At first it was a timely but unpredictable destination. You would go there on Friday or Saturday nights, or sometimes both, without any real plan, any fixed trajectory. It allowed us to temporarily escape from the quiet suburbs where we lived. A week of dull drudgery was followed by a lively weekend, in the enchantment of a club. And a real one at that. Not a ballroom or a dance hall. Not some suburban cabaret. But a club—both literally and figuratively—where you could wander about or settle into a spot and stay for hours under the magic of artificial lights, like on some soft drug for the senses.
I imagined a ball. A ball from the 1930s. Couples lost in the carelessness of their embrace. Pas de deux. Long dresses, gentlemen in their Sunday best.
There are places that simply by invoking their name call to mind the representation of what they stand for. As if we had always been accustomed to their existence. As if they had always embodied what we believed them to be. As if they were destined to perpetually populate the landscape with their silhouette. The […]
No one knows exactly when the building that housed what was to become the Canotier was first constructed. In all likelihood it was at the beginning of last century if we can judge by the style of the façade. Obviously, the name refers to the oarsmen who worked the rowboats during that period, rowing in […]