Were I more concerned about saving the planet, the headline on the front page of this morning’s New York Times, “French Ideal of Bicycle-Sharing Meets the Reality of Disrespect,” would have evoked worry about a failed experiment. Like shopping carts pilfered from supermarkets and resurfacing in the Charles River here in Boston, at least a few of the Parisian bicycles purchased for the experiment have been seen dumped in the Seine. Others have been vandalized or stolen and shipped to third world countries.
For me, the headline evoked nostalgia for my visit to Copenhagen, circa summer of 2003, with Dennis and his family. Staying at the 71 Nyhavn, a hip hotel on the water, I loved taking early morning runs or walks around the harbor, finishing up with a stop at a bakery selling pastry so rich that butter stains appeared on the little brown bag even before I began eating my “reward” as I headed back for breakfast with Dennis.
Nothing beats touring with friends or family who live in a foreign country. In Copenhagen, we were lucky enough to get the inside track from the in-laws of my stepdaughter, Julia. Native Danes, they find the tax structure oppressive enough to spend most of the year in the South of France, only to return to their home for summers.
Fit from years of Nordic skiing and the daily bike rides he’s enjoyed ever since retiring to France, Julia’s father-in-law is my kind of fitness fanatic. Stefan knew I would get a kick out of the shared bicycles very much a part of Copenhagen culture. The bikes were chained to little poles that looked like parking meters, and all it took was a coin to release the bike. I got the coin back when I returned the bike.
Without my gel seat pad, the bikes were extremely uncomfortable, and my rides were short. Still, as a woman bred on the cynicism and distrust of New York, I smiled at the notion of the bikes not being stolen or vandalized, at least in any numbers likely to generate headline stories.
The story in today’s Times references the social tensions between haves and have-nots in Paris, and the fact that the shared bicycle experiment is clearly associated with well-meaning “bobos” or “bourgeois-bohemes.” The writers question whether the have-nots are vandalizing the bikes to communicate their rage against the haves.
I am reminded of Stefan’s response to my comment about having encountered a vast horde of homeless people camping out along the harbor, not far from an old hippy commune on “Pusher Street.” A former banker, he seemed skeptical about what I said, and went on to say that the people I saw were most likely camping out by choice. The same high tax rate that’s driven him to the South of France has made homelessness exceedingly rare in Denmark.
Winter is coming to Boston, and though Dennis and I will be heading to Florida for Thanksgiving to see Daphne and Etan, I feel a sense of restlessness that can only be alleviated by planning a trip – even if it’s many, many months away. I’ve written in other posts about the three extended trips we took to Paris when Daphne was a little child, and her dad got invited to speak at international roundtable discussions in France.
Paris oozed with materialism and I loved the shopping – while also knowing I needed to be cautious. That sense was reinforced when a group of wise guys and gals tried to rip a Stefane Kelian shopping bag off my back as I went through a turnstile in the metro.
The only clothing I bought in Copenhagen was a jacket at Anne Feldballe’s workshop. She graciously offered to alter it within two hours, and I’m still wearing it.
I’ll have to wait until we visit our accountant in February, and see how the finances look after taxes. But it would be nice to return to Paris or Copenhagen.
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