Easter Delight: Part 1

My Easter weekend starts early when I take leave on Maundy Thursday to attend a rare performance by one of my favourite contemporary artists, Benny Sings. The Dutch singer/songwriter is passing through Paris on the European leg of his tour. Whilst he regularly plays one off shows in the Land of the Rising Sun to his loyal and sizeable Japanese fanbase, Sings is not as active on his native continent.

It’s thus worth the inflated high-season travel fare. I don’t know when I’ll next have the opportunity. The train is too exorbitant, even with discount card so it’s the circuitous coach route for me. I opt for the early bus, giving me a whole day to catch up with acquaintances based in the French capital. The coach arrives well over an hour late owing to seasonal traffic, we’re told.  I frantically text my Parisian chums to rearrange my schedule. The knock-on effect of the delay isn’t as bad as I envisaged, however. We drive into Bercy bus garage only three-quarters of an hour later than planned.

First on my list is Julie. We met many moons ago via a language exchange group when she was based in London. Having since returned to France, our correspondence has become more sporadic. Our friendship would've been old news if it weren't for my stubbornness.  Apart from her occasional visits to the UK, life would get in the way. When I was in town last summer, it was mere weeks before her wedding to fellow Martinican, Jérémie. This will be our first face-to-face in at least four years. My hectic timetable doesn’t allow for more than an hour to summarise the last few years over a delicious crepe. After a rocky start on her return to France, Julie’s life has evolved in many respects. She looks refreshed; embracing both the challenges and blessings of newly-wed life.

She escorts me back to Gare de L’Est where I meet some of my Paris-based Labour International comrades.  The already good-natured bunch is in high spirits. The sun helps. After a few weeks of cold and/or wet weather, a scorcher takes us by surprise. Following the unveiling of the freshly-printed LI banner that new member Tim has designed (drawing quizzical looks from passers-by), we head to a nearby café for drinks and conversation. Next stop is a fly-by-night chat in the 11^th Arondissement with Rhys, another like-minded LI comrade. Appearances can be deceptive. Without prior knowledge of his politics, if I were to purely go by a superficial appraisal I would have Rhys down as a true—blue Tory rather than a red-blooded socialist of long-standing. In less than an hour we cram in an overview of the last 15 years of French politics and the appeal of AOC. I have much to learn from him. A pity we run out of time. Rhys has a meeting to officiate and I head off to Badaboum for Benny’s show.  

Compared to my last couple of European musical excursions, I arrive with time to spare. The intimate venue reminds me a little of the re-vamped London Jazz Café. I find a choice spot where I plant myself all evening. It turns out to be an auspicious decision. I’m right in the line of vision of support act Ed Mount when he inconspicuously weaves his way through the audience. I shower his performance with plaudits. Previously ignorant of his electro-soul oeuvre, I have become an instant fan. 

We both observe that Sings has more of a French fanbase than we’d have expected. By the time he steps on stage, guitar by his side, the Badaboum is heaving. I sing along word-for-word to almost every song. My uncharitable pedantic side questions the dedication of many of the other revellers, who only seem to be au fait with recent material. Not that it should matter. It’s an electric evening. Even the apparently mellow and self-effacing Benny is buoyed by all the good energy.

At the coach station I call my mum to check if my sister has arrived yet from Japan. Yep, it’s happening. My baby girl is back on Western European turf. For a little bit anyway.

She flew into town that morning and has a clubbing session planned with friends. My good mood is enough to sustain me through an overnight ride back to Strasbourg and awkwardly-positioned sleep.

Arriving in Strasbourg the early hours of Good Friday, I have caught the wrong end of the already sporadic public holiday transport service. Stepping off the tram for the long-ish walk back to my flat, I spot the errant boyfriend of a colleague/neighbour shuffling towards the homestead.

Soundtrack: The Best of Benny Sings, Data feat. Benny Sings, Don’t Sing.