Bonjour ! & Back to the Roots
Hello Ladies and Gentlemen,
My name’s Jilda and it’s my first log here ! I know cilicia.com and this blog since 2001 but never really had the idea of blogging myself until recently, and the happening of little funny coincidences, so looks like I’ll be practicing my english a little more… First I confess that i’ve never been to GB or USA or any other english spoken country, so please forgive my mistakes and possible strange formulations : I’m from France (booo!), what might explain it ;)
About me quickly : I was born in 1978, finished law studies in 2001, and work since 2002 near Paris, for the town hall of Clamart (little city of 50 000 hab), in the town planning department. Although I’ve always run away from jobs in burocracy, this is exactly the place where I landed ! Must be one of the fate’s gadag. No complain though : good bosses, and I rather assume this « mission of public service ». Ok, administration may often squeeze people’s head – and mine too – but the intentions are supposed to be good… at least in the beginning !
Just to situate my french environment : links between France and Armenians has been very usual since, let’s say at least the end of the 19th century. So that France became a rather natural land for « welcoming » more or less willingly, some of the apatrides created by the 1915-1920’s. There has been other flows of Armenians’ arrival during the following decades till now.
As far as I know, my great grand parents are from Kastamonu (north of Turkey, west of Sinope and Samsun) where they lived in a village full of Armenians. They moved to the big city of Bolis before the 1950’s after a dark episode of violent racket. My parents and I had born there (bolsohye, yes) and like many others we came here in 1980 when life of Armenians in Turkey was again troubled. And now, like everywhere, most of the Armenians who arrive since the 1990’s come from Armenia.
Anyway, as a result today, it is generally said that we are 350 000 in the 60 million population of France. You can find Armenians in many different places but their presence if really noticeable in the cosmopolite Marseille under the great sun of Méditerranée, in the center of France with the big city of Lyon and its little neighbour Valence, Paris of course and some suburb cities of it like Alfortville (where you’ll most feel like in little Armenia in the street), Issy-les-Moulineaux and its neighbour Clamart, my beloved town :)
Instead of talking about the last bone of contention linked to Armenians’ issues in France, I’d like to speak about a more delighting point that occured to me last 24th april. In Paris the usual tsuyts began – as it now became a tradition – on a lovely side of the Seine, place du Canada, just in front of a statue full of symbols : Komitas.
As the great politicians, representative of nearly all colours, were following each other at the tribune put there, saying their demagogic blabla to support us, I ended raising my nose to look at the sky for a change. From the place where I was, I saw something that would have been a nice picture : the lines of Komitas’ head, seen from ¾ behind, on a scenery composed by blue sky, green trees and the just renewed elegant roof of glass of the Petit Palais : Komitas in Paris, simply.
The statue has been put here in 2003, although the not so interesting effect given by the photos often shew on it, it’s a beautiful statue that expresses much. The statue is eriged for Komitas of course, but also to the memory of the victims of armenian genocide, and of all genocides.
When I noticed this special "mind photo", i suddenly adored the fact that this man of arts (and what an art !), whose work distinguish so exactly all the rich originality of our culture, is celebrated there. Silently but firmly – almost indestructible – he’s standing right on our heads in this pretty place to remind not only what Armenians endured, but mostly what Armenians are, just by themselves : a people with a culture able of such a deeply touching art, that delighted people of nations beyond borders. Something that can’t be broken of forgiven, even if scattered, that is still inspiring us today and for long time again.
I know it can much sound as a common place, but well, no harm by reminding it again… to jump then higher with this impulse !
See you !
My name’s Jilda and it’s my first log here ! I know cilicia.com and this blog since 2001 but never really had the idea of blogging myself until recently, and the happening of little funny coincidences, so looks like I’ll be practicing my english a little more… First I confess that i’ve never been to GB or USA or any other english spoken country, so please forgive my mistakes and possible strange formulations : I’m from France (booo!), what might explain it ;)
About me quickly : I was born in 1978, finished law studies in 2001, and work since 2002 near Paris, for the town hall of Clamart (little city of 50 000 hab), in the town planning department. Although I’ve always run away from jobs in burocracy, this is exactly the place where I landed ! Must be one of the fate’s gadag. No complain though : good bosses, and I rather assume this « mission of public service ». Ok, administration may often squeeze people’s head – and mine too – but the intentions are supposed to be good… at least in the beginning !
Just to situate my french environment : links between France and Armenians has been very usual since, let’s say at least the end of the 19th century. So that France became a rather natural land for « welcoming » more or less willingly, some of the apatrides created by the 1915-1920’s. There has been other flows of Armenians’ arrival during the following decades till now.
As far as I know, my great grand parents are from Kastamonu (north of Turkey, west of Sinope and Samsun) where they lived in a village full of Armenians. They moved to the big city of Bolis before the 1950’s after a dark episode of violent racket. My parents and I had born there (bolsohye, yes) and like many others we came here in 1980 when life of Armenians in Turkey was again troubled. And now, like everywhere, most of the Armenians who arrive since the 1990’s come from Armenia.
Anyway, as a result today, it is generally said that we are 350 000 in the 60 million population of France. You can find Armenians in many different places but their presence if really noticeable in the cosmopolite Marseille under the great sun of Méditerranée, in the center of France with the big city of Lyon and its little neighbour Valence, Paris of course and some suburb cities of it like Alfortville (where you’ll most feel like in little Armenia in the street), Issy-les-Moulineaux and its neighbour Clamart, my beloved town :)
Instead of talking about the last bone of contention linked to Armenians’ issues in France, I’d like to speak about a more delighting point that occured to me last 24th april. In Paris the usual tsuyts began – as it now became a tradition – on a lovely side of the Seine, place du Canada, just in front of a statue full of symbols : Komitas.
As the great politicians, representative of nearly all colours, were following each other at the tribune put there, saying their demagogic blabla to support us, I ended raising my nose to look at the sky for a change. From the place where I was, I saw something that would have been a nice picture : the lines of Komitas’ head, seen from ¾ behind, on a scenery composed by blue sky, green trees and the just renewed elegant roof of glass of the Petit Palais : Komitas in Paris, simply.
The statue has been put here in 2003, although the not so interesting effect given by the photos often shew on it, it’s a beautiful statue that expresses much. The statue is eriged for Komitas of course, but also to the memory of the victims of armenian genocide, and of all genocides.
When I noticed this special "mind photo", i suddenly adored the fact that this man of arts (and what an art !), whose work distinguish so exactly all the rich originality of our culture, is celebrated there. Silently but firmly – almost indestructible – he’s standing right on our heads in this pretty place to remind not only what Armenians endured, but mostly what Armenians are, just by themselves : a people with a culture able of such a deeply touching art, that delighted people of nations beyond borders. Something that can’t be broken of forgiven, even if scattered, that is still inspiring us today and for long time again.
I know it can much sound as a common place, but well, no harm by reminding it again… to jump then higher with this impulse !
See you !
posted by Jilda at 1:03 PM
8 Comments:
Bienvenue Jilda-jan! Yev khachoghoutioun.
Welcome, Jilda!
It is so refreshing to see a French-Armenian among all these American-Armenians!! (ya, ya - arrogant, primitive, and self-righteous! :):):))
Best wishes,
Artashes (ya, ya - the corrupt, Russified, and escaped from the motherland Armenian-Armenian! :))
Pari yegar, Jilda!
I look forward to reading more from you.
We have some family friends who used to live in Clamart. Incidentally - and I don't remember the details - one of them used to work in the town hall or something, he passed away from cancer a few years ago... Do you happen to know him? I believe his name was Hagop.
Anyway, cheers!
Hi Jilda,
Great to see and read a new face on cilicia Diasporan logs! Welcome!
-Raffi Meneshian
I'm quite looking forward too to reading about Jilda and Armenian life in Frantsa...
thanks all !
raffi m : i too arrived saturday irigun and the weather is perfect, isn`t it ?;)
basturma chronicles : sorry but your description didn`t remind me someone i knew
raffi : i`ll call as soon as i find a way to do so ! ;p
ciao !
I know the Armenian community in Marseille through my 2nd cousin there. Our granparents left Turkey a hundred years ago, one reached Marseille the other America. They kept in touch, then lost track in the '30s. In the '60s I went to Europe with my parents and before the trip they found decades old letters from Marseille in a basement cardboard box, tried the address, got a reply-- the rest of the family rediscovery is history. I love my cousin like a brother even though I only get to see him at intervals of years (2004, there, last). He is very French and very Armenian. He chastises me for being weakly involved in the Armenian community. My mother and I call him when I visit her-- it's a linguistic triangle as he can't speak English, I can't speak Armenian, and she can't speak French. Each can talk to another, but in a language the 3rd doesn't get. We laugh about it. The whole family over there is good natured and generous. Maybe only because I get special treatment there but the Marseille French-Armenian community seems strong and admirable. Please keep posting about French-Armenia.
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