Lately, I became interested in graffiti found on cities walls. Not the illegible signatures but rather the drawings, the short sentences, sometimes political, sometimes poetic, sometimes naive and sometimes so true. So here a few pictures I took in France last month. You will find their meaning below the mosaic.
Browsing: Snapshots of France
Traveling from the East to the West meant following the sun… and not sleeping much because we shared the plane with two minor league soccer teams on their way to Toronto (one day, I’ll tell you about in-flight food fights… I’m still too traumatized to speak!). I was seated by the window and snapped a few pictures along the way.
Wednesday was our last day in Paris… and we decided to take a walk along the Seine. Paris is famous for its many bridges and the shore of the — pretty dirty — river are quite nice. We even took the boat from St Germain, to the Louvre, the Champs-Élysés and the Eiffel Tower for more sightseeing.
Mysterious Carnac, on the coast, and Vannes… our last stops.
After St Malo, Rennes, the official capital of Brittany. Rennes has always competed with Nantes: both city have good universities, both are lively and relatively cheap and both are buzzing cities. But Rennes has a stronger “Bretagne” (Brittany) feeling, proud and alive.
Earlier this week, we decided to take a trip to Saint Malo, in the heart of Brittany. This relatively small city has a particularity: a seaward fortress since the Middle Ages, St Malo still has a 1.8 km wall circling the city. Designed by Vauban, Louis XIV’s military engineer, the wall offers a great view of the city and the harbor.
The best places in Paris! A collection of photographs.
Of course, we were both a bit tired after spending almost two days in Montreal airport. That probably explained why my bank card was swallowed at the first ATM I used and why we didn’t notice we were using the wrong plug for my computer.
I got off the bus and walked towards the barracks. I showed a piece of ID to the orderly who was standing by the huge metal door and he let me in. Behind the doors were about a hundred people, all my age, anxiously smoking cigarettes and making small talk.
While waiting at the garage, I read The Sun, a rag with a lot of bullshit in it. It’s cheap (25 cents) but it’s bad. Really bad. The Sun pet themes are usually : war is good, high taxes are bad, gay marriage is evil, gas is too expensive, anyone who doesn’t speak English or isn’t of English background is a terrorist or an illegal immigrant etc. Come on, I’m talking about a newspaper which call “youths” “punks” !