Snapshots of Saint-Etienne: Place du Peuple

Place du Peuple literally translates as "Place of the People." In Saint-Etienne, the Place du Peuple is democratic not only in name but also in nature. It holds together the triangulated intersection of the Rue Gambetta, Denis Escoffier, and the self-titled Place du Peuple street. Three tram lines converge at the Place, one traveling to Hôpital Nord, another to the Gare Chateaucreux (our main train station), and the third to Bellevue. At night, the Place is a dead zone, with few if any people idling by. When it gets late enough, the trams stop running, and the Place starts to resemble a small town mock-up at Disney World. You wouldn't be at all surprised, for example, if a mustached Donald Duck poked his beret covered head out of the brasserie across the street. "Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!"

But during the day, if you live in Saint-Etienne, you inevitably find yourself passing through the Place to get to where your going. So it is a predictably good observation point. The stéphanois seem fond of lingering around the Place by day: businessmen and women alike, young mothers with their strollers and babies swathed in blankets, hunched over old ladies, even skaters. Especially skaters.

The Place du Peuple is a skater hot spot. I still haven't figured out why. It's teeming with people (except during nocturnal hours), and it's not like there are any particularly hair-raising stairs or ramps. You know. For a wicked awesome obstacle course. Perhaps it's because skaters, like all others, are tolerated at the Place.

The other day, I was privileged to an unusual spectacle. I was walking by the Place at around 5 in the afternoon, en route to Paul to restock on bread. Did I forget to mention that there is a Paul is located directly across from Place? Good bread and good people watching might explain why I'm so irresistibly drawn to the Place du Peuple.

Anyway, I noticed a wizened man sitting in the Place. Actually, he was more than sitting. He was drinking. Heavily. The man held a bottle of white wine in his knotted hand and was taking swigs of the stuff like it was the goddamn water of life. I slowed down to get a better look: I've seen a lot of things in public spaces before, but this was the first time I'd encountered an old man, clearly a drunk, with such a classy poison.

And then it happened. A lone skater careened by the Mr. Drunkles, flipped off his board, and landed back first in front of our classy friend. It was a nasty spill, and everyone in the Place du Peuple started visibly, some people even getting up in the skater's direction. To sort him out, make sure he was alright. They needn't have bothered. Old drunk had the situation covered. He eyed the skater with concern, looked down at the bottle in his hand, and immediately proffered it without hesitation.

I didn't stay around long enough to see if the skater accepted. Instead, I smiled and walked on.