Beyond The Chicken Coop V – Photographic May — The Cambridge Language Collective

Courtyard at Musée Carnavalet (Photo: Luca Howes)

In Wes Anderson’s The French Dispatch (2021), the “chicken coop”, in reality a prison cell, comes to symbolise the isolation and foreignness of being an émigré in Paris. Inspired by the expatriate journalists at the centre of the film, Luca Howes aims to overcome this loneliness, bringing warmth and familiarity to his descriptions of the city where he is spending his year abroad.

Friday 2nd of May, Musée Carnavalet - We step out of the Agnès Varda exhibition into a courtyard whose walls are covered in ivy. It’s warm and we sit in the shade. We talk about Paris in the summer, as the light hits the fountain and the windows on the other side of the courtyard evenly. A couple sit next to us and sketch the two employees on their breaks, sitting in sun loungers. Cléo From 5 to 7 lingers on our minds and in our conversation about imaginary paths through the city.

Thursday 8th of May, La Gare Le Gore - Jazz is in full swing, bodies are moving in reverence to the music, the room is sticky and musicians are performing on the stage. The group chops and changes: trumpets, trombones, bass guitar, sax, vocals, electric guitar, keys and drums. Drums are the heartbeat of the performance, driving every note, leading every solo, bringing the audience to the dance. Cymbal, hi-hat, snare drum, it all comes back to the pounding of the bass - that is what controls the rhythm, that is what keeps us moving forward.

Saturday 10th of May, Les Lieutades – Kids, parents, grandparents and great-grandparents cluster around the tables and bar in either green and white or red, their eyes glued to the television in the corner. This is the most important day in Lisbon for 40 years. Olives are picked at impatiently and the beers on the table become lukewarm in the stalemate. A weighted pass forward and half the bar is standing up in anticipation, knees bent and arms raised. It amounts to nothing, the ball goes out of play, and the patrons mutter disappointedly in Portuguese.

Friday 16th of May, Parc des Buttes Chaumont - Parisians cluster on a hill to catch the last few drops of sunlight. Bathing in the rays and smoking a cigarette with friends is the closest they get to heaven. We pass around a box of patisserie and wonder what the mystery éclair flavour is between rounds of Uno. Someone lays a plus four - “That’s not a good way to treat me on my birthday” the victim says with a mouth full of millefeuille. The other player smirks, sips their beer, then wipes their hands, first on their trousers, then on the soft grass.

Sunday 18th of May, Parc Montsouris - My sunglasses are wonky and I’m wearing Gemma’s sandals. I’m carrying a box of Magnum Minis and a Corona back to our trio of towels. The other park-goers play Spikeball, cards, tag, Skyjo, football, cache-cache and Kubb, kids weaving between picnic groups. I cross the path and sit down. The towel is soft on my skin and wriggles slightly as I adjust my position to sunbathe, having taken off my top. Exams are over and the world is whole again, bees pollinate the flowers and children are learning to ride bikes. The three of us sit in the sun, laughing and chatting about nothing in particular, smiling at the blades of grass that cushion us.

Monday 19th of May, Grande Mosquée - A religious building and tourist attraction, in France you’re never too far from the Maghreb. The sound of running water and sight of plants creates this urban oasis. Young and old come to pray, and tourists sit in the café with two euro pots of tea. The pastries are served by a chatty man who tells me I look like a rugby player who was in the news a few years ago. He smiles and waves as we leave, “À très bientôt” see you very soon.

Wednesday 21st of May, La Felicità - We came for pizza, disco and wine. Big Mamma turned ten and threw a party and every Italian in Paris was there. The DJ looked like Adrian Brody if he was from 1970s Naples, and he had the habit of dancing along to his own music. With four of his shirt buttons undone, a bushy moustache, and a chain, he didn’t shy away from attention. At one point drag queens and stilt-walkers parted the crowd to reveal a grand birthday cake. They sprayed champagne and handed out complementary lemon meringue pies, strawberry tarts, shots of limoncello and blew kisses to the revellers.

Thursday 22nd of May, Badaboum - Amidst the smoke and hazy lights James K takes form. She mixes and sings, plays the guitar, does it all in front of the artsy crowd that must have the highest density of mulleted men and women in Paris. She plays mostly unreleased tracks as the instrumentals boom out of the speakers, her angelic voice gliding over the trip hop-esque drums and flowing synths. There’s a little shimmer around her edges, willowy clothes and a small frame, the smoke and the lights; her ethereal voice draws attention, it compels you to incline your head, fix your gaze and focus your ears, is she real or just a hologram?

Thursday 29th of May, Maison du Portugal - The table is full of drinks and paper plates, a Chemical Brothers song is playing, and sausages are on the grill. I’ve been outside since 6pm getting the barbecue ready and now it’s come to fruition as my guests enjoy grilled halloumi, prawn skewers, Lidl beers, greek salad and chipolatas. There is no greater joy than hosting, scrubbing down tables in preparation, curating a playlist, and popping by to say hi with a bowl of honey mustard crisps to offer around. The team pulled through and brought things to share, and some stayed to pack up, flicking their cigarette ash into an old metal dish that had been left in the garden. We were still a little drunk.

Beyond The Chicken Coop V – Photographic May

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