Entries tagged with paris

Current Mood: nostalgic

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Paris Memories

It's amazing how far away it already seems. It was a wonderful holiday, and I thought I would post some final thoughts about memories and impressions.

( under the cut, to spare those who have had enough of my Paris ramblings )

Current Mood: happy

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paris

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It's 8:15 pm, and I'm sitting in my apartment, munching potato crisps and drinking wine, coming full circle from almost three weeks ago. I can't believe my stay here is almost over. This will be my last post from Paris; I may/probably will make at least one more (I've got a list of "I love... " and "I don't like..." in my Paris Moleskine notebook) when I get home, but I need to pack away my laptop soon. It's been so great having my laptop with me. Somehow, I just don't write as much when it's by hand - my brain works faster than my pen can, but typing seems to be just the right hand to brain ratio.

I wanted to make today special, and it was in unexpected ways. I had planned to go down to the Isle St Louis again, but didn't make it, partly because it started pouring with rain around noon. However, I did make it down to Les Deux Magots for breakfast and then out to the Marmottan Museum. I'm SO glad I went there! Yes, there are Monets there, but if truth be told I'm getting a bit blase about Monets (heh, listen to me - blase about Monet!). The ones there were interesting because they are from late in his career, and I've just been reading some recent speculation that his style changed later on because of failing eyesight, and you can really see a difference. (I've actually had a private theory that all the Impressionists had bad eyesight, but that's another story...). There were two things at the Marmottan that I was grateful to see: one was all the Berthe Morisots. She has got to be the most underrated artist. I think she's better than Renoir, who in my opinion is sentimental and over rated. There was a little drawing of a girl with her cat that is just perfection itself.

Then, miracle of miracles, there was a whole ROOM full of bits of illuminated manuscripts, and these just had me in raptures, almost in tears, they were so beautiful. The difference, seeing them "live" so to speak. I could have spent hours there, and did spend a long time just raving and muttering and blinking away tears (yes, I'm nuts, but never mind).

So afterwards, I headed out into the rain and just by chance stumbled into a cafe near the metro station, where I had the most wonderful lunch of duck with peaches and pomme dauphinois and a glass of Bordeaux wine and coffee (that's where I eavesdropped on the disgruntled women tourists). Then I stopped off at the Champs Elysees and dropped into the Virgin Mega Store (which is the best "record" store in the world, or at least the best I've ever been to) and then came home.

Now I just have to finish packing. I've spent all my Euros, and much of the next few months' salary :) But it's been a wonderful, wonderful holiday.

Current Mood: amused

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[Other] Tourists

Today, I noticed a big influx of rather well-heeled touristy types at my favourite cafe, then I remembered that the French Open starts today or tomorrow. Probably a good time to be leaving Paris.

I can't finish these entries without some remarks about my fellow visitors to Paris. And I apologize to some on my flist because I perforce will be making comments about people from that big country south of Canada, in which I know some of you reside, and those comments may tend to promote certain stereotypes. It can't be helped, really; unfortunately, many of those tourists from you-know-where behave precisely the way one might expect them to, based on those stereotypes.

First, though, I was struck by how truly international the tourists are here, and indeed everywhere else I went on this trip. I have encountered at least as many obvious tourists from Italy and elsewhere in France as the "usual" (or what is usual for BC, Canada) Japanese and Americans. I've run into quite a lot of visitors from Mainland China, and as my Chinese is actually better than my French, was in the odd position this morning of giving a trio of them directions in Chinese. And of course there are the Germans, who have their own brand of stereotypes to live up to, or down, or whatever. And a few Aussies, and even one or two Canadians.

Here are a few vignettes:

The young, Paris Hilton-like, bored, drawl in Sainte Chapelle (for me, the most stunning place I visited): "What was the name of this place again?"

The American women who thought "Tours de Notre Dame" meant Tours of Notre Dame and were horrified to find themselves climbing 155 or however many stairs to the top.

The unfortunate, obviously Muslim and vegetarian man in the take-out bagette sandwich shop asking in somewhat desperate tones if everything had "meat," and the clerk saying but of course!

The nicely dressed family (Americans again) this morning at the cafe who ostentatiously passed around one of those bottles of disinfecting gel before having breakfast.

The group of women in the restaurant where I had lunch today, who I could hear were annoyed because I got better service than they. I felt like saying, "well, if you don't even try to speak French, and you order Coke with the dish off the menu that they have to prepare specially instead of doing what I did and ordering the plat du jour and asking your waiter to recommend a good wine..."

Then again, there was the charming couple from Seattle whom I met at Giverny and talked to for quite a long time, and the two women from "Phillie" this morning who were absolutely thrilled to be here and delighted with everything.

There's that Italian women in my photograph above, who stopped and stared at the drunk passed out on the steps of the Sacre Coeur.

And of course, there's me, bumbling around on my own, eavesdropping on conversations, taking photographs and generally being a perfect nuisance probably :) But having a great time.

Current Mood: thoughtful

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Fashion

I'm in the last day of my trip, now, so be prepared for some musings on general impressions about things as I bring my travel entries to a close.

Believe it or not, I've hardly bought any clothes here - only one blouse for the hot weather that I may leave behind and a pretty little camisole t-shirty thing that I couldn't resist. Part of the reason is that the "fashions" - read "what is trendy" - right now are unflattering to the extreme to me or to anyone with a halfways normal body. There are a lot of shapeless and baggy thin knits, worn in several layers (think of the trend for short t-shirts over longer ones at home and then go baggier). Lots of "boho" or peasant things. Skin tight, and I mean really skin tight, like leggings, jeans. Leggings - worn under all those baggy layers. And watch out, ladies, pantaloons are back. And skirts or dresses gathered at the knee (yuck). The skirts all fall right at or just below the knee - just about THE most unflattering length for almost anyone.

The accessible ready-to-wear shops are plentiful, inexpensive but terribly much of a muchness. I have seen a few things I would have happily bought but that were too expensive - a peasanty jacket from Antoine et Lilli that was only thin cotton and not even all that well finished cost 140 Euros (that's close to $200 cdn). I wandered into one shop yesterday where an absolutely beautiful young woman was selling her own designs, hand made, silk, and gorgeous, but you can imagine the prices.

One reason that I can be spotted as non-French before I even open my mouth is that no Parisian woman would be caught dead in my sporty, clunky, comfortable and practical sandals. I don't know how they avoid mass ankle and knee injuries walking over all the cobblestones, but every French woman I see wears little thin delicate shoes, often with very high heels.

Which brings me to something that surprised me quite a bit. Despite its reputation as fashion capital of the world, and rumours of "effortlessly chic" women here, I've seen more fashion victims per capita than anywhere else I've ever been. By this, I mean women wearing extremely unflattering clothes simply because they ARE the fashion (see all the comments above). Almost every woman I've seen, from the age of about 80 on down, as far as I can tell, is determinedly wearing all those baggy layers, boho frills, tight jeans, and teetery heels.

There have been some notable exceptions. A few women, if tall, skinny and young enough, actually look good in the latest fashion. My landlady was one - and I have the impression that she is a designer or maker of clothes herself. There was a fabulous looking woman of about my age walking through the Gallery Lafayette; she looked like a retired model - tall and beautiful - and was wearing well cut jeans, a blue and white striped shirt and a navy blue blazer. There was a woman a little older than I wearing a white shirt, long narrow black coat, black flared pants and white sneakers. She looked great. There was a beautiful young woman on the metro, with her toddler in a stroller, who was wearing ordinary nicely cut pants and a mid-length green coat, the collar turned up, and one of those ubiquitous european scarves. I saw a younger woman, a girl really, on the metro early one morning who looked like a model on a "go-see" - she wasn't wearing the "trendy" clothes either but she did look effortlessly chic. She had no make-up and her hair was tied back in a pony tail; her face was one of those that is slightly odd looking in real life but would photograph well. And she was about 6 feet tall.

There was a woman who was half of a middle-aged couple who looked to me like the quintessential Parisian bohemians. She was wearing the real thing, not pseudo boho fashion, and had the kind of world-worn face and striking almost gypsy hair and sexy body to be able to carry it off. His hair was almost as long as hers, grey and straggly, and he was wearing patched jeans and a leather jacket. They sat on the Metro, loosely draped around eachother, obviously in love. Marvellous.

And then there was the person I saw yesterday, literally covered with tattoos from head to toe (face and all). I couldn't tell whether this person was male or female. Quite extraordinary.

One thing, though: there are virtually no fat or even plump women, or men for that matter. That rumour is true.

Current Mood: missing my dogs

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dogs,
paris

The Dogs of Paris

Robert Altman's "Ready to Wear" notwithstanding, I have only seen one serious pile of dog poop in three weeks. I have seen a lot of dogs, though, and thought I should take the opportunity to make a few observations about them. The Parisians seem to like small dogs best. I would say 90% of those I've seen have been in the "toy" dog category. Miniature poodles, of course, shitzu types, terriers of various descriptions, though only the small ones, no airedales or wheatens. Lots of Yorkies.

What has surprised me is that I've seen more dogs in disrepair, more genuinely scruffy dogs, more really disreputable dogs here in three weeks than in a lifetime in Canada. For a city that prides itself on fashion and grooming, and whose people seem on the outside at least to be quite fastidious, noone seems to pay much attention to the condition of their dogs. This is not just dogs in some need of a haircut, but dogs who are half bald and have skin problems, dogs that look as if they are one solid matt, as well as dogs with just plain bad haircuts.

Yet the Parisians quite obviously adore their dogs and give them privileges we in Canada can only dream of. At Mont St Michel, the couple at the table next to me at the fancy restaurant brought their miniature poodle (name of Gadget, I found out later) in with them. Gadget mostly slept quietly under the table all evening, but once or twice popped out and gave a plaintive paw to his owners, and once came over to say good evening to me. I was of course delighted, but could only think of the coffee shop in Victoria that closed down because it encouraged people to bring dogs in to a space shared with those who were actually drinking coffee... heaven forbid. Meanwhile, in Paris there are dogs on the Metro, dogs in shops, dogs everywhere having nice walks on the streets. Heaven. Now if they could only get a decent haircut...

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paris

Beating the Heat, and even the Lonely Planet Gets it Wrong Sometimes

Friday was another sunny day, but very humid, so rather warm. I was tired and feeling slightly "coldy" when I woke up, so I thought I'd have a fairly quietish day. I decided to take myself off to the Canal St Martin area, which the Lonely Planet mini-guide that my friend Jen lent me describes as having "shady tree-lined paths" where you can "stroll" along the canal and which is supposedly filled with trendy boutiques and cafes. Oh and they also said that it was particularly fun at night.

Well. First of all, they list three metro stops to access the area, roughly in a line from south to north. So I thought I would go to the southernmost one and work my way up, particularly as they showed a shopping area and a cafe of interest at the half-way point. I discovered, 4k of walking later, that the only even vaguely interesting part was around the northernmost stop and actually seemed to stretch north from that, not really even the St Martin part of the canals at all. Not only that, but the area around the southernmost stop was sketchy to the extreme. The pathway isn't accessible all the way up - you have to keep either crossing back and forth over the canal or going over onto streetways, mostly to avoid the block long "tent cities" set up on clear patches. This was the first time I have felt even slightly nervous in Paris, but I did feel quite uncomfortable despite a fairly heavy police presence up and down. Walking through that neighbourhood at night would be foolhardy.

And maybe it's gone severely downhill since that guidebook was written, but if you're looking for Paris' version of the Camden Lock, you'll be seriously disappointed. There was one trendy store - a bigger Antoine et Lili than the one in Montmartre - and one cafe on the way up that looked quite nice. At the top, there were two American style cafes that serviced a big cinema complex and were obviously popular with teenagers, but effectively that was it, unless I was looking in quite the wrong place. Oh well! I had a good walk, and saw the canals and something of how reality bites Paris as well. And I bought a little present for someone at the Antoine et Lili, so that was good.

As I wasn't going to linger there, I took the metro from the northernmost stop (Leningrad) down to the Sorbonne district and from there over to the Luxembourg gardens, which were big, formal, and crowded with people eating icecream and sitting in the shade. The best part was that there was an exhibit of contemporary art celebrating "women" on at the Orangery there, which was free, so I went a checked it out, and in its honor there were artistic installations throughout the gardens. All the statues of women had some kind of decoration - I was particularly taken with one that had a huge spiderweb attached from it to two nearby trees. Another was buried up to her neck in leaves. Another was wearing a huge cape decorated with tarot cards.

So, after hanging out in the gardens, looking at some nifty artwork and generally trying and failing to keep cool, I headed homeward to my blessedly cool apartment. Later in the evening a huge thunderstorm erupted, with an accompanying downpour of rain.

This morning bids fair again, but I think I shall have (again) a fairly quiet day. My only plan is to hit Place Vendome and the Place Madeleine for some shopping. Much is likely to be closed tomorrow - which will be my last day :( - so any last minute shopping needs to be done today. I still haven't bought my quintessential Paris shoes, so I'm on a quest today.

Current Mood: thoughtful

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A Stage Set for Buffy

Kisses for Oscar Wilde
Originally uploaded by Debbie G.

So on Thursday afternoon, on my return from Mont St Michel, the sun was for once shining in Paris, so I took myself off to La Cimetiere du Pere Lachaise, burial place of the famous, the infamous and the just plain ordinary.

I procured a map from a jolly stall holder by the gates. It was a good thing I did, because I think I would have become hopelessly lost and not seen the graves that I wanted to. It is a beautiful spot, criss-crossed with tree lined avenues, quiet and relatively peaceful (apart from the tourists tromping through). It did strike me several times as being a perfect setting for the opening scene of any Buffy episode - I half expected Spike to pop out from behind one of the monuments (too bad he didn't lol). My map came in handy, too, for others, as I was frequently stopped and asked for directions in several different languages: "Je cherche Edith Piaf" was a middle-aged French woman. Nous trouvons Edith Piaf - the woman and her husband went and got themselves a map and we ended up at Piaf's grave at the same time.

I, in the meantime, wended my way past Proust to the monument to Oscar Wilde (thinking of you, superfoo! As you see from the picture, it was covered with graffiti!! Thence to Gertrude Stein, but though I looked I couldn't find Alice B, who was supposed to be next to her. Then Edith Piaf, Sarah Bernhart, Chopin and finally Eloise and Abelard, whose monument was covered in scaffolding and being restored. Oh, and Simone Signoret and Yves Montand were in there somewhere. And no, I didn't bother with Jim Morrison - there were plenty of young Americans going in his direction so I didn't think he needed my respects as well.

Current Mood: peaceful

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A Journey Around my Father

*And yes I know the title is not original

It's no secret that I didn't like my father very much. His death, in 1986, was, to be honest, something of a relief to me and I think secretly to my mother as well. I spent my childhood avoiding his terrible temper and his "moods" and have spent my adulthood recovering from the insecurity and self-esteem issues caused by his inimitable blend of abuse and over-protectiveness. And yet.

And yet.

He was my father, and in some ways I loved him. Everything I did for years was an effort to please him and make him proud.

This trip has been for me in part a way to lay some ghosts, to put aside enmities, and to come to terms with the part of me that is my father. To explore the part of the world that my family came from, and places my father has been. To revisit a scene from my childhood for which my only memories are happy (that day, anyway - the rest of the holiday was a blend of excitement and nightmare as so many times with my father were). For me this trip is some means to lay my father to rest, just as I did for my mother in my trip to England last year.

I have a photograph of me at age 4 standing against a backdrop of Mont St Michel, taken on the drive down to a farmhouse in Brittany that my parents had rented with my aunt and uncle. It represents so many things. That long ago holiday, four out of seven of the participants of which are now dead. The fact that my father was a great and adventurous driver - we had our car with us on this trip, and this drive was only one of hundreds of memorable "road trips" that we took as a family. I think I get my wanderlust and adventurous spirit from him, though it's ironic that he'd be turning in his grave at the thought of me, alone in Paris, even now, when I'm older than he was when that picture was taken and have had in many ways more life experience than he.

A little while ago, sleeping in my Paris apartment, I dreamed that I had an argument with my father. I wanted to spend all my coins because I knew that coins couldn't be changed back to Canadian money. He insisted that I was wrong, and looked at me with that classic patronizing, pitying expression that he did so well. I argued that I knew I was right, and in any case I had just been on a trip, more recently than he, so I knew what I was talking about. He just looked at me pityingly, and I woke up feeling frustrated and angry as I did so often when my father was alive.

And yet. Here in France, I have seen where my father got his dark skin and whipcord thinness. I've seen his eyes, and my own, looking back at me - bright blue and slightly pouchy, rimmed with dark lashes - on the streets and in the Metro.

My father came to Paris just after the War (WWII for those who need to make that distinction). It was somewhere he had been and neither my mother nor I had, somewhere exotic and romantic and wonderful. My uncle David, in whose shadow my father and uncle (my father's twin brother) grew up, came here in the 1930's and it's my bet that there was something of walking in Uncle David's footsteps for my father, just as there is something of walking in my father's footsteps for me now. But I'm not stepping in them; I'm making my own journey and my own memories and my own peace with my childhood and the shadow of my father.

So that's why I came to Paris, and why I went to Mont St Michel.

Current Mood: artistic

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Giverny!

My photostream on Flickr is a riot of colour and shape. I now have a new "dream" garden: when my garden grows up, I want it to be Giverny. Quite the most beautiful public garden I have ever seen - absolutely breathtaking. And the village itself is charming. This was a highlight of my trip. For complete effect, please see my Giverny Set on Flickr. Meanwhile, see a sample ( behind the cut )

Current Mood: pleased

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And Here's Proof!

Debbie - Canadian among Froggies
Originally uploaded by edwood.in-pulsion.

A nice record of my visit to the Flickr@Paris group meeting, by one of my fellow Flickr-ites.

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Flickr@Paris

Good Conversation
Originally uploaded by Debbie G.

Today I girded my loins and went to meet some fellow Flickr-ites at the "Frog and British Library" cafe out by the Bibliotheque Francois Mitterand. When I say "girded my loins" understand what the people who know me well know: I am almost painfully shy, and it is almost physically difficult for me to face a room full of people I don't know. But I knew that there was a Flickr meet-up today and at this place, so I thought "damn it, I'm going" and I went.

It was nice. Not wonderful, but nice, and I'm proud of myself for going. They were all charming and welcoming, but once my French dried up and their English dried up, is was a little awkward. But I made the effort, and I have some photos to show for it, and so far ~~three~~ ~~five~~ six new "contacts" on Flickr, which is very nice indeed.

Afterwards, I went to the Orangerie Museum and looked at Monet's Waterlilies, which were wonderful.

Ps: My French may be crap, but I'm not a crap photographer, anyway :)

Current Mood: artistic

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A Postcard Paris Day

Another day of a little bit of everything. I got up fairly late, popped down to the Monoprix for weekend groceries then headed out. I went to my favourite part of Paris, Ile Saint Louis, for coffee, then headed towards the Marais, where I went to La Maison Europeene de la Photographie. There were several major temporary exhibits showing, the first of which was Richard Kalvar, "Terriens," very provocative and sometimes amusing black and white street shots from primarily Paris, New York and Tokyo.

My favourite gallery was "Trash." Let me tell you how I encountered it.

At first glance, this was a collection of large composed pictures of ... yes, trash. Discarded chip bags, empty pop bottles, dog food tins, shopping bags, all kinds of stuff, arranged artistically in frames about 4 x 3 feet large. I have to confess that I'm not a big reader of museum or gallery information boards. Even less when they're in French. So, anyway, I go up and look at one of these, thinking, okay, this is interesting, and I like the way they've laid out the stuff kind of thematically and in a nice design. So, I look at the title of the first one; it's "Ronald Reagan." And I look at the stuff and think "hmmm. Is this supposed to represent Ronald Reagan in some way? Hmmm. It's interesting, but I don't think I quite get it." Then I look at the next one, and it's called "Charlize Theron," and all of a sudden, I get it. This is actually Charlize Theron's garbage. And I went back to the introduction and from what I can understand of the French, this was a project where two guys, an anthropologist and an artist, got together and literally sifted through the garbage of the rich and famous and the pieces are the result of this. It was fascinating, in a strangely voyeuristic way. I felt somehow guilty for feeling fascinated, but it was amazing what artifacts of a life each of these pieces was, and how characteristic it was. Charleze Theron's was bags from posh clothing stores, and cigarettes, and the wrapping from nicotine patches, and a letter congratulating her on her Oscar nomination. This was not the only time I felt sad for the sender of some of these messages that ended up in the trash... I can't detail all of them, but suffice it to say that each - Mel Gibson, Tom Cruise, Elizabeth Taylor, and more - was somehow revealing and characteristic of the person it represented.

So then I headed back to the Ile Saint Louis, where there was an exhibit of original artwork connected with "Persepolis - you know, the graphic novel? Well, apparently they've made an animated film which is showing at Cannes, and this was an exhibit of art from the film or connected with it. I nearly bought a limited edition print and shall probably regret not doing so (I could, still), only because I couldn't think how I would get it home (they were framed).

Then I went and bought a glace (blackcurrant and mango) from Berthillon, which supposedly has the best ice cream in Paris - it was wonderful, more like gelato than ice cream. This, I ate strolling through the streets and then on the banks of the Seine. I stopped and sat down for quite a while on the Seine, looking at Notre Dame, which viewed head-on looked remarkably like a space-ship, or something in a Miyazaki film.

Then I headed across the river to the St Germaine des Pres district again. I found a shop specializing in comics and Manga and bought a graphic novel version of Proust (!!) and an Herge marque page, and a little plastic figure of Snowy in a space suit. I then strolled up the Blvd St Germaine and was thinking of going to the Bon Marche, but was too tired, so I came home. And here I am.

Current Mood: tired

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Montmartre

The sun was shining (hip hip hooray) this morning, so I decided to go to Montmartre. I heart Paris, but I especially heart Montmartre. Yes, it's touristy, but it's very charming and beautiful. And I walked and walked and walked today - all the way up the hill from the Metro station to the Sacre Coeur, then ALL the way home. I just wandered until I found myself close enough that I figured I'd just keep going.

Of course, I had another wonderful lunch - this time in an Auberge that was once frequented by just about all the famous artists you can think of, AND Zola. Its garden served as the model for one of Van Gogh's paintings. What I liked was that it had a nice shady terrace out of the way of the throngs on the street, but I could sit and watch the world going by. Also, apart from a couple of Germans, I was the only non-French person there, as far as I could tell, which made a nice change from all the touristy ones closer to the Sacre Coeur. Here, because

lidocafe asked for it, is a picture of my lunch.

Chicken with chervil, the best bread so far, house white wine and coffee to follow. The beans were overcooked again - I'm surprised by this trend, having thought the French knew better. However, the chicken was delicious. I can't believe how much I'm eating on this trip; it's a good thing I'm doing so much walking or I would definitely get fat!

EDIT: Oh, and I forgot to mention: I saw two cats today. After all the hundreds of dogs (that I love a lot) it was nice to see a couple of felines. One was obviously the "house cat" of the restaurant where I had lunch.

And today's musical offering was a harpist on the steps of Sacre Coeur. Rather nice until he started to play "My Heart Will Go On"...

Current Mood: happy

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Paris Has the Best Buskers

Today I played La ~~Flaneure~~ Flaneuse (one assumes there's a feminine form?) - one who wanders the streets, "going with the flow" of life.

My flowing took me from the Bastille to the Hotel de Ville, through Le Marais. I had lunch at a nice cafe - indoors because it was raining (the weather really has been crap; I think I'm doomed, because it was just like this last year in London). Then I wandered through the Marais, and discovered some fashionable shops, which was a mistake because now I'm lusting after a lot of clothes that I can't really afford. 350 euros for a suede jacket to die for... (no, it's okay, I didn't succumb... but I might yet). I flowed into the Picasso museum, which was interesting although I discovered that I don't like Picasso as a whole all that much. A whole lot of him in one place is... well interesting, because you can see how he repeats himself, but also a bit much of a good thing. I liked all the unconventional stuff best - the ceramic things and book illustrations.

The best thing that happened today, though, was the music. I mentioned the other day there being a jass band on the metro. Well, today it was two accordions. Jolly. Then there was a guy playing a chinese stringed instrument very beautifully at one of the stations. Then there was the celtic group playing at another station. But the BEST, the absolute best, was the string ensemble in the Place Des Vosges. Imagine wandering through the streets and hearing faint strains of Mozart. I turned a corner in the Place, and there was, not a trio, not a quartette, but a whole flipping string orchestra (10 or 12 players at least) playing really well. Then they played some Bach, which was also very good. Well, they slipped in and out of tune (it's hard staying in tune when it's cold and damp) and only one of the violinists was really, really good - the others were proficient but hit some wrong notes. But, hey, it was free, and it was on the street, and it was one heck of a lot more than you EVER see in Victoria!

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Cafes

Gratuitous Paris Cafe Shot
Originally uploaded by Debbie G.

Today, my body is protesting the non-stop walking and sightseeing it's been doing for the last week and a half, and I'm at the half-way point in my trip (boo hoo), so I thought I'd have a quietish day. I'll take myself out to lunch later (mais naturellement), but this morning am doing some mundane things like taking out my garbage - in which it is discovered that the Parisians do, in fact, recycle, though there was in my courtyard no box with the yellow lid into which, according to the lovely sign by the garbage cans, I was supposed to put plastic bottles and bags. I managed to put all my empty wine bottles into the right place, anyway (kp would be proud of me).

marri was asking me earlier about cafes, and whether they were the same as cafes in Victoria. In a word, no. The only real similarity is that they both serve coffee.

How are they different? Well, to start with, when you approach a cafe, the first thing you notice is the rows of chairs and little tables spilling out onto the street, very close together. Everyone sits facing outwards, as at a play or performance, which, in a way, it is. The action is on the street, and the people going by. As you pull up, you will see two, three or maybe more, waiters hovering around, probably dressed in a white shirt, black pants, possibly a black vest, possibly a bow tie. The look is very formal. He (I have yet to see a woman server at any of these establishments - and he's proud of his job, no need for fancy euphemistic titles like barristo for him) will be holding a little silver tray, and will ALWAYS say "Bonjour, madame" as you approach or sit down. He will glissade up to you almost as soon as you sit down, with a menu.

So, what can you buy at a cafe that's different from Victoria? Well, wine to start with. You can - and people do - buy wine all day long and without food. The default coffee is espresso; if you ask for a coffee, that's what you'll get, in a tiny china cup on a saucer, with some sugar lumps. The better places will give you a glass of water as well, and sometimes a nice crisp little cookie. I usually buy cafe creme, which is the closest thing to a latte. These vary in size and quality. Sometimes you can taste the evaporated milk. At Les Deux Magots the other day, I had the best one, which was brought in two little jugs - warm milk in one, coffee in the other, enough for three cups if you are judicious with the coffee. There is no coffee "to go" - I can no more imagine anyone (except some poor hapless American tourist) going in with a portable coffee cup such as we use, than I can imagine a Canadian walking down the street eating a plain baguette as if it were a hot dog. Other popular items include orange presse (fresh squeezed orange juice, very good) and of course all the pastries. Most, not all, of these places also serve food ranging from salads and sandwiches to full course meals. I haven't quite figured out yet at what point a cafe becomes a bistro...

You can stay as long as you like, and it is customary to linger over a newspaper, a book, a journal or just conversation. Before you leave, you pay the waiter on another little silver tray. No need to leave a tip, though I usually do because the service is pretty amazing.

I'm going to peruse the Marais et environs this afternoon, and maybe do some light shopping - will post more later if anything greatly interesting happens.

Current Mood: content

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A Day Communing with Nature

I slept late this morning, so instead of having breakfast in my apartment, I headed down to the St Germain des Pres district and had coffee and croissants and orange presse at Les Deux Magots Cafe. I shared my breakfast with some sparrows and pigeons.

Then, because I was feeling tired after several days heavy museum viewing and sightseeing, and because the sun was shining, if fitfully, I decided to spend the day cruising the Seine. I bought a day pass for the Batobus - the little water-ferry that does a circuit tour up and down the Seine from the Eiffel Tower to the Jardins des Plantes. I caught it at the Louvre, and went all the way round to the Jardin des Plantes. I then spent several hours wandering the gardens and found a frog pool, where I swear the frogs were croaking lines from Aristophanes ("Brek kek kek kek, koax koax")

I walked through the Jardin, had a look at the Grand Mosque de Paris, and bought a sandwich from a small shop behind the Mosque. This, I ate sitting in the Jardin, then I re-boarded the Batobus and cruised down to the Champs Elysees and from there up Rue Miromesnil to the Rue Boetie and "home." And there, I did some laundry, and read and caught up with my LJ, and here we are!

Current Mood: tired

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Of Roses and a Red Rhino

I was too tired last night when I came home to do much more than load my photos into Flickr, eat, have a hot bath and go to bed. So you get a two-for-one today, or at least this post now and another about today's doings later.

Yesterday morning, it was sunny, so I headed out into the suburbs to visit the Chateau of Malmaison. How beautiful it was! Tucked away down a long, cobbled avenue, it is a charming small villa surrounded by hectares of woods, grass and flowers, including, of course, some of Josephine's pet roses, or at least some "reasonable facsimiles" of what she grew. I have a rose in my garden called "Souvenir de la Malmaison," which I believe the Czar of Russia presented to Josephine (some personage or other, if it wasn't the Czar), so I rather wanted to visit the place itself. The Chateau has been done up as a museum, with gorgeous furniture, Sevres porcelain and even some dresses from the period. The David painting of Napoleon on horseback is there (the one at Versailles is a copy, the museum guy told me). In fact the walls are covered with pictures of his nibs: for a divorced woman, Josephine seemed to like having his face around. And indeed, apparently he used to go out for weekends (doubtless "dirty weekends"), until he himself was imprisoned and Josephine died from a cold. Anyway, it was totally worth the trip, quiet and beautiful - I liked it much better than Versailles. And it was nice not to be surrounded by crowds of people. There was a school group of children; otherwise, two Japanese tourists, an elderly French couple and two American women, one quite young and obviously bored stiff. The children were enjoying themselves thoroughly - no doubt it was nice for them to be out of school for a morning.

There were many groups of children and adults at my next stop: the Pompidou Centre. First, I went for lunch on the Rue Reynard, a few blocks away. I had a lovely meal of beautifully cooked steak aux poivres, pommes frites, and some slightly overcooked (to my taste) haricots verts, and, of course, a nice glass of Bordeaux and coffee. (Boy, am I ever living the high life).

Thence to the Pompidou, to peruse Modern Art. Compared to the Louvre, it, too, was fairly quiet, though there were, as I mentioned, numbers of school groups of children and adults, including some children who looked to be about 4 years old and obviously having a great time. They must start the culture young in France - bon.
Apparently, they change the collections all the time, so you never know what you're going to see, but that's nice in a way too because you don't feel you've missed something vital since it may not have been there anyway! There was a lot to fascinate, including the Red Rhino I mentioned, a room of Diane Arbus photos, that interested me, of course, and... oh too many things. Picasso, Matisse, Dali, Chagal, and a lot of very new things. A marvellous winged creature with airoplane wheels, covered with knives, scissors and other sharp objects confiscated from airports since 9/11, meant to represent the strange quality of the world since that date. It's a wonderful space, too - every room and hallway seemed to express the quality of the museum as a whole.

So, after that, as I wrote at the beginning of this post, I was pretty much knackered and just went home to bed. Museums are wonderful but tiring. My museum pass has finished now, and I got good value from it, but I will do other things for the next few days at least.

Current Mood: impressed

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Botticelli Angels and a Mona Lisa Smile

So guess where I went today?

It was raining this morning when I got up, so I declared it a museum day. Also my Museum Pass needed using some more. So off I headed to the Louvre.

Wonderful things... no, that's King Tut. But you get the idea!

And I went to the Musee D'Orsay this afternoon as well, so I've had a day steeped in art. No photos. I left my camera at home to resist the temptation to take crap pictures of the Venus de Milo and the Winged Victory. People were taking pictures all over the place despite clear signs saying it was forbidden. I found myself wishing for a Monty Python style foot to come down and squish them, or some kind of alarm that would go off and make them look stupid and conspicuous.

Of all I saw, I have to admit that La Giaconda was not the thing that impressed me the most. Of Da Vinci's work, I much prefer the Virgin of the Rocks (having, of course, seen version two of this already at the National Gallery, years ago) and the Virgin and St. Ann one. Like Miss Brodie (in the movie at least) I love Giotto, and was struck by how super-hero like St Francis of Assisi looked receiving his stigmata. I adore Botticelli, so his work was a highlight for me. There was a painting I loved, from the studio of Brassano, of the animals filing onto Noah's Ark; there were at least 4, if not 6 dogs, which pleased me no end (why they got such a disproportionate representation, I don't know, but I'm not complaining). They were doing delightfully doggy things - one was sniffing a chicken, and one looked as if it was sniffing a cat's bum. And I also loved Jan Breugel's "Earthly Paradise" with more wonderful detailed animals, including a lovely elephant, a tiger, placing a delicate paw on the lion's back, and some jewel-like flowers.

Ready for lunch, I crossed the river and had a beautiful omelette with mushrooms, and a salad, at a cafe while watching the people go by. It started to absolutely pour with rain, but I was snug under the umbrella even though sitting outside.

So then I headed along to the Musee D'Orsay, and gazed my fill at Impressionists. Again, wonderful. It was nice to see some that I'd never seen before, even in books, like a Monet depicting a snowfall. And there's something about the energy of seeing these things in real life - being able to see the brush strokes and the real colours and the size of things. I was struck by the Vermeer - the Lace Maker - in the Louvre, at how small it was. And then other things are huge, like David's painting of Napoleon being crowned. There was also a fabulous exhibit at the Orsay of photography, including two shots of Stanley Park!

I couldn't possibly see everything, so I chose judiciously and saw whom and what I wanted. I may consider returning to the Louvre - and wouldn't mind returning to the Musee D'Orsay as I was already tired when I got there and may not have done it full justice. But I've had seven uses of my Museum Pass, and at an average of 7 euros per entry have now more than paid for it. And there's still tomorrow! I haven't quite decided what I'm going to do tomorrow - let's see what the day brings :)

Entry tags:

paris,
trip

Opulence

I spent the day today rubbing shoulders with the very rich and famous, of the 18th century and of our own. I had been thinking about going to Versailles on Monday, when it was rumoured to be fine, but Versailles is closed on Monday. It was fitfully sunny this morning, so I thought I'd take the opportunity and go today; I wouldn't have otherwise chosen to go on a Saturday.

It probably wasn't the best idea. It was terrifically crowded, with tourists from everywhere. American tourists are the cliche (in our part of the world, anyway), but I heard Spanish, Italian, something that might have been Czech or Polish or Russian, Chinese, Japanese, German, and, of course, English of all different varieties. I was faintly amused by the new camera stance - standing with arms outstretched, holding the camera out in front as you look at the screen of the back... Not me. I have an SLR and still have to squint through the viewfinder.

Anyway, Versailles was predictably vast and opulent. I can't say it made a great impression on me. I was more greatly moved by a single shoe in the Cluny museum yesterday than I was by all the baroque fal-de-rols today. The garden is, of course, magnificent (if you like that sort of thing).

I returned to my neighbourhood in time to go out and forage for supplies again. Tomorrow is Sunday, and likely everything will be closed, so I wanted to be sure that I had everything I might need (wine. salad. bottled water) for the next day or so. As I familiarize myself with my environs, I discovered a wonderful gourmet food shop just round the corner, and procured salad aux crevettes, some slices of melon and an individual quiche. This entire transaction took place in French; I doubt that I really "passed" - I suspect the man behind the counter was too suave and polite to let on that my French was crap. This is a shop that caters to the very rich, but they are so confident and sure of their own worth that they welcome you and make YOU feel like someone special instead of looking down their noses at you. And this is about three blocks from my apartment! I shall return, for sure. I also went for an afternoon stroll down the Champs and up Rue Fauburg St Honore (where that food shop is) and window shopped into Calvin Klein's shop and some other designer's. Sigh.

Still, looking at Versailles, I couldn't help thinking "I would have revolted, too!"

Current Mood: blissful
Current Music: Vivaldi's Four Seasons

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Aujourd'hui, c'est un jour merveilleux

Lunch at Mon Vieil Ami, on L'Isle St Louis, consisting of seafood and vegetables en croute, a glass of chardonnay and coffee, 26 Euros. Five books from Shakespeare and Co, 77 Euros. Ticket for a concert at Sainte Chapelle, 25 Euros. A day spent marvelling at stained glass windows and gorgeous unicorn tapestries, eating fabulous French food, chatting with an English girl at Shakespeare and Co who is a fellow Jeanette Winterson fan, climbing the tower at Notre Dame to get a gargoyle's eye view of the city, and listening to Vivaldi while sitting inside a veritable jewel of a chapel: priceless.