Why I am excited about the Olympics

And I even believe I'm not the only one

Dear Friend, 

I hope you are well and had a good week. If this is your first letter from me, hello! I am very glad you’re reading. Feel free to read some of my past letters, on everything from the French attitude to holidays, the cultural significance of the French pharmacy or the mild, bumpy faces of the British.

Here in Paris we are truly on the home straight now before the Olympics kick-off (enough mixed sporting metaphors there for you?). I have been trying to tell anyone who will listen for years now that the Olympics are going to be GREAT! I was in London for the 2012 Games. Freshly graduated, I was living at my mum’s house and doing a mix of temp work and unpaid internships. I remember then that nobody got that excited about the Games – or even thought about them that much – until they were suddenly upon us. There was an appropriately eccentric Britain-themed opening ceremony featuring a sketch with the Queen; the Spice Girls; and some Tunnocks Tea Cakes, which seemed to convince Brits that it was worth getting excited about after all. Then everyone loved it. 

Apparently it is quite common for the people of the host country to be blasé or skeptical about the Games in the lead-up, but I do believe that Parisians have taken it to another level. Let’s remember here that this is a nation where “pas mal” (not bad) is a most effusive form of praise. Parisians have been proclaiming for some time that Games are going to be a “catastrophe”, enumerating all the ways things might go wrong, not least security concerns. 

A few weeks ago, I took a taxi across the city on my way to the high-end hotel Le Meurice, where I was staying for a review article for The Telegraph. It was a rainy day, my bus was delayed and I was delighted when I saw a taxi go by with a green light on. When I got in, I noted that my driver was slightly unusual in that she was a woman. I soon discovered though that she was very typical of a Parisian taxi driver in every other way, most especially her impassioned opinions and willingness to share them. 

“Qu’est-ce que tu fais au Meurice?” (What are you doing at the Meurice?), she said to me as I got in the cab, taking the familiar “tu” version of you. 

I explained that I am a journalist and I was going there to write an article. 

“Une journaliste?”, she said, following up, “And why not a journalist in Corsica?”. 

Her question was unexpected. If you are reading in the UK, it might be like you getting into a cab, telling the driver your profession and them asking you: “And why aren’t you doing that in the Isle of Wight?”. 

I quickly noticed that she had the emblem of Corsica – a man with an afro wearing a bandana – hanging from her rear-view mirror. 

“I quite like doing my job in Paris”, I said, with some sense that the content of my reply would be irrelevant to the lesson that she was determined to give me. “Why Corsica”, I asked? 

“Why Corsica?!”, she laughed, looking at me pitifully in her rear-view mirror. 

I was still struggling to grasp the logical underpinning of the conversation, but determined to try. 

“Are you Corsican?,” I asked, thinking that could be the answer. 

“Moi? Non non. I am Parisian.”

“Ah,” I said, still bemused. 

 “…But I go to Corsica every summer. It’s the best place on earth!” 

“Ah, I’ve never been,” I replied. 

“Never been!”, she exclaimed. “It’s magnificent, MAGNIFICENT! The sea, the food, the people. You should be a journalist in Corsica instead of Paris.”

To build her case, she asked me where I lived in Paris. I told her I lived in the 18th arrondissement. 

“Oh non”, she replied. “Tu payes combien ton loyer?”(How much do you pay in rent). 

I felt this question was almost certainly a trap, so avoided giving a precise answer. 

“Too much”, I said, 

“How much?,” she rebutted. 

“A lot”, I said. 

This seemed to be a sufficient back-and-forth for her to get to her next point. 

“I live in the 12th arrondissement,” she said. “It’s much nicer than the 18th.”

“Ah ok,” I said.  

“Oui”, she continued. “I have two bedrooms and a balcony. Guess how much I pay”. 

I had a feeling the answer was low, but that for rhetorical reasons my driver wanted me to guess quite high. 

“Euh, 1000 euros per month,” I said. 

“Non, 400!” she said to me, her eyes wide in the rear-view mirror. 

By now we were driving through the Louvre complex, the Tuileries Gardens  to the left and the courtyard and glass pyramid to the right. 

Intercepting the next lecture, I decided to ask her about the topics of the day. 

 “Are you looking forward to the Olympic Games?” I said. 

“The Olympics Games ?!”, she said in disbelief.  “A horror ! It will be a horror.”

“Ah so you’re not going to stay here during the Games?”, I asked. 

“Oh no Madame, I’ll be in my house in Corsica”. 

“Ah d’accord,” I said. 

My driver continued - “this summer will be a catastrophe and then by next year we will have civil war.”

“Ah ok,” I said. 

“I’ll go to Corsica when it happens”, she explained. “You should really think about being a journalist there instead”. 

So yes, Parisians have not heretofore been that optimistic about the Games and many of them have already left the city (which they do every summer, but the departure may have been expedited by the Games.)

Despite all this, I think those Parisians that are left are starting to actually get excited. Last weekend the Olympic Flame came through Paris. On Monday morning it came through close to where I live and we went to see as a cheerful local crowd cheered on the relay. We followed the flame up the hill to the top of Montmartre hill where 30 dancers welcomed it to the steps of the Sacré-Coeur. All over the city and the metros, there are signs and flags and posters. A security perimeter has been established all around the Seine where the opening ceremony will take place on July 26. 

Olympic Torch activity

Last week, the mayor of Paris Anne Hidalgo took a dip in the Seine - where some of the swimming events will take place. After months of doubts (and more than a billion euros of investment), the water has been declared clean enough to swim in, and river beaches will be open to the public in the centre of Paris from next year. Locals can already swim in the Bassin de la Villette in the canal in the north of the city, where I spent a joyful afternoon yesterday. As well as the bathing area, the banks of the canal also have activities like pedalo rental and zip wire. With friends Fiona and Frances, both of whom I have written about in these letters before, we got ice creams from artisan maker La Tropicale (the lychee and redcurrant flavour was delicious), and later we had dinner at Les Banc Publics, a great little bistro on the canalside. Across the water, a group of fun-comers in another café-terrace were doing an actual conga line. All this to say, the vibe is festive. 

Seating ready for the opening ceremony on the Seine

I am going to some pre-Olympics press events this week and will also be going to see a few different things during the Games. It may not be Corsica but I, for one, am excited. 

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Painting problematic patriarchs for cathartic reasons

At the time of writing, it has just been announced that President Joe Biden is standing down as a candidate for this year’s election. It’s another dramatic turn in this most peculiar of election campaigns in the US. I am relieved. I have found the spectacle of the ailing Biden and the never-ending discussion of it upsetting to watch, all to the backdrop of a looming Trump, apparently only strengthened by his near-assassination. Sometimes when I am overwhelmed by world events, it helps to do an expressive painting. Which is what I did this week, painting a version of Donald Trump in his big suit and small white bandage. 

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Thirty-second book club

I am still reading The Country Girls by Edna O’Brien, which I am very much enjoying. 

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Thank you for reading this week’s letter. Next week will be in the Olympics swing proper and I’ll look forward to writing then. 

Please do write back either by email or in the comments. If you like these letters, please share them with a friend of yours and show your appreciation by pressing the little heart below – it makes me feel special! 

Have a great week. 

Yours, 

Hannah