Sunday, June 3, 2012
Paris, France
Bonjour!
It bucketed down throughout the night and, upon my awakening, I discovered that it had turned miraculously cooler. My bathroom window that overlooks Boulevard Jourdan revealed that no one was about when I awoke at 6. 45 after a fitful slumber. Jetlag, still persisting from our Australia trip, is driving me nuts as I am only sleeping for an hour at a time. After a quick breakfast of Poilane’s melt-in-the-mouth croissants, I made my way out to the Metro station. This time I was wise enough to buy a carnet of 10 billets to use as I wish (cost 12. 70 euros). They might prove cheaper than the day pass.
When I emerged at Tuilieries metro station, I was greeted by a giant sculpted lion that guards the entrance as well as overlooks the fantastic monuments that are sprinkled over the enormous Place de la Concorde. My heart leapt at my first sight of the Eiffel Tower, albeit under terribly overcast skies. It remained dolefully grey all day and a fierce wind whipped uncomfortably around.
Free Museum Sunday:
A word about why I set out at such an ungodly hour on a Sunday: Every first Sunday of the month, Paris’ major museums are opened to the public sans charge. I was determined to make the most of this benefit and planned to see museums I had never seen before. Most visitors make an early beeline for the Louvre or the Musee D’Orsay. I chose instead to make a date with Monet.
The Musee de L’Orangerie and Monet’s Water-lilies:
At exactly 9.00 am, when the museum opened, I found that about 200 people in the line had beaten me to it. Situated at the southwestern edge of the Palais de Louvre, the Musee de L’Orangerie is visited for one reason alone: a chance to appreciate the amazing genius of Claude Monet in the series of massive paintings he made of the water-lilies in his garden at Giverny, about an hour and a half from Paris. Titled Les Nympheas in French, they are monumental works of art that changed the course of 19th century Art History. Monet’s obsession with light led him to paint the same subjects over and over again at different times of the day/night and under varied weather conditions. Much of his work, therefore, appears in series, eg. the Cathedral at Rouen, the Houses of Parliament from the Thames, Haystacks, etc. However, it is his water-lilies for which he is most renowned, partially because the Musee de L’Orangerie was especially constructed to display them to their best advantage. Hence, they have found a permanent home in this building and attract countless visitors.
Two large stark white oval rooms contain a total of 8 canvasses: Room 1 is devoted to the Waterlilies and they are simply stunning. I never dreamed they would have so moving an impact on me. I kept gazing at them and thinking only a genius could put two thick pink strokes on a blue background and be able to convince the viewer that they were flowers on a pond! The Second Room contains paintings of the pond with trailing willows in them. Both rooms exhibit their subjects with no perspective or peripheral points of context. Thus, your attention is forced on to the subject with no visual interference to distract. Monet intended it to be so: when supervising the installation of the paintings in the two rooms, he had stated that he wished the museum would provide a space of serenity in the mad bustle of life. And they certainly did–at least judging by the reverential silence with which viewers gazed at them.
The museum also contains the personal collection of art dealer Paul Guillaume whose varied Paris apartments in the beginning of the 20th century were decorated with his vast acquisition of Impressionist and Modernist masters. A whole room houses work by Chaim Soutine (with whom I was largely unfamiliar). Other prominent artists whose work is on display here are Andre Derain (his spectacular portait of Mme. Guillaume is riveting), Modigliani, Utrillo and, of course, Picasso, who was a close friend. Cezanne is very well represented with major works including the Two Young Girls at the Piano.
There was also an interesting special exhibition on composer Claude Debussy and his association with art and artists. In a few rooms filled with masterful works that had traveled to France from Berlin and Liverpool, the synergy between the diverse branches of artistic endeavor became clearly evident.
Strolling on the Champs-Elysses:
I left the L’Orangeie, and completely enthralled and exhilarated by the success of my visit, decided to walk along the Champs-Elysses, Paris’ best-loved avenue to the Arc de Triomphe de L’Etoile as it is a monument I have never climbed. Being that it was free, it made sense to garner views of the city’s brilliant design from an unusual vantage point. My stroll was just marvelous. Although it was chilly enough to require me to zip up my windcheater, I was not disheartened. I soon came upon the delightful statuary that punctuated the broad chestnut-tree lined avenue. Striding purposefully, as if straight into battle, is General Charles de Gaulle. Just behind him the monumental proportions of the Grand Palais and the Petit Palais loom and then sandwiched between them, albeit in the distance, is the commanding presence of Les Invalides with its embellished gold dome. I just adore the architecture of this divine city and my camera was clicking non-stop as I tried to capture some of the imposing spirit of these buildings and the feeling they must strike in every French breast of pride in the motherland.
Shopping on the CE:
For old times’ sake and because Llew and I have such happy memories of a stay there, I paused at the entrance of the building on Rue de la Boetie on which we had stayed, three summers ago. Sadly, the Monoprix on the corner was closed. In fact, the CE is an altogether different beast on Sundays when all of Paris’ commercial life grinds to a halt–obviously, les francais are not as devoted to Mamon as Americans are. Another landmark, Laduree, the oh-so-elegant tearoom on the CE and my personal favorite, was closed for renovation although it is still possible to purchase their sublime house blend tea (Melange) and pastries from a pop-up store. Guerlain was launching a new fragrance (Ma Petite Robe Noire–My Little Black Dress!), so I stepped in for a sniff! Lovely! It is fruity and warm: the way I like my parfums! Think I might have found a replacement for dear Jo Malone! And then, I sighted it!!! Marks and Sparks! And it was open! On the Queen’s Diamond Jubilee, the shop was doing brisk business in the sale of Jubilee souvenirs. I was sorely tempted to buy a souvenir box of biscuits but settled instead for my old favorites: Coffee Walnut Cake and Salted Caramel and Hazelnut Yoghurt! Armed with my purchases, I strode on towards the Arc de Triomphe which was crawling with tourists.
For the next ten minutes, I tried every trick in the book to cross the broad circular road to get to the monument. No luck. Finally, I took my life in my own hands and zigzagged through the maddening traffic and made it! Rushed to the little window only to find that in my haste, I had incorrectly read my guide book: the free entrance is only available between November and March! Merde! Well, I wasn’t willing to cough up money on a day when I could go into other places for free, was I?
Sunday Mass at the Church of the Miraculous Medal:
So I zigzagged across the street again to the metro station and disappeared underground to catch Sunday Mass in the Church of the Miraculous Medal on Rue de Bac of which my brother Roger had informed me–a place in which he has frequently attended Mass while in the city. Mass was in French, the congregation was composed entirely of immigrants (loads of Haitians and Senegalese) with a rare white face sprinkled in although the ushers were all old white men. Nuns from every part of the world were around and while I was told no photographs were allowed, it seemed allowances were made for the clergy! The nuns were posing and clicking away and no one said a word to them!!!Privileges of the habit, I suppose! The church is small but gorgeous and the altar so beautiful that I felt sorry not to be able to preserve it in my memory with a picture. The church is also noteworthy because, although it is much less known than Lourdes or Fatima, the Blessed Virgin appeared before a local parishoner at a site not far from where the church was built.
Food Shopping on Boulevard Raspail:
With my feet protesting and my tummy demanding attention, I walked briskly to the organic market (“marche biologique“) on the Boulevard Raspail about which every guide book (and the Barefoot Contessa) raves. Enfin! After my wild goose chase of yesterday, I expected nothing short of perfection. And I was not disappointed. At the entrance on the Rue du Cherche Midi, there was a line for the marvelous potato pancakes (les galettes) of Les Gustalins. The handsome chef oiled the griddle, took orders, poured on the batter, collected money, packaged the goods–all with a calm tranquility and a lovely smile. The pancakes smelled heavenly and I could not wait to try them. But I would wait until I could give my poor feet a rest. A few stalls ahead, I picked up a chevre–goat cheese in fine ground red herbs–and a good wedge of Tomme De Savoir which the fromagier allowed me to taste. Yum! Another few feet ahead, I got the last of a thickly seeded baguette–studded with sesame, poppy, sunflower and pumpkin seeds. Alas, I could not purchase one of the roasted chickens as the lady informed me that they were all “reserve”. Only in Paris are roasted chickens reserved for those with a toe-in.
Lunch at the Jardin de Luxembourg:
Armed with my goodies, I walked three blocks down to enter the stately Jardin de Luxembourg, a multi-acreage of chestnut trees, roses and sculpture. I found myself one of the famous jade green chairs, placed deliberately within full veiw of stunning scultpure of a drunken Silene–to tuck into my yogurt. Then I cursed myself for not having bought many more–it was so deelish! Meanwhile, I enjoyed the spectacle of every passer-by stopping to pause in wonder and take pictures of Daumon’s amazing sculptural Silene. I also consulted my map to find out how far away I was from my next freebie and saw that the Maison Delacroix was only a few blocks away–which is to say that I would be passing two landmark churches along the route: the Church of Saint-Suplice (which Dan Brown made famous in The Da Vinci Code as the one that has the Thin Brass Line passing right through it) and the Church of Saint Germaine de Pres.
Suddenly, An Antiques Market Appears:
That’s the beauty of this city: soudain, from out of nowhere, when you turn a corner, you come up slapbang with a market selling brochante! And because I cannot resist a good rummage, there was I looking enviously upon all manner of things old and interesting–books, carpets, paintings, china, silver, crystal, porcelain, jewelry, even Hermes scarves! And what’s more…there was no junk….everything was in impeccable condition–what they call ‘mint’ in the business. All beautifully arranged around a flamboyant marble fountain in the front yard of the church. Of course, I had a happy trawl through the stalls but then I hurried off, past two churches and the happy Sunday afternoon crowds of St. Germain.
A Date with Delacroix:
It was so difficult to find Delacroix’s home, partly because while I have a lovely laminated weather-proof map, it is not really that good. (Mental Note: Must visit the Tourist Information Center for a really good one.) After making inquiries (can you believe that the sales staff in several art galleries shrugged their shoulders as if they had never heard of Eugene Delacroix!), I finally found the entrance in a truly delightful little square on the Rue de Furstenberg (which, I learned later, is used a lot for filming and I could see why).
Upstairs, a sweet young thing greeted me at the entrance, informed me that it was “gratuit” today, took my bags away and left me to take a self-guided tour. For a small home, the place was packed–so many people took advantage of the free Sunday! Only three rooms make up the house in which the artist who painted France’s most iconic painting, “Liberty Leading the People” (which hangs in the Louvre) lived and died. We saw his modest 19th century drawing-room which contains a number of his sketches and studies, the bedroom in which he breathed his last in the company of his faithful servant, Jenny Gillou (whose portrait he painted and which also hangs in the room) who provided a heartfelt account of his passing and then, the piece de resistance, his studio (reached down a wrought-iron stairway fragrant with gigantic roses). The studio is vast and light-filled and looks upon a lovely little garden that Delacroix had loved. More contemporary paintings by artists he had known filled the studio in which his most famous work was accomplished. Then, I climbed down some more stairs to sit awhile in the lovely private garden and breathe in the fragrance of yet more David Austin roses in soft baby pink.
Back Home (with a few Detours):
Then, fairly fainting with fatigue and with serious discomfort in my feet, I returned to St. Germain-de-Pres but lacking the energy to visit the church, I quickly strode to take pictures of two of France’s most famous bistros: Les Deux Maggots (made famous by the frequency with which the American writers of the Lost Generation, Hemingway, F. Scott Fitzgerald–as seen in Woody Allen’s recent film Midnight in Paris, had sipped and munched there) and Cafe des Flores (in which France’s Existentialists, Jean-Paul Sartre and Simone de Beauvoir, Albert Camus and Ionesco, had paused to contemplate the nature of life and the world). How I would have loved a cuppa myself in one of these tearooms! I miss Llew so much on such occasions because while I might scour a city to its last crevice, I do draw the line at taking tea alone in a restaurant.
Then, I disappeared down the metro and was almost home, absolutely knackered, when Llew called to remind me that the Queen’s Flotilla Parade on the Thames was on the telly. Not having a set in my room, I borrowed the key to the basement TV lounge, had it to myself as I watched the pageantry. Ten minutes later, I dozed off and when I awoke, I seriously wondered where I was. The coverage, of course, was all in French. I searched for a channel in English but with little success. Still, my French is improving by the minute by immersion and I am very pleased. An hour later, I left the lounge, got home and slept for a straight hour. I awoke to have dinner: a toasted baguette pate sandwich followed by coffee and walnut cake. By then, I was so sleepy that I jumped into the shower and thought I would download and caption my pictures when I ran into a huge computer glitch that made me lose my pictures of the previous day. SOS messages first to Llew and then to Meredith, my clever computer consultant in the US who skyped with me, and my day was saved.
When I eventually fell asleep it was 4 am…and that is a record even for me!
A demain!