intertext

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 )

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.

*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.

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 )

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"...

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.

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!"

I remember that last year in London jet-lag hit me with a wallop on the second day I was there rather than the first; the same is true now. Happy as I am to be here (and I am), it was an effort to get up and get out the door this morning.

Nevertheless, I accomplished my goals for the day. I procured a Museum Pass, found the Cartes d' Art shop and bought some unusual postcards, tracked down the shop my father visited in ... possibly ... the late 40's or early 50's. He was in the RAF, posted in Germany, and his job at the time was to carry dispatches from his base to Paris. Lucky him! I have something that he bought when he was here on one of those trips, and had some very, very faint hope of finding the shop. But non. It is now a trendy clothing shop in the Rive Gauche. Never mind. It was something to have traced his steps.

This afternoon, I explored more of "my" neighbourhood, and found first of all a Supermarche and bought some necessities like butter and salad dressing and more wine and more chicken (it is a less than closely guarded secret that I could happily live on Rotisserie chicken and salad). I found another market area a little farther afield (turn left at the Irish Pub!!) and made my way to the Parc de Monceau, a welcome oasis of greenery and flowers and statuary, within about a ten to fifteen minute walk from my apartment.



Life is made somewhat more difficult by not speaking the language. I completely abandoned the idea of buying an ice cream cone in the Parc because I simply didn't know what to ask for. Then again, sometimes things are just more difficult than they need to be. I knew that I could get the Museum Pass at the tourist information office at the Louvre. Consultation with the little map on the internet showed this establishment to be near the Carousel area, by that Arc de Triomphe de Caroussel that I saw yesterday. It's quite clearly marked on the little map. So I go there, and ... no... there's no Tourist office to be found. So, there was a kiosk of some kind with a couple of official looking guys in it, and I went up and said, I'm looking for the Tourist Office. Where is it? "Downstairs" he said. Um. Downstairs? Oh, yes, over there, there's a completely unmarked hole in the ground that leads you to this very official complex underground where, yes indeed, there is the office of tourism and one can get a Museum Pass. Phew. Some signage would be helpful, if anyone's interested...

The Museum Pass is good for 4 days, so I have to plan strategically. The next few are supposed to be cloudy and showery, then Monday is rumoured to be fine. Perhaps I will go to Versailles (covered by the pass) on Monday, and spend the next few days in the museums that I want to go to. I also want to go back to Saint Chapelle and see if I can get concert tickets (as well as just seeing the place).

Best Paris moment today? Definitely the jazz band playing on the Metro. (no, not in the station - actually IN the Metro) It was very very cool.

Any spelling mistakes or wobbly grammar, by the way, have to be put down to the fact that I'm drinking another bottle of wonderful wine that cost me about the equivalent of a 2L bottle of Coke at home. I'm surprised that alcoholism is not rampant here.

A bientot.

Here is my to-do list:

Buy travel medical insurance
Return library books
Pay utility bill
Pay credit card bill
Phone credit card company to warn them of upcoming foreign purchases (did but they were closed, so must try again tomorrow)
Buy Euros (may not bother with this, or may do at Toronto airport while killing time on Monday)
Find thingy to fasten pack across chest
Purchase useful and comfortable sandals
Purchase lightweight fleece or hoody
Pay parking ticket that I got while shopping today - if done within 14 days is half price. Tried earlier but hadn't gone through yet.
Sign contract for Museum of Healthcare and mail it (this is for a very unimportant piece of writing of mine that they are using on their "virtual museum" - comes of having a friend who is building it)
Return dvds
Groom dogs (mostly done)
"Advantage" dogs
Put all outdoor potted plants onto deck and water them (pretext for this is that cat sitter has key, and there is a hose on the deck so it's easier for her to water them for me there than scattered about the place)
Clean house
Do laundry
Pack

Most of the remaining items above can be done tomorrow. Dogs are to be delivered to their "holiday home" in the morning, and I'm stopping in to see elderly person mentioned in previous posts before going away. That will be a brief visit with all remaining "to do" items as pretext for cutting it short.