The Chairs

01.  Chairs.

Two types of chairs. One having a deeper seat, slightly reclined. The other, more regular in form. Both chair types were painted a light green, their aluminium elegantly curved.

We were lucky. It was a beautiful day; the air was cold, the sun was pleasantly warm, and the sky had a faint blue hue.

The chairs were scattered throughout the area. People oriented themselves either toward the sun, overlooking the large circular fountain, or seeking shade. Some chairs had feet propped up on them, bags resting on the seats, while children climbed or played musical chairs around them. Some people sat alone, reading quietly, while others arranged the chairs in a large circle. Couples either sat close to each other or shared a single chair, sitting on their partner’s lap. Jardin du Luxembourg was in full swing today.

I had recalled seeing these chairs in urbanist Jan Gehl's research. 'The Chairs', Gehl described, were key anchors to the urban life that unfolded. It was precisely their movable nature that allowed people to sit around and interact with the space freely, at their own pace.

We walked further into the garden; our twenty-two kilo luggages dragged along the white gravel. The space was incredible. A circular fountain was placed at the centre of the park. Concrete passageways stretched outwards in four different directions. Children pushed wooden sailing boats into the large, central fountain, poking the toy boats through dense, colourful flower patches. The children followed the boats, as the breeze directed the sails randomly through the fountain.

An impressive Classical-Baroque governmental building overlooked the vast grounds. My father pointed at the masonry building. He recalled taking a photograph with my mother and I when I was a child.  

We walked further into the grounds, leaving behind a trail. One of the luggage’s had lost a wheel, and was now scrapping the pebble surface. Large rows of mature trees framed the building. The colourful, trimmed bushes, sloping grass mounds and tree planters heightened my sensory experience in the garden. Flowers blossomed around us, yet the Petunia plant was nowhere to be seen.

We had missed our flight, booked four pricey flight tickets back home later that same day, and had half our luggage stuck somewhere in transit. Insurance claims would be a nightmare. Yet, we were all in good spirits.

The gardens were packed with people. As we continued walking, the garden continued to unravel its qualities to us. People played tennis in fenced-off areas, while others played chess or table tennis on concrete tables. Children skipped ropes. How impressive, I thought.

I was more impressed by the fact that this French garden had put a smile on my mother's face as she waited in line for a takeaway coffee. The transit stress had made the best of us, but we tried to make best of the situation. We had been travelling for some sixteen hours at that point, and had just hopped off an overnight twelve-hour flight from Vietnam.

A cluster of free chairs where glimmering in the afternoon sun. Moving the green chair to face the others, I appreciate the particular green hue all the more. We sat down and watched children playing around the fountain. How distant the feelings of that same morning felt.

Two coffees, one croissant, and an apple pie later, we took a taxi back to the airport, hoping to conclude our lengthy journey home, leaving the jungle of chairs behind.