Ho Voglia Di Te – but don’t take it personally

Taking a boat trip along the Seine, rounding the Île Saint Louis we spotted two hearts and, in huge writing, the words ‘ho voglia di te’.

The next day I walked around the lower walls to find it. It took a while because I got to the tip of the island and then went back to tell Vicki that it wasn’t there, went around the other side and there it was, about ten yards from the tip but out of sight of where I’d turned around…

I had no idea what the text meant, but it was clearly romantic and beautiful and intended either for somebody passing on a boat or somebody with extremely poor eyesight. Googling it upon my return I discover that it means ‘I Want You’ in Italian. A sexy phrase if ever there was one. If I’d known it when I was young, sad and single I feel sure I’d have used it.

I’d never been to Paris in the Autumn before, and I spent every day singing ‘I Love Paris’ either in my head or out loud. I’ve always loved the song, even when I didn’t love the city, and now when I sing it I think about my loves, one wife, two children and a dog, and how lucky I am, I’m a lucky, lucky man.

Every time I look down on this timeless town
whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
more and more do I realize:

I love Paris in the springtime.
I love Paris in the fall.
I love Paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love Paris in the summer when it sizzles.

I love Paris every moment,
every moment of the year.
I love Paris, why, oh why do I love Paris?
Because my love is near.

Cole Porter. Genius.

love | landscape

A Photo of a Photo of Photographers

I mentioned a couple of posts ago that there were almost too many hearts in Paris – up and around the Eiffel was where I started to feel overwhelmed this year.

Apologies if I’m place-dropping, but it was last year on the Brooklyn Bridge that I first got the slightly dizzying feeling that I was trying to achieve something that I couldn’t possibly do – I realised that I will never be able to photograph every heart I saw. That revelation (bloody obvious in hindsight) gave me the same sensation I used to have in my regular childhood Christmas nightmare, the one in which it was Christmas eve and I had to get home but it was physically impossible because I was half a world away. I stood there on Brooklyn Bridge looking at a swarm of hearts scratched and drawn onto the steel girder before me and thought out loud: ‘oh, crap, there’s a thousand of them’…

I knew this would happen when I went up the Eiffel Tower, and it did. There’s some work going on up on the first and second stages with some great hoardings around it covered in life-size photographs of people looking out over the view from where you’re standing, taking photographs.

There’s something wonderful about standing with your back to the view photographing a photograph of somebody looking at the view and taking a photograph. I got some funny looks.

In case you’re uncertain, the Eiffel Tower is here. Have a look at the ‘street view’ there, and at the lovely shadow on the satellite image on the map.

Graffiti - Art or Vandalism?

Whenever I’m in France, Italy or Spain (which is not nearly as often as I’d like to be) I do find myself shocked at the sheer quantity of graffiti, almost everywhere.

I don’t like to see graffiti as vandalism, but let’s face it, on this scale it really is. Still, there’s always a positive, and here it is the fact that the vandalism does have a large degree of artistic merit. And a heart opposite.

I think I’ve blogged about this before, probably after returning from Barcelona, but mostly what you see are tags. There’s something surreal about seeing huge urban graffiti on bridges in rural Normandy as you drive down from Cherbourg towards Paris. I hope somebody’s documenting them – I wish I had the time to. I’d pick a route and would stop and photograph every bridge along the way. Many of them are simple crossings from field to field, some with a footpath, others there perhaps for livestock.

Driving into one particular town (off the top of my head I forget where it was) we drove beneath a huge overpass with at least two levels, and on the lowest level was a heart along with some text. My instincts told me to stop, but the children were asleep in the back of the car, the entrance to the bridge was in some location unknown to me and it just wasn’t possible… sometimes I have to let them go.

This photograph was taken here in Lisieux, where we stopped for breakfast. We took a stroll – rather a long stroll as it turned out, as the Basilique Sainte Thérèse is stunning and we couldn’t resist walking up to it – and this was on the way back to the car, in a covered space between two buildings. I love the juxtaposition (but hate the word) between the traditional French window and the elaborate and bizarre graffiti.

And I’m sure the owners of the house were delighted with it.

love | landscape