The weather on the day of our departure was, of course, wonderful. After so many days of rain and gloom, Paris thumbed its nose at us with lovely blue skies. We packed up everything, checked the apartment for stuff left behind, and made our way to the train station. On the way to the airport, I was taking pictures when one of the train attendants told me something in French. “Sorry, I don’t understand,” I said.
“You cannot take photos of other people without their permission,” she said. “It is illegal here.” From what I understand, that’s not entirely accurate, but I just nodded and started taking shots of Xiao Guo and Carlos, asking them pointedly, “Will you permit me to take your photo?” each time.
It’s odd, this (perhaps French, perhaps Parisian?) fear of being photographed. A homeless man wanted five Euros because his dog was in my shot. A man in a shop warned me about taking photos just because he saw a camera around my neck (the camera was off and the lens cap on). What exactly have Parisians been doing with photography that has instilled so much fear in them? Have photographers been photoshopping people into compromising situations and then extorting money from them, on such a wide scale that everyone lives in fear now? I saw many people with cameras, and there were international photography shows, including many street photography exhibits in town at that point. But the feeling I got was definitely uneasy, not just about photography, but just public safety in general. Perhaps it’s because I come from a country where things are generally safe and free.
Anyway, we got to the airport, where the authorities apparently thought that the service desks should resemble the U.S. embassy in Saigon as the Viet Cong approached the city, and I utilized my American accent and visage to get us over to a counter where the woman had no idea how to check us in. There were no window seats forthcoming.
The leg from Paris to Shanghai was long, and filled with movies. In Shanghai we sat at a place called the Acting Cafe (the actual cafe was off that day, I guess), and watched a couple of French woman be appalled at the lack of mayonnaise. On the flight back to Taipei, after another delay (of course), we were carted out to the far ends of the airfield to board presidential style, whereupon we found ourselves seated behind one of China’s “Little Emperors”. The boy chattered and screamed throughout the flight, and his parents and grandmother couldn’t have been more delighted at each utterance.
So anyway, I’m back, and busy trying to get back into the swing of things. It’s been a rather trying trip, though it had its highlights. But I could really use a vacation now.