really good enough to understand most of what he was saying, and I kept dozing off, but there were some nice images of snow covered landscapes and waves and some good sounds. May try and watch it again with subtitles when I get back to England, which could be tomorrow.
At midnight on 1st January 2008 it became illegal to smoke in public spaces throughout France. Due to a concession it remained legal to smoke indoors throughout New Year’s Day.
Sitting in a bar just after midnight. The floor is clean, white tiles, and there are no ashtrays on the tables. I sit at a table with a beer, not smoking. A man who was propping up the bar steps outside for a cigarette, moving about in an attempt to keep warm. He comes back in complaining about the cold. Usually there would be a mound of cigarette butts lining the foot of the bar so you can’t see where the bar ends and the floor begins. In France prices are lower if you stand at the bar, and though ashtrays were usually provided, people seemed to prefer using the floor.
A group of men dressed in black walk in. One is desperate for the toilet. A couple of the others want to buy cigarettes. This place is not a tabac. Tabacs are the only places allowed to sell cigarettes, but late at night when the tabacs are closed many bars sell them under the counter at an inflated price – about €8,50 for a packet, whereas you would pay €5,50 in a tabac.
A man in an overcoat walks in holding a lit cigarette, apparently having forgotten the new law. No one notices, but he seems to suddenly realize, perhaps spotting the lack of ashtrays and smoke. He drops his cigarette on the floor and discretely stubs it out with his foot, then, after shaking hands with a couple of people he leaves. One of the bar-props notices the butt and points it out to the barman. The barman comes round to the front of the bar and they both stand staring at the butt for a while, neither one of them speaking, as if a turd has just appeared on the floor. The barman kicks it over to the foot of the bar, where today it would have found many friends and relatives but now it is all alone. The barman wipes away the black marks it has made with his foot.
The following night I’m sitting outside another bar, warmed by a gas heater. A number of bars and restaurants have canvas covered outside areas with such heaters blasting away. Sometimes these areas have canvas or perspex sides, making them almost interiors, but not quite, at least not as far as the law is concerned. Others just have small canopy, with the vast majority of the heat dissipating into the atmosphere. The one I’m in has one partially open side to it. Though it is a cold night it is quite warm sitting directly under a heater, though not warm enough to take my coat off. Some passers by stop in to warm themselves and smoke. This outside area of the bar has more people in it than the inside.
There are no ashtrays. The floor is littered with cigarette butts. I decided before Christmas, after a brief period of not smoking, that I would quit when France quits, but France doesn’t appear to have quit, it’s just moved outside.
My prediction for 2008: France’s carbon emissions will increase due to its outdoor heating pour les fumeurs.
I was taking photographs in the Pompidou centre when a guy in a black suit came up to me and asked me if I was filming. I said no, I’m taking photos. He ordered me to show me the photos I’d taken, which I did. He stopped at one of them and said: Delete that one. I’m in that. I couldn’t see him – if he was in it he was very small and in the background. But now standing next to me he was big and intimidating, so I deleted it and he was happy. I guess he was a secret service government agent or something.
Looking for the entrance to the sewers that Harry Lime escapes down in the Third Man, somewhere near Karlsplatz. No sign of a cobbled square. Instead a major road junction and a number of modern buildings including a technical university. Some of the trams look like they could date back to 1949 though.
Saw a demonstration today against (or for) a writer, with demonstrators all in combat gear. Also went to the Nicola Tesla museum – he who invented electric motors and radio (Marconi stole the idea apparently).
Getting the train to Hungary tonight, via Budapest.- which reminds me of an old Goon Show:
Grytpype: Now, Captain Seagoon
Seagoon: Yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes yes?
Grytpype: Please don’t do that. Captain, you have been specially selected for a specially dangerous mission
Seagoon: Does this mean I’ve been specially selected for a specially dangerous mission?
Grytpype: So you guessed, eh? Seagoon, you are to make your way to Hungary via Budapest
Seagoon: Will I have to go abroad?
Grytpype: If all else fails, yes. It’s dangerous work
Seagoon: I suppose I’ll have to take risks?
Grytpype: Oh yes, and a small pot of tea
Seagoon: What does this mean?
Grytpype: It means you’ve been chosen to go abroad with a packet of Risks and a small pot of tea
Seagoon: For what reason?
Grytpype: Reason? Does there have to be a reason?
Grytpype: Very well, if that’s the way you feel about it, I’ll tell you. Pull up a chair
I’ve been staying with a family here for the past week: a man, a woman – who approached me at the bus station, or actually it was a guy with her who approached me asking if I needed somewhere to stay, which I did – and an occasional 20 year old son. They invited me into their living room this afternoon for a coffee and then some wine and some pumpkin. They live in the living room at the moment, at least whilst I’m there. The man told me the room I’m now staying in is actually his bedroom. I’m paying 45 euros for the week. The man, after a stroke 7 years ago, is paralysed down his left side and can no longer work. He gets a pension of 100 euros a month, which he says is not enough, particularly in winter when they have to have the heating on. It’s cold here. I’ve put the fur lining back in my coat. Only a couple of weeks ago in Greece I was lying on a beach and swimming in the sea. And a week ago in Athens I was walking around in a T-shirt. Athens is not that much further south than here, but Ohrid is 600m above sea level. Lake Ohrid is one of the oldest in the world, and Ohrid is one of the oldest known European settlements. Ohrid is the Jerusalem for Slavic peoples, he said.
I’ve just taken the overnight train from Athens. Sitting in the smoky station cafe waiting for the connection to Skopje, Macedonia, having just eaten a sickly sweet king-size chocolate croissant with Nutella-type chocolate oozing out of it.