Paris est tourné du Noir et Beige

(Paris is turned Black and Beige)

When you are doing the famed Kiwi OE a trip to support the All Blacks on a northern hemisphere tour is an unmissable event. And who better to unleash some patriotic passion with than on a Beige Brigade supporters tour to Paris. Perhaps best known for supporting the NZ cricket team and bringing beige back into the fashion spectrum, they have now set up a London outpost and lead package tours to all sorts of NZ sporting events.

The Beige Expeditionary Force

And so on Friday evening we left London’s Waterloo Station on the Eurostar train on our way through the Channel Tunnel to Paris. Pretty much everyone had packed their own beer picnic for the trip so it was always going to be quite a social event. However once the initial supplies were consumed, a swarm of black and beige locusts moved on to the onboard bar and consumed its entire stock of beer and wine, while engaging in some loud and off-key Crowded House, Dobbyn and Exponents singalongs.

Upon our arrival at Gare du Nord station in Paris we checked into our hotel and then reconvened at a bar nearby. My memory at this point gets a little hazy but let the record state that the Beige Brigade drank that bar dry as well, so clearly France wasn't quite prepared for us yet. We ended up in a restaurant where I had a steak that was so rare it still had a personality, but then again it was 1.30am and any food was good food.

Ted the Tourist

The next morning I woke up feeling less than 100%, surprise surprise. However you can’t waste time feeling hungover in Paris so I hauled my carcass up and met fellow Kiwis Spam and Caroline for a big day of sightseeing. We started off at Notre Dame and saw some gargoyles but didn’t meet any hunchbacks which was mildly disappointing. From there we crossed the Seine and walked along the river bank to the Louvre. Deciding to save the Louvre for Sunday, we walked through the central courtyard and passed the iconic glass pyramid that marks the museum entrance. The area in front was so swarming with Kiwis wearing their All Black colours that you could have almost mistaken it for the Square back in Palmy if there was a clocktower and a few muggings and drug deals going down.

After pausing for a crêpe (not to be confused with a crap) for lunch we charged on down the Champs-Élysées and ran into Paddy O’Brien, Conrad Smith and John Afoa who were also out admiring the sights. Next stop was Napoleon’s Arc de Triomphe which is reverred by the French as it celebrates the last time they won a fight. Sadly for the French, two of the first three victory parades that went through it were by the German army but hey who’s counting. Again my fellow countrymen were out in force and were causing all sorts of traffic havoc by crossing the busy roundabout instead of using the pedestrian subways (you aren’t in Taihape now lads).

Finally we trooped back across the river to the mighty Eiffel Tower which is perhaps the most magnificent radio antenna I have ever seen. The word has it that when the Wehrmacht entered Paris the cunning locals cut the lift cables so that Hitler would have to take the stairs to the top (they were back working fine the day Paris was liberated though!). Unfortunately time was not on our side and we needed to get back to the hotel to kit up for the night’s rugby test so we didn’t have time to head up it ourselves.

RRRRRRRRRRRRRugby

The black and beige army reassembled at the Gare du Nord and decked out in black, brown and tan we took the train out to the Stade de France a few hours early for some pre-test beers. As we got off the train we walked past a few optimistic French supporters who gave us friendly verbal barrage, and if my fourth form French vocab extended to 47-3 or May 1940 I would have returned serve. With a late kickoff of 9.00pm, we were forced to bide our time for 3 and a 1/2 hours at a bar near the stadium that was full to the brim with Kiwis. It was a who's who of ex-pat NZers and you were almost assured of running into at least a couple of people you knew from back home.

When we finally went in search of our seats we were awestruck with the sheer scale of Stade de France. Any Aucklanders who don't want one of these beauties on their waterfront should be exiled. A full house of 80,000 people were all in their seats awaiting kickoff and the NZ fans were scattered in black and beige pockets around the arena. It was going to be interesting what sort of reception we supporters and the All Blacks themselves would get from the parochial home crowd.

To be fair NZ and France have had a pretty mixed history when you think about it. Two generations of Kiwis fought alongside the French in the world wars, with one of the most notable of being Dave Gallaher. He became the very first All Black captain in 1905 and 12 years later he died at Passchendale in WWI. And so as a mark of respect the All Blacks and France play for the Dave Gallaher Trophy and the AB's wear poppies on their sleeves. Since then relations haven't been flash with the French detonating their nuclear toys in our backyard, bombing the Rainbow Warrior in Auckland Harbour, and then who can forget the eye-watering treatment dished out to Buck at the Battle of Nantes. Nevertheless when the time came for the All Blacks to perform the haka all 80,000 of them went silent. The immense respect was clearly evident and the silence so complete that the haka eerily echoed around the stadium. A stark contrast to two weeks ago when the haka was drowned out by boos at Twickenham.

The game itself was pretty intense and you've all no doubt seen it. We despaired at all Leon MacDonald's first half brain explosions but cheered him when he put on the try for Smokin' Joe just before halftime. When the "Allez les Blues!" chant went up we countered with our own cheering, and we certainly let the French know what we thought when they surrendered and kicked that meaningless penalty at the final whistle. And while it wasn't the massacre of last week, as it was much closer it was still a great game to watch and brilliant to be there supporting the boys and amongst all the fans.

Cultural Injection

After the epic night of rugby on Sunday I felt compelled to broaden my horizons and seek out a bit of culture. While there are a myriad of art galleries and the like in Paris, I decided to visit the flashest of them all - the Louvre. Once I was in I cut a fast track straight for the Mona Lisa to see what all the fuss was about. I'm no art critic but I must say that Leonardo was on his game the day he painted it. All of the artwork was quite spectacular and paintings of a woman and a baby, which I suppose must be Mary and JC, seemed the most in vogue. I spent about four hours roaming the immense Louvre complex checking out my fair share of sculptures and other exhibits. And finally I suppose that everyone on the planet barring the odd illiterate eskimo must have read or seen the Da Vinci Code, but it seems to have spawned some dedicated nerds who wander around the Louvre with their dog-eared novels clutched in their sweaty palms.

We reassembled at Gare du Nord to get the Eurostar back to foggy London town and I reflected on what had been a quite amazing weekend. As I wandered around Paris I had seen five iconic wonders that had previously only existed for me in a parallel universe of postcards and movies. I had been to the magnificent Stade de France and cheered on the All Blacks surrounded by true fans who watched the game in the spirit that it should be. And my opinion of the French had surprisingly been improved by the courtesy and respect that we got everywhere we went. I will certainly be coming back to Paris, and maybe even when there isn't rugby to be seen.

C'était magnifique!

(There are some videos at the very beginning if you missed them)

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