After a fine and frivolous week in wonderful Amsterdam it was time to leave that special place behind and move onward. We packed our bags again and returned to Amsterdam Centraal to catch our next train. We were off to Paris on a fast Thalys train through the countryside at speeds of up to 301kph (187mph), with stops at Rotterdam, Antwerpen, and Brussels.
For me, trains recall romantic visions of an earlier age, watching the changing countryside without fighting traffic, and with plenty of leg room. That opening scene from 1974’s ”Murder on the Orient Express” at the busy train station in Istanbul, crossroads to the world, is one of many that embedded un-erasable images of adventure in my memory. Trains are such a great way to travel.
In a few hours we arrived at Paris’s historic old Gare du Nord, dating from 1864. This is one of six major train stations in the city, the busiest station in all of Europe, and home to the London Eurostar. It’s a classic entry to the busy life of Paris, and its towering halls are the right place to begin showing Elyse and Rachael some of our favorite spots in this great city.
Carolyn had booked an excellent and nicely decorated 2 BR apartment just off Rue du Clichy and only two blocks from the Pigalle Metro stop, and we were soon settled in. There’s a fine view from the balcony looking down Rue des Martyrs toward the nice St. Georges neighborhood. And Denisse the owner, was more than charming. People sometimes consider the Pigalle area ‘dicey’ because of the sex shops and nightclubs, but a bit of the grittier side of Paris was fine for us.
So how does one even begin to explore Paris? There are so many places to start, and for me it’s probably the most interesting city in the world. We’ve traveled a bit, with still plenty of cities and countries we haven’t even been to. And there are times we prefer a quiet and cheap small town to relax in. But I’m often drawn back to Paris, its great walkability, its outstanding museums and parks, its deep history, its many intriguing neighborhoods, lanes, alleys, and squares where you can enjoy coffee or a glass of wine and watch the world go by. This is a special place, and there’s always something interesting to do here.
Montmartre
We’re staying just downhill from the old artist colony of Montmartre, so a good walk around on the butte seems like the right beginning. We could climb up several hundred steps, but a majority vote goes for taking the funiculaire. Later, we’ll walk back down by another route.
At the top we bypass the touts selling cheap Eiffel Towers in front of Sacre Coeur and head for the street artists in Place du Tertre before going onward to the Musée Montmartre. The Musée is where Susan Valadon had her studio, and it’s now part of the museum. The studio was also a meeting place for her artist friends Modigliani, Toulouse-Lautrec, Picasso, and others who were crafting the modern art we know today. Her son, Maurice Utrillo, captured the Paris of those days in paint. And her relationship with the composer Eric Satie, who lived nearby, is still the stuff of romantic legend.
A walk through these romantic streets takes us back to the lesser known Lamarck area where Carolyn and I holed up on our last visit. We stop at a favorite street café near the Lamarck-Caulaincourt station for a refreshing martini blanc (it’s not a ‘martini’) over ice with a lemon slice. We settle into our street-side chairs just as a fashion shoot begins. A handsome young model poses on both sides of the street near the Metro entry as the people of Paris walk by, and as most of the ‘café-istas’ ignore the whole process. When they move to the railing overlooking the city below, I get a shot with our former balcony (that upper one) behind the model.
We descend the old butte back toward our apartment, passing Le Bateau Lavoir and other artistic sites along the way. And then we settle in for a fine quiche at Les Artistes, just half a block from our flat, where Samuel keeps us well-fed and attended to. The day has been a fine introduction to Paris.
Champs Elysées
It’s a new day and Rachael needs a long walk, so she and I head out through back streets toward the distant Arc d’ Triomphe. Elyse and Carolyn will take the Metro and meet us there in a couple of hours, as we immerse ourselves into the heart of the city. We show up only about 15 minutes late and ready to proceed down the broad Champs Elysées toward the distant Louvre. Every sort of glamorous and too-expensive store, and some too-expensive cars, can be found along these broad sidewalks.
There are also plenty of beautiful older buildings and fountains along the way. We put some coins into the pot for a guy making huge soap bubbles at the Place de la Concorde, and consider taking a ‘Retro’ side-car tour of the city on a new Ural motorcycle. And there are still pond boats in the fountains, as I recall from years ago.
As we reach the shady and quiet respite of the Tuileries, it’s time for lunch and a cold drink. Afterward there’s a temptation to remain sitting beneath the trees, but we still have some ground to cover.
And finally we’re at The Louvre, that renowned cathedral of art, which will have to wait for another day. We’ve been too happily sidetracked by the ‘museum of Paris’ itself to spend time inside a major institution. A day later we return.
The Louvre
Entry into The Louvre, the world’s largest art museum, is through an underground shopping gallery, and past I M Pei’s famous inverted pyramid. We’re here for the Delacroix show – plus the whole experience of just walking these storied halls.
Eugène Delacroix was considered the leader of the French Romantic School of artists, and later inspired Renoir, van Gogh, and Picasso. His massive, highly detailed, and action-filled canvases cover entire walls. A visit to Algeria and his fascination with ‘orientalism’ brought the color and drama of the Arabic world to the salons of Paris. And his exquisite etching of Méphistophélès for an 1827 edition of Faust showed his wide range of ability.
And we can’t overlook his bare-breasted lady in “Liberty Leading the People.” She’s known as ‘Marianne,’ and her image has appeared on French currency, stamps and government documents. The painting honors the overthrow of Charles X in July of 1830.
A comic poster in the museum café lends a bit of humor before we meander through the remaining majestic halls of The Louvre. It’s a walk through the history of Western Civilization expressed in art, divided conveniently into manageable chunks. The sheer number of masterworks on show here can be overwhelming, as they regularly display about 35,000 pieces of their vast collection.
And of course, Leonardo da Vinci’s timeless ’smiling lady’ can be found among the crowd of admirers pondering one of the oldest questions in the art world: is she smiling really, or is that only a clever shadow on her cheek?
After a long day of museuming we’re ready for another delicious dinner, this time at a nice-looking place called Roberta, in the Abbesses.
Royal Wedding
After a big museum day it was time for a break, and there happened to be a Royal Wedding going on. So we dressed up a bit and dropped into a friendly local Brit pub for a pint or two on a warm afternoon.
We ordered pints of their “Bang Bang” ale, as it seemed to be appropriate – or nicely inappropriate – for the occasion of a wedding. And we settled in for the show.
The Royal Bride arrived in a vintage Rolls Royce as the Groom, and the rest of us, anxiously awaited.
The beautiful couple mumbled the required oaths and pleasantries, and much pomp occurred. And an African-American preacher gave a pulpit-rattling sermon that will be remembered by the world. Then they were out to the traditional coach and four to wave at the crowds, while the Queen made her own exit.
It was a long and ale-soaked afternoon when we left the pub behind, heading back to the flat and a good afternoon nap.
The Musée d’Orsay & Eiffel Tower
Another day in Paris, another famous museum. This time it’s the great Musée d’Orsay, standing just across the Seine from The Louvre in the ornate converted d’Orsay train station. The old Paris-Orléans clock still graces the façade, interesting statuary stands out front, and the towering interior lends itself to a great variety of sculptures. Lucky Parisian kids get to study this art up close and personal.
This museum is one of our favorites; it seems more approachable than the Louvre as it concentrates on art after 1848. If you wondered where the Courbets, Corots, Renoirs, Degas, and van Goghs are hidden after walking through the Louvre, they’re over here on this side of the Seine.
Elyse and Rachael were drawn to the classics, while Carolyn and I mostly stayed in the Āmes Sauvages exhibition featuring surprising art from early modernists in Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. Many of these artists were referencing the old myths and legends of the Baltic peoples, making them relevant to the present day. Sorry, no pictures allowed. Only the poster image...
Museum cafés can be a fine place to break for lunch (and they often have great views) before heading back to the galleries.
Closing time finally arrives, and we take a long walk down the banks of the Seine. Late afternoons by the river are like a carnival, as families bring their kids along for some welcome together time.
But we’re also making our way to dinner near a large Tower that we noticed somewhere off in the distance. Word has it that the Tower lights up at dusk, and some say it even sparkles. We find the Café Eiffel, only a block from the tower, and it almost has a view. It’s a good place for a sit, as a young couple does their wedding pictures just across the street.
The evening sets, and the Eiffel Tower comes brightly to life. And then it sparkles as 20,000 lights twinkle for five minutes every hour until 2am. It’s an impressive performance, well worth seeing, and a crowd gathers to cheer the Iron Lady every night. Later we pass lots of guys selling miniature twinkling towers on our way to the closest Metro stop, in case we need one of those around the house.
Saint Germain
We have tickets for an evening organ concert at Notre Dame cathedral and decide to begin the day in nearby Saint Germain. The old used books and trinket stands along the Seine are a good way to start. Every artist, student, writer, and philosopher of Paris has thumbed through these books and art prints, and found treasures to keep. A dog in a houseboat on the river below is unconcerned and enjoying the world in a comfy spot.
We don’t get far into Saint Germain’s wonderful jumble of streets before we stop for a bite of lunch. Then a young couple doing ice cream shots inspires some of us to do the same.
Around every corner in Saint Germain there’s another opportunity for shopping, classical music concerts, and general slothful behavior. It’s a great part of the city.
By the time we got to the famous Shakespeare and Company bookstore, the afternoon rains had set in. Carolyn and I ducked inside for a couple of cappuccinos, but there was no place to sit or stand. So we sat outside and tried to pretend we weren’t getting soaked. Finally we gave up and stood with the crowd sheltering under the canopy. “I love Paris…when it drizzles.”
As the rain let up we wandered on, past The Cavern of the Forsaken, in search of dinner. And then it was time to make our way over the stone bridge to the island where the Parisii first settled here around 250 BC. We were on our way to the imposing gothic cathedral of Notre Dame and an inspiring evening of organ music, ripping and rumbling off her great old stone walls.
Notre Dame
David Higgs gently placed his finger upon the soft note that begins David Conte’s Pastorale and Toccata (1991), then he lifted his finger and paused to wait with a patient smile as a sudden and piercing siren faded outside into the Paris evening; a muted chuckle spread through the audience. With silence restored, he lightly touched the organ key again and resumed playing Conte. It’s a quiet piece, in contrast to some of the earlier ‘fireworks’ of Franz Liszt and Calvin Hampton in this evening’s program which ends with the fierce cords of Charles-Marie Widor rumbling our seats and shaking the ancient walls of Notre Dame. Ghostly blue light emanating from tall gothic arches behind the altar added its own element to the evening.
A concert performed on the 7,800-pipe organ in this fabulous space is not to be missed, and we recall a similar experience here 30-some years ago, with Cesar Franck at the keys. It was recommended by our good friend and organist, Larry Titman, who also mentioned there had been some concern then about damage to this iconic church from over-flights by the Concorde and other modern aircraft until studies showed that Notre Dame’s massive organ had long produced far more decibels than the aircraft.
Outside in the night, the ‘City of Light’ provides its own show that never disappoints. Each huge and magnificent building shows even better in the darkness and proudly displays the architectural wealth of this historic city. And also there are the city’s famous rats, nosing about for a bite or two that may have been dropped by a careless, or kind, soul. I only got a few fuzzy shots as they scurried by in the darkness, but luckily I found a batch of the fuzzy rascals in a shop window nearby.
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A Pause
At about this point in the trip Rachael says she’s having a hard time getting her head around all the different things we’ve done since leaving Florida on a ship about a month ago. This is our sixth country since then (Bermuda, Açores-Portugal, UK, Belgium, Netherlands, and France) and I understand what she means. But we’ve still got a few more days here in Paris before she and Elyse board a plane back to Albuquerque. Next up: the Centre Pompidou.
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Centre Pompidou
We board the Métro and head off again into the city. After a train change at the dazzling Arts et Métiers station, we emerge at the Rambuteau stop to face the eclectic-crazy and modernist Centre Georges Pompidou. Renzo Piano’s radical design, putting the building’s ‘innards’ on the outside, was a shock to the City of Light at its debut back in 1977, when it replaced the beloved Les Halles central food market. It was called “love at second sight” in National Geographic Magazine. And Le Figaro said, “Paris has its own monster, just like the one in Loch Ness.”
Back in the early 1980s, when Carolyn and I first visited the museum, it was the talk of the architectural world. But it seems to be weathering poorly these days, a victim of all that boldly exposed structure. The Centre houses the Musée National d’Art Moderne, which mounts major exhibitions every year and sees more than five million visitors annually. A quick ride up the iconic tubular escalators puts us right into the art-surrounded-by-structure concept of the hallways. We duck into the galleries for a wide-ranging tutorial on the past century or so of modern art.
Later we break for a nice museum lunch on the upper deck, with a look-over at the fun and fantastical Jean Tiguely- Niki Saint Phalle water-activated creations in the Stravinsky fountain far below. Carolyn and I recall having a cognac up here many years ago, overlooking the city.
We look around the charming Marais district on our way back, and check out the Harley Davidson store; but we have tickets tonight for Au Lapin Agile and need to head in that direction.
Au Lapin Agile
We stop for yet another delicious dinner – this is Paris, after all – on our way to an evening at Au Lapin Agile, a special place in the city.
A night at Au Lapin Agile puts us closer to a ‘French experience’ than most common tour venues. This is a century-old song hall where Modigliani, Toulouse-Lautrec, Satie, Picasso and the other radical Montmartre artist crowd used to hang out over a slug of brandy and sing the old songs.
It’s on a steep and cobbled pedestrian roadway just down from the Musée Montmartre, and there’s a crowd of folks out front in festive wear for picture taking. We thought they were on line, but they wandered off before the door opened at 9;30 p.m. for the evening show. Inside there’s a piano player in the corner, and an empty table in the center. We sit on benches around the edge of the room and sip cherry brandy while the benches fill.
Soon the center table fills with eight people who arrive as friends out for an evening of song, and they commence singing together, in a variety of voices from fine to rough-hewn – and all in French. And sometimes one performs a separate song, while artfully playing a guitar or the piano. One young lady sang while she played the piano behind her back. First time I’d seen that done!
About four hours later we spill out into the cool Parisian night, well after the last Metro train has departed the nearest station. We were well-brandied as we trudged slowly upward over the butte of Montmartre, then down past the Bateau Lavoir, and through the labyrinthine Abbesses neighborhood to our apartment in Pigalle. It was about 2:00 a.m., and a night well spent.
Annick
We met up with our friend Annick and her youngest two daughters at the Trocadero, a broad plaza overlooking the Seine, with the Eiffel Tower beyond. Annick, a graduate of the Sorbonne, is an economist for the French Government, and it was good to see her and the kids again. Carolyn and I had stayed with her in her home for a week a few years ago.
Annick had tickets for a river cruise on the Bateaux Mouches, a great way to see the city from the Seine. As an old sailor, among the first things I noticed was a pair of beautiful old ‘lee-boarders’ tied to a quay. It’s a common type of boat found in shallow waters, as in the Netherlands, where it’s important to lift the large swing keel quickly to avoid hitting the bottom.
Our trip progressed with spectacular views of the city and other large boatloads of tourists passing by. There’s lots of picture-taking as we pass the Louvre and the d’Orsay, a few oddities, and so many majestic vistas. People wave from historic bridges as we pass beneath.
Meanwhile the people of Paris go about their quotidian lives, enjoying their beautiful riverscape to the fullest.
Next up was a visit to the top floor of the Tour Montparnasse, the imposing dark office building that erupts from the beauty of Paris like a raised middle finger. It was because of this esthetic violation that space was made available in La Défense, at the edge of town, for modern skyscrapers. I have tried to ignore the Tour Montparnasse, but they say some of the best views of the city are from the top – because none of them include the ugly tower itself!
I had to admit that I gained a different and valuable perspective from the top, looking down upon Montparnasse cemetery, the city’s intricate network of avenues, plus the Tour Eiffel – which also enraged some Parisians as an ugly intrusion, back in the day.
It was a fine Sunday afternoon, well spent, in a city that never fails to fascinate. But Annick’s daughters were getting tired of the tourism thing and needed to prepare for school in the morning. Among final embraces, Annick gave us a copy of her recent book on the challenges of raising black children in a white society. We were honored by the gift and we’ll tackle the task of reading it, in French, after we return from our trip. We’re also expecting Annick and the girls to visit us soon in Kino Bay.
It’s been a long and memorable trip for the four of us, with plenty of sights seen, and fine extended time spent with my sister Elyse and niece Rachael. But after a month of travel, they needed to pack for their return trip to the US.
We top things off by deciphering yet another French menu, for a last fine dinner at Le Vrai Paris in charming Les Abbesses. Followed by ice cream cones!
And then, in the morning, there are final goodbyes to Elyse and Rachael as a taxi whisks them off to Charles de Gaule airport for a very long flight to the US. Bon Voyage!
Up next: What will we do in Paris without Elyse and Rachael? — PRW
Summer 2018: Paris II
Elyse and Rachael have left Paris and taken that younger energy with them, and we are alone together, Carolyn and I, as the evening spreads across a darking Parisian sky (apologies to TS Eliot). It’s a good time to find dinner. And for the next few days we’ll see some things we’ve never seen, even after several extended visits in the past.
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Fondation Louis Vuitton
A big item on our list is the highly-touted Fondation Louis Vuitton, Frank Gehry’s new and challenging creation located in the woods, in the broad Bois de Boulogne. It’s a brisk walk on a fine day through the park from the Porte Maillot Metro stop in Neuilly, and the museum is hard to miss as we draw closer. Gehry makes a statement, although this one, unlike his museum in Bilbao, is hidden in the trees. Perhaps there was no good site available along the Seine, even with substantial Louis Vuitton funding to back it.
Gehry’s latest extravagance gives few clues as to what lies inside. It’s an exterior-dominant exercise in sculptural-structural complexity and ‘candy wrapping’ that demands exploration of its artistry, its ‘funhouse’ dynamic before getting to the art on display. Its amorphous ’crumpled tinfoil tossed on the ground’ aesthetic recalls the one in Bilbao, which is highly viewable from various parts of the city, including the riverwalk – and especially from the top of the funicular across the river. But the Paris example is curiously hidden. And as in Bilbao, the artworks on display take second place to the building itself.
(Here's a link to our post from Bilbao in 2016: http://wilkeskinsman.typepad.com/tierra_de_tortugas/2016/06/summer-2016-bilbao.html)
Even if the whole thing has a sense of bizarre overreach – or exuberant celebration(!) – it’s difficult not to explore the buildings’ inner workings, its complex spaces, and its artful structural connections before visiting the galleries. One wonders if there’s really any room left inside this confection for galleries. And if Gehry grew up in a warehouse somewhere, filled with random spare parts, assembling curious objects from whatever was at hand.
Views toward the great city of Paris are rare, with peeks at the modern skyline of La Défense being chief among them. Oddly, little homage is paid to the masterpiece of Gustav Eiffel, a kindred structure, where majestic form and robust connections are proudly shown as a main artistic element. The great Iron Lady is largely ignored here and only visible through a small opening in a remote corner, if you can find it.
On show in several large galleries, the huge and fantastical work of Takashi Murakami, born in Japan in 1962, deserves attention. The large sculpture in the center of one gallery, entitled “Chakras open and I Drown Under the Waterfall of Life, 2017” represents his response to “…the trauma of the tsunami that struck Japan in 2011.”
In other rooms, Murakami’s cartoons and splashing colors, drawn from his work in anime, require a close encounter to fully appreciate the detail involved.
In other galleries, the ghostly presence of Jean-Marie Appriou’s large “Lips and ears, 2018” dominates a room by itself.
Other galleries contain works by modernist masters such as Brancusi, De Chirico, and other notable artists.
And a hidden exterior water space provides a bit of whimsy, and a hall for mirror play by wannabe photo-journalists.
After an afternoon drenched in the challenging Fondation Louis Vuitton, we walk back into the city again, in need of a quiet dinner and a glass or two of good red wine.
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Just Being in Paris
Paris is one of the world’s great cities for living and wandering without any plan at all, for stopping at the window of a ‘jam shop,’ or heeding a sign that reads, “Enter! Here good wine makes good moments.” (Except the place was closed.) We check out the fine art in a gallery nearby, notice that Charlie Hebdo is still publishing outrageous political satire – despite a deadly attack by extremists – and consider turning up for an Archie Shepp concert at ‘an undisclosed location.’ I find a jaunty chapeau somewhere to keep the sunburn off my thinning scalp, and now the locals don’t assume I’m American anymore; they think I’m a lost German tourist.
There’s time to hang out by the lazy waters of the Seine, or stop by a tempting place that assures us, “Here one drinks and one eats until 2:00 in the morning.” And not far away is another good nose-wet called Le Smiley, with a fine singer in house.
And for breakfast we stop at Le Pain Quotidien for coffee with almond croissants and a view to the street, while Parisian parents deliver their children to a nearby school. On another morning we’ll enjoy delicious buckwheat crepes at La Petite Bretonne, while tradesmen make deliveries to a nearby boucherie (butcher shop). It’s another day in the early morning life of the city.
For us, having ‘something to do’ isn’t necessary, or even desirable, in a city like Paris. We're content to absorb the energy of the streets in a place that has inspired great writers, artists, and thinkers for centuries – with no illusions that ‘greatness’ will somehow rub off on us. But it’s nice to be in a place where that often happens.
In Paris, iconic images are everywhere, none more so than a modern Parisienne shugged against a wall with a cigarette in one hand and her iPhone in the other.
The streets and squares of Paris lend themselves so well to wandering. Wherever you end up, there’s a Metro nearby to get you back where you need to be. And the words of the prophets are sometimes plastered on those Metro walls, with all the catchy ads and notices. And there are good musicians to make use of those fine acoustics in the tunnels.
And at the end of the day, we’ll return late to the apartment for rich chocolates, a few crispy crapotes (!?), and a snifter of Armagnac. The soft rumble of late Metro trains deep below us in the granite heart of Montmartre lulls us to sleep.
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La Cigale
A poster on a wall reads: “Ben Folds and a Piano,” at nearby La Cigale. It’s a well-known Parisian nightlife venue, even if the façade is badly ‘modernized.’ Inside there’s a gorgeous old theatre with intricate cast iron balconies and a stage front to recall the glory days when Toulouse-Lautrec was hanging out a few blocks down the street drawing posters for the Moulin Rouge.
Matt Holubowski, a Quebecois, opened with magic on the guitar, sparks of harmonics, and a distinctive painful voice that’s hard to describe. Later in the lobby, we bought his new CD, and we shared Bob Dylan stories.
But the people were waiting for the manic energy of Ben Folds, who soon attacked a piano waiting in the spotlight. He spoke to the crowd with riotous black and white key work, pain and anger – personal but general, at being screwed by The Man – and they sang with him. After a long and furious crashing set on the piano, Folds assaulted an innocent drum kit – subtlety not a part of his nature – to rumbling applause. The evening ended with a standing ovation and the throbbing, sated, crowd poured out into the Parisian night.
We walked about a block, to our cosy apartment overlooking the Pigalle.
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Atelier des Lumières
The “Atelier des Lumières was recommended by Catherine, our peripatetic friend and sometime Kino denizen. It was much more than the usual projected movie with an excellent soundtrack. The huge space of the old foundry swallowed a free-ranging audience and wrapped us all in an envelope of visuals that swept the 10-meter walls and carpeted factory floor with color while sound poured over like rainfall, ranging from Beethoven, Chopin, and Wagner, to Etude No 2 by Phillip Glass. It was an immersive and saturating experience into sound and image, like tumbling inside a huge kaleidoscope along with Gustav Klimt and Egon Schiele, leaders of the Vienna Secession radical art movement, plus the later complex works of Friedensreich Hundertwasser. Both Klimt and Schiele died young in 1918, victims of the world-wide flu epidemic. Hundertwasser, an artist, architect, and environmentalist, was born a decade later, continuing in the Viennese modern art tradition until relocating to New Zealand.
Abundant 60s references come to mind as color visions from 140 BARCO projectors swirl the entire space and a seamless sound track resonates throughout. Think, ‘Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds’; or the Byrds coloristic: ‘…and wander in the forest, where the trees have leaves of prisms that break the light in colors that no-one knows the names of’.’; or Joni Mitchell’s Chelsea Morning, ‘…and the sun poured in like butterscotch and stuck to all my senses.’ Just try to imagine what they could do with this show in Amsterdam….
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Pere Lachaise
And after that full-immersion, we plunge ourselves onto the famous slopes and woods of Père Lachaise cemetery, only a block or so away. Here in these leafy grounds, dozens of famous artists, writers, musicians, and performers have found their final resting place, along with dozens of ordinary souls. A raven perched among the markers seems appropriate for such a grey and drizzly day.
This city of the dead has a long history and the list of permanent residents is noteworthy: Colette, Chopin, Oscar Wilde, Gertrude Stein and Alice B Toklas, Balzac, Apollinaire, Georges Bizet, Delacroix, Daumier, Yves Montand, Simone Signoret – even Porfirio Diaz and Benjamin Franklin’s grandson William.
Numerous sad, crumbling old monuments in this jumbled city of the dead remind us that unless someone comes to attend our graves they too will crumble into soil or succumb to tree roots someday. Regardless, we all return to the fertile land as bio-mass to nurture the future. And our best ideas, if we’re lucky, may pass into what Robert M Hutchins called, “The Great Conversation.”
OK, we also did the ‘60s thing’ and stopped by the grave of James Douglas Morrison. Someone said, “You can tell where it is by all the hippies around it.” Jim’s grave is not spectacular, wedged into a small and well-trampled spot between many other burials by a ‘gum tree’ — one of those trees that people stick their gum to for some reason. His tomb seems oddly anti-climactic after his short and flamboyant life.
Many others in Père Lachaise must have led flamboyant lives for their era, but that’s long forgotten as the artists and rogues of each new age concoct outrages of their own. And rarely do graves blaspheme the dead with factual accounts of their lives. That’s for the biographers and novelists and should not sully the headstones of the deceased. A bit of whimsy may suffice, however.
And while at Père Lachaise, how could we not go in search of the final resting place for a person listed on the roster simply as ‘Sex Toy?’ Below a large bronze placard emblazoned with “Sex Toy,” the name of Delphine Palatsi (1968-2002) is etched into the cold and mossy stone. Known around Paris as ‘one of the premier female techno-DJs of the 1990s,’ she began her career mixing at Le Scandalo, a club on Rue Keller in Paris. She mixed at venues for Louis Vuitton, l’Oréal, and the Cannes film festival, appeared in several films, and lived her manic life until 2002 when she died of a heart attack at 33 years of age.
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Giverny
It’s appropriate that we’ll depart Paris on a train from the Gare Saint Lazare to visit Monet’s home and garden in Giverny, since he often painted the old coal-chuffing engines arriving from Normandy in this very station. In his day, those giant and powerful machines were strong symbols of a new industrial age transforming much of Europe from its medieval past into a brave new future. The romantic old coal-burners are gone now – and the air is cleaner – but the Gare Saint Lazare still exudes some of its old magic.
Monet was largely a self-taught rebel, ignoring his father’s wishes to join the family grocery business, and rejecting art classes to study with the masters. Michelangelo, Goya, Monet, Van Gogh, Picasso – the list of such artistic rebels is long.
Monet was known for his mastery of many subjects besides smoking steam engines. He’s mostly remembered for his peaceful and romantic scenes of canals in Venice and Amsterdam, the sailing boats at Argenteuil, and his beloved gardens in Giverny. His attraction in later life to a peaceful life in the countryside far from the clangor of Paris is understandable.
In less than an hour from Paris by train we’re at the Vernon station and boarding a bus for the short drive to Giverny. Then it’s a modest walk, on a crowded pathway, from the bus park to the Maison et Jardins de Claude Monet, where he and his family lived from 1883 to 1926.
Oscar-Claude Monet was a founder of French Impressionism – the term came from his painting Impression, soleil levant (Impression, Sunrise) first exhibited in 1874. He would paint scenes numerous times to capture subtle changes in light and the seasons of the year. He created his own landscape for painting in Giverny, where he lived for the last 43 years of his life.
Along the way to Monet’s home and garden we make the acquaintance of a friendly Chinese couple who are enjoying their own extended retirement wander in Europe. She’s very sprightly and a real spark who used to work for a German company in China. She speaks German, decent English, and Mandarin Chinese. He’s courtly but more quiet, and speaks no English. He was a manager for China Telecom. We find ourselves piloting our way together through narrow lanes to a very long line outside the entry door, but we’ll lose track of each other later, somewhere in Monet’s broad gardens.
The expansive gardens of Claude Monet are resplendent with flowers, just as we’d expect on such a fine warm day in springtime. The bees stay busy with the abundance of floral choices giving forth their bounty of honey.
Monet’s famous lily pond and arcing Japanese bridge are in a different
section, through a passageway under the rural road that runs beside his home and garden. The lily pond and woods are a fine place with hidden creeks and copses to lose ourselves among (along with a crowd of others) while tracing the pathways leading to the pond and bridge.
Monet’s modest home is charming and inviting, as if he’s only gone for the day and expected back later for supper. Besides the walls covered with his art and collections, the kitchen is a romantic image of old Brittany. It’s easy to see why Monet spent his final years here.
Back in the gift shop, we recline on some very comfortable couches for an informative talk about Monet by Helen Bordman, ‘Executive Volunteer,’ formerly of New Jersey but now resident in France. Helen has collected a variety of stories and impressions of Monet’s life here in the little community of Giverny and she brought those days to life.
(For more Monet & Giverny: https://www.claudemonetgallery.org)
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Alas, it’s time to leave…
And what is it with the French, their art, their wines, their culinary traditions, their language – it’s probably the most romantic of all the Romance Languages. Strategically situated as they are, just across the Channel from those oddly charming Brits and just south of guttural tribes of Germanics, the French remain a fascination.
But in the end we must leave familiar Paris behind, and search out other challenges. Our original loose itinerary has semi-evolved so that we’re now heading through Germany toward the Czech Republic, Slovakia, Austria, and Italy. The old river port city of Strasbourg, lying just on the French side of the Rhine, will be our next stop. We’ll see you there! — PRW
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• For more of Paris from 2013 & 2016, see:
http://wilkeskinsman.typepad.com/tierra_de_tortugas/2013/07/summer-2013-sojourn-aaaah-paris.html
http://wilkeskinsman.typepad.com/tierra_de_tortugas/2016/08/summer-2016-paris.html
Posted on June 21, 2018 | Permalink | Comments (0)