Joyce’s November 2003 trip to Paris and Dakar

a gallery of photographs

PARIS, FRANCE (19)

DAKAR, SÉNÉGAL (46)

three days and two nights in Paris
DAY ONE. I arrived in Paris at 6:30 in the morning. By early afternoon I was in St. Germain des Prés at the apartment of the Poisson-Quintons. We walked to the famous cafe for intellectuals, Les Deux Magots, where I photographed this young woman waiting for a ride, helmet in hand. Would she depart on a scooter or motorcycle or winged chariot? I never saw her leave and still remember her as part of the day's vibrant energy. The people filled the streets and avenues, enjoying the sun and warm temperature. We sat inside for a late lunch because all the outdoor tables were filled.
Philippe and Anne-Marie posed for me before the St.-Germain-des- Prés, the oldest church in the city. They met at the Sorbonne and have made Paris their home ever since their student days. Longtime friends of my family, and knowledgeable about the city they love, they were eager to introduce me to the sites that they insisted I must see during my brief stay.
We walked through the left bank toward the river, where the trees were flickering in the golden sunlight.The gray skies and rain, the famous grisaille of Paris, made no appearance.
We stopped at a gallery where Anne-Marie chatted with the owner. I could understand very little of their exchange and relied on well-rehearsed phrases to communicate in French. These were received well enough, so that I was often encouraged to continue. But as soon as I tried to express myself creatively in the French language, we all decided to switch to English.
We walked along the rue de Seine.
We crossed the street to the river at the Institut de France, home of the Académie Française, and where the French dictionary was first edited.
Across the river, the Louvre. I wasn't sure I would have time to visit this museum. We turned right and crossed the Pont Neuf, descended to the river banks, and boarded a ferry boat. Sitting on the green benches, carried slowly by the tranquil Seine, we passed under many of the famous bridges, among them Pont Royale, Pont Alexandre III with all its gold, and Pont de l'Alma, where the statue of le Zouave measures the height of the river, which might rise as high as his feet or knees or shoulders. We turned at the Eiffel Tower.
From the ferryboat, I first saw Notre Dame. I made a note to return there the next day. That evening Anne-Marie and I explored the Musée d'Orsay. Housed in a converted train station, the open halls and tiers of rooms are well suited for exhibits of paintings and sculpture. We began with a history of French Impressionism on the top floor and then descended through time to Post-Impressionism. I was enhchanted by a replica of the entire Opera Quarter beneath a glass floor. The robust organization of the place is a perfect setting for experiencing the physical nature of art.
DAY TWO. The next day I spent the morning at Notre Dame. Around noon, taking note of a concert scheduled for three o'clock, I decided to walk to the Louvre to see what I could see in three hours or so. I arrived at the Cour Carrée and found a theatre of visitors and tourists carrying out the drama of their lives in the broad colonnade. I waited to see what direction the two young men lower left would take. They waked straight through to the rear.
I followed them to the threshold of Cour Carrée, where we came upon the famous glass pyramids designed by I. M. Pei. But where to enter the museum?
Through the latticework of the glass pyramids, I contemplated the mystery of the Louvre. I discovered the escalator that runs into the ground to the reception area. My guide book recommended visiting the Louvre at lunchtime or in the evening, and I had arrived at lunch. I decided to try a sandwich at the cafe. After a Viennese hot chocolate and enormous sandwich (jambon), I was ready to visit one of the exhibits. I chose a contemporary show based on the influence of Delacroix. It was disappointing. I walked through one of the historical periods. Nothing penetrated. No, I didn't see La Joconde or the other famous paintings. I wasn't ready. Now that I have a better idea about what to expect and how to get situated in the actual arrangment of the museum, I am better prepared to study about it. While the offerings of the interior eluded me, I left thoroughly impressed by the exterior majesty of the place.
On my way to the concert at Notre Dame, I got lost and ended up on the pont St.-Louis, where I stumbled upon a street band playing jazz. The child in front seemed torn: should he watch obediently or should he participate and dance?
The concert at Notre Dame was an informal arrangement of sacred songs performed by a parade of singers. It did not matter that I had arrived late. Afterward, I walked down rue de St. Michel and passed a shop filled with witches in the window. The door was marked closed, which freed me to enjoy the spectacle without worrying about the cost. The dolls, or were they marionettes?, must have been expensive, they were so exquisitely made.
You cannot walk past the St. Severin without looking up at the strange gargoyles. In the lens, I caught them with a cross on the rooftop and a winging gull.
I continued and found myself in the Latin Quarter, where the crowds hurried along after work or school. La nuit tombée.
Is the man at the window of this Greek sandwich stop posing for me? I was amazed at the diversity of offerings on one street corner: French, Greek, Tunisian, Arabic. I arrived at the apartment of Philippe and Anne-Marie in time for tea. After a quick subway ride, I saw Place Charles de Gaulle by night, where the lights gave the impression of the star for which the center is named. I found a bus to my room at Place d'Italie and spent the rest of the evening reading Fromer's guidebook.
DAY THREE. Place d'Italie is a charming out-of-the-way place recommended by a friend. I stayed in this area, in the thirteenth arrondissement, my last day, where I breakfasted on le complet (cafe au lait, croissants, and buttered bread with rasberry jam!) and found an Internet cafe. This garden near the bus stop combined paradoxical features of autumn, where trees had given up their last leaves and roses were in full bloom.
A man was teaching a young boy ride a bicycle. There were so many photographs that I didn't take. To the left of this frame, a man seated on a bench watched the efforts of this young boy on a wobbly bicycle coming toward him, closer, closer, and then away. The expression on his face is something I will remember every time I look at this image.
I want to call this park a square but it is really a round. Is it true that the French invented rotaries, and that in France all drivers respect the right of way of those who wish to enter the circle? The view to the south spoke of winter. It was time for me to pack for the second part of my trip, to teach English for two weeks in Africa.


two weeks teaching English at Suffolk University, Dakar, Sénégal
Dakar, Sénégal, is on the water. The airport is on the water; a coast road runs to the city of Dakar; the campus of Suffolk University is half way between, and also sits next to the water. This is a view of the Atlantic Ocean near the campus. It is the same Atalantic that we swim in a mile from my house in Massachusetts. La même mer.
A view of the Dakar Campus of Suffolk University with the sea beyond.	The interior of the campus.

The faculty residence is a brief walk from the campus. Off the kitchen, this terrace was one of my favorite places. It was lovely in the morning, when the temperature was seventy degrees and breezes from the sea kept the air cool. By afternoon, the sun would warm temperatures to the nineties.
This balcony, on the second floor, was my regular place for commenting on and correcting papers, which often engaged me for six hours or more. On the table, a glass of bissap, made from a syrup if dried bissap flowers. Another favorite was a drink made from ginger.	This palm in the back yard of the residence conceals a tree of grapefruit (pamplemousse), where the large greenish fruit was ripening on the branches.

This is Abel, the house guard and guide who accompanied me on many walks and excursions.	This is Marina, the cook from Cassamance, who used a pounder, a four foot wooden stick in a rounded wooden bucket, like an oversized mortar and pestle, to make delicious marinades.
This is Manga, the driver, who picked me up at the airport and drove me and Ann Blevins on our weekend excursion. "Vous faites le choix de restaurant," we asked him. Here he poses in the courtyard of the Vietnamese restaurant, his choice for lunch in downtown Dakar. He would not join us, however, explaining that it was ramadan, and he was fasting.
Avenue Cheikh Anta Diop that divides the residence from the campus.	A community bus picks up passengers for the equivalent of fifty cents.
These horse-and-buggy ensembles are familiar alternatives to small automobiles, taxis, and buses.
Saturday morning in downtown Dakar
Behind the bazaar at Caritas, weavers make the cloth which is sewn into wallets, handbags, and shoes.	Some of the weavings are finished with fringe for table cloths and shawls.
	A street in downtown Dakar, where the upright carraige and colorful dresses of the women never failed to catch my eye.
Downtown Dakar, Boulevard Martin Luther King.	Downtown Dakar, a lone VW.
To the right, this ram on the street corner is a familiar sight. We passed many of these goat-like sheep tied to posts on streets and sidewalks, filing market squares, waiting for the religious season in early spring. Islamic families fatten one or more sheep for la Tabaski, ou fête du mouton, when they slaughter the animal, keep a portion for themselves and give a portion away, in a ritual that parallels Abraham's sacrifice of the ram. In Sénégal, ninety percent of the population is Islamic, ten percent Christian.
Le Palais présidentiel	Joyce à la Vierge Marie Mère de Jesus le Saveur with street dog, one of the many despised. (Note the strange flying saucer shaped reflection; is it sunlight or illumination of a foreign visitation?)
Sunday morning, a drive north.
Joyce with baobab tree.	Joyce with Ann Blevins, Director of Admissions.
Rufisque, an old fishing village
Note the tile roof.	Colonial architecture.
	This well supplies water for the roadside village.

L'Abbaye de Keur Moussa, or House of Moses. We caught most of the Sunday Mass, a service in French with original liturgical music to the accompaniment of the kora, balafon, and tom-tom.
After Sunday Mass.	This drummer poses with suitable sobriety, or is he dubious about my fumbling with the manual focus of the old Nikon?
Lunch at a hidden resort, Sable d’Or.

At this ocean-side resort in Popenguine N'Dayane, you can rent a cottage with a thatched roof and full bath for the day, week, or month (www.hotel-sabledor.com).
Street scenes on the road back to Dakar


	Arranging eggs to sell.
Mid-week, an afternoon trip by ferry to L’Îsle de Gorée
Clapping with these hand-held gourds celebrate the rhythm of the afternoon.	The entrance to Maison des Esclaves, the compound where men, women, and children were held before they were shipped out over the ocean to be sold as slaves in the United States.
The doors to the dark holding cells.	A lecture on the slave trade.
	The harbor at L’Îsle de Gorée, a popular place for swimmers.
My Students in English 101
My forty-one students.	Registrar Aboucar Sow with Joyce and her students.