Sitting at 12000 feet, sipping on an interesting Bordeau while enjoying an entree of foie gras, it is easy to forget the disgusting process involved in actually making foie gras. Such thoughts, however, seem quite distant as you smear the pinkish brown paste onto your freshly baked pain and lose yourself in the French penchant for taking food very seriously.
In a similar way, thoughts of the pain of grinding up a Haute Categorie mountain climb seem quite distant as I reflect on the spectacle I have just witnessed, and indeed, been part of. For a country to stage a 3 week race around its most interesting regions, amassing the largest live spectator crowd of any sporting event in the world, to then finish on the historic Champs Elysees in a sprint in front of their adoring fans is truly quite an amazing event. Maybe the French have started to take on some of the casual ironic humour that is so Australian by nicknaming the Tour "Le Grand Boucle".
Inevitably, at the end of every historic event, comes the innate human desire to manufacture, advertise, sell, consume and display merchandise, to somehow tie yourself back to the event you have just been part of. The French were surprisingly quite unsophisticated in their merch-ing. There were a few official TdF items available, which were repeated at every stop of the Tour. Remarkably, the single outlet on the Champs that we came across had actually run out of stock. There was none of the off-label, unofficial Tour merchandise that I was expecting. Maybe the ASO, who organises the tour, have been ruthlessly efficient at stamping out competitors.
Being the Seekers of the True Merch that we are, we dug up directions to a suitably quaint French cycling shop near our hotel. We Velib-ed our way through Paris' unique cycle pathways, alternating stunning views of the Sienne with eye-watering passages through less picturesque laneways which stank of stale urine. "Three generations of cycling" was proudly displayed in its front window. Three suitably gruff, Francais uniquement, gentlemen grunted their way around the three metre tall shelves crammed full of new and pre-loved cycling gear. Under their gruff demeanours, it was obvious they loved every minute of their work, truly living the cyclismo lifestyle that many aspire to but few manage to convert into putting bread on the table. After admiring the scene for a respectable amount of time, we proceeded to merch with gusto.
The way to the promised land
Only Hipsters need apply. This bike has No Logos
L'interieur
Old school bicycle advertising. Why isn't there more of this?
The Grand Temple of Merchandising - Galleries Lafayette
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