They turned the clocks back an hour in France this morning, a week before we do it in the US.  It didn’t feel beneficial, though.  I’m in vacation mode and had nothing to wake up for this morning.  I guess I like the idea of getting an extra hour in successive weeks on different continents although I’m in the camp (a majority opinion) that supports eliminating clock changes altogether. 

Tom from Toulouse is here and recommended a visit to the Paris Masters tennis tournament Saturday.  They played qualifying matches all day in advance of the week-long men’s tourney that will include Rafa, Djokovic, Alcaraz, Ruud, Medvedev and Tsitsipas.

It’s being staged at a big indoor arena in Bercy, an easy-to-reach neighborhood in the 12th.  It was just 10 euros to get in.  A couple of matches were played on the showcase court in the main stadium but the most interesting ones played out in the bowels of the arena, on small auxiliary spaces officially called courts “1” and “2”.  

The French fans on hand Saturday were there to see Hugo Gaston from Toulouse.  Gaston’s game defies logic, convention in the modern men’s competition.  He’s short and stout and lacks high velocity on serve.  He’s an old school drop-shot guy with a big lob.  Clay is his preferred domain.  This was a hard court but fans sang and chanted for Hugo throughout his two-hour plus thriller vs. the big, hard-hitting Swiss player Marc-Andrea Huesler.  Gaston is intent, almost obsessive about placing shots that flirt with plopping within just inches of the top of the net.  When the ball falls short, fans groan at what feels like a wasted chance.  But when Gaston finessed it onto Huesler’s side, there was a whoosh of oh-my-gosh as Huesler raced to reach it.

When Huesler did manage to eek out a lunge to continue the point, Gaston would either blister a return down the lane – or lob it deep to make Huesler sprint backwards to find it.  Hugely entertaining.  Gaston fought back love-40 down 5-6 in the third and then all the way back from 0-4 in the tie-break before eventually losing 5-7 in the extra.  It was a thriller that will go down as one of the best matches I’ve ever seen.  

We sat in the second row on the service line.  Former French tennis greats Sebastian Grosjean and Paul-Henri Mathieu sat in the end zone, presumably there to see Gaston.   When we waited for a break in the action during match prior to Gaston / Huesler to enter court 1, we saw confused tournament officials prevent Huesler from gaining immediate access to the locker room.  “Typical French disorganization,” said Tom.    

The French don’t use the automatic electronic line call technology deployed at the US Open.  Tom says despite acceptance the now time-tested tech is infallible, there is resistance to change given what would be an ensuing loss of labor.  So, as it is, there are two human judges on both baselines and one watching the service box (in addition to the chair ump).  Player challenges that prompt reexamination using technology during our day-long sample size were producing overturns at about a one in five rate.  With straight-up use of the line technology, there are no debates, challenges, and in theory, mistakes.         

Friday night, we gathered at Rush bar in the 11th to watch the TFC – Lens match.  The bar was packed and it was a great time, although Toulouse lost 2-nil.

I wandered all over Sunday, covering lots of ground on foot.  I don’t have the confidence to get on a bike here but the bike lane infrastructure is incredible for its width, coloring and placement.  A guy at Rush bar told me Friday night that the pandemic-created flood of new bike riders has brought a batch of rule-flouting pedallers who offset the benefit of the new space for two-wheelers.  Tom disagrees, saying the conditions for cyclists in Paris are such that it’s the best way to get around, even better than the Metro. 

Pavement’s history of decade-long gaps between touring would make the band’s current run of 47 US and Euro dates over a two month stretch a last-chance possibility (even probability) for fans like me. 

I saw their Kansas City show at the Uptown in late September and then last night – at the Grand Rex here in Paris.  Both shows were great.  The sound was better in KC.  So was the vast space for general admission standees.  

But to see Pavement in Paris was a thrill.  I walked in with French friends off the busy Boulevard Poissonnière into the majestic movie theater just a few minutes before the band went on.

The crowd went nuts when they played Shady Lane late in the main set.  Frontman Steve Malkmus garnered amusement from his bandmates on several occasions when he modified slightly an intro – or an outro.  The band’s form and confidence is top level, likely benefitting from the accumulation of workouts these songs are getting.  Harness your Hopes is on the setlist for every show but there’s been great variety on this tour.  

A guitar tech handed Malkmus a newly-tuned instrument between each song. There was about a fifteen or twenty foot gap on the main floor between the first row of seats and a stage barrier.  That’s where people stood.  Those with seats on the main floor stood too.  And there was an unregulated clogging of the aisle by standees who wanted to improve their view.  Mostly an older crowd.  Guys my age. Or in their 40’s.  

An intoxicated woman jumped on stage during Spit on a Stranger and seemed unsure what to do with the attention she was generating.  The band ignored her, even when she advanced into Steve’s sphere.  She briefly played air guitar.  After more than 60 seconds of awkward and somewhat annoying uncertainty how her stunt would end, she grabbed one of Westie’s drum mikes to sing along, prompting security to gently apprehend her for reintroduction to her designated space in the audience.  

Even with the mapping app, I kinda got lost on the way home.  I passed on the group’s post-gig drink meetup to ensure I made the last Metro back to the hotel.  The trains clicked.  But my room is off this roundabout with no grid system in the area – and for me, a total lack of familiarity and directional orientation.  So, I walked for a half-hour searching for my hotel when it should have taken five minutes.  That’s Ok.  I don’t like being lost in the moment, but I do occasionally like being lost as a funny travel memory.