The Bold Soul

Punchline

Once, there was once a snail who was tired of being slow.

He went out and bought himself a really fast sports car...

 

... and asked the dealer to paint a big "S" on the top of it.

When the car dealer asked the snail why he wanted the big "S" on the car, the snail said:

Because when I whizz by them, I want people to say:

Hey, look at that S CAR GO!

Photos of this lovely French escargot taken two nights ago when we discovered him climbing up our glass front door, and how interesting is it to see the UNDERSIDE of a snail in (slow) motion? Not really sure where he thought he was going, but he obviously thought better of "up" because he did that U-turn and headed back to terra firma. We seem to have a few of these big snails in our courtyard plants (fortunately not like the masses of these little white ones Linda has been getting in her Provençal garden every year), and the kids in the building love hunting for them. Don't know if they're the edible kind, so I'll stick to having my escargots in a restaurant with garlic, oil and pesto.

One artist's vision... up close and personal

Saturday night, it was la Nuit des Musées in Paris, and indeed in cities all over Europe with this 5th annual cultural event. Most of the museums here were open until midnight, give or take about an hour, and many had set up special exibitions or other events just for the occasion. Pretty much everything was free, too. The biggest problem is just choosing where to go and what to see, since there is such a huge choice and the lines are typically very long. But I was determined to go somewhere... the Little Guy was invited to spend the night at his best friend's house and I had a rare opportunity to go out alone.

I had narrowed it down to either the Musée d'Orsay or the Musée de l'Orangerie, both of which I've been to several times but not in more than 2 years. I finally chose the Orangerie, knowing the lines at the Orsay are horrible even on a normal day when people have to pay to get in. Well, since I ended up waiting one full hour in line at the Orangerie, I can only assume I'd have waited twice that long at the Orsay. I did get to chat with a very nice American couple visiting from St. Louis, MO (waving at them if they're reading this) and they were even kind enough to share their one and only umbrella with me when it started to sprinkle a bit.

Having been here before, this time I decided not to take so many photos of the giant Waterlilies, the room-sized canvases that are some of Monet's most important works and which were completed not long before he died. They were actually designed and painted specifically for this space and are permanently affixed to the walls, so you can count on them always being there if you decide to visit; unlike many of the collection's lovely Renoirs which were out on loan to a museum in Seoul.

I did take pix of the Waterlilies but this time decided to zoom in on specific portions of the six enormous canvases where the colors and textures really caught my eye. I'm really pleased on the whole with how the photos turned out, given that it was in the evening and the usual natural daylight that floods the rooms was missing.

So here are a few bits and pieces of what I waited an hour to see... just click to zoom in for the full impact of Monet's genius and vision:

Some time over the next few days I'll post some photos of my other favorites among the permanent collection. You can take a virtual tour of the Waterlilies at the museum's web site. The main site is in French but look in the menu for "Les Nymphéas" and then "Visite Virtuelle". And if you're coming to Paris, leave an hour or so to come to this very lovely little place just off the Place de la Concorde in the Tuileries Gardens. You won't regret it!

Poppified

Flowerbed at the Jardin des Plantes, First of May 2009

Flaming

"Flamants Rouges" at the Ménagerie, Jardin des Plantes, Paris

Is this not the most glorious color? Pink flamingos are called flamants roses in French, but these were called flamants rouges. And rouge, they most definitely are.

Escaliers

Because I just can't get enough of these picturesque staircases in Montmartre. Except when I have to walk up one of them; then I am bitching and moaning about it the entire way up. In between trying to BREATHE.

By the way, I forgot to mention that I have this photo available as a small poster in black & white, here at Cafepress. Just $9.99!

Thinking

"The Thinker" (and a pensive tourist) In the gardens at the Rodin Museum, with the church housing Napoleon's tomb in the background.

Remembrance

One memorial that many visitors to Paris may not know about, or even notice because of its location, is the Deportation Memorial (Mémorial des Martyrs de la Déportation) which was created to commemorate France's more than 200,000 deportees during WWII. The memorial is located just behind Notre Dame's rear gardens at the tip of the Ile de la Cité, and admission is free; it's below ground so don't look for a building or monument, just enter through the gate and descend the staircase into the memorial.

I took this photo in 2007 when my best friend was visiting (that's her in the photo, reading one of the inscriptions). Neither of us is Jewish but you don't have to be Jewish to be deeply moved in such a place. It's a small memorial designed to make you feel completely trapped, as if you were someone in one of the camps; behind the iron bars pictured here, there are 200,000 lights along the two walls, one for each of the victims. The round placque covers the remains of an unknown deportee, with the inscription, "Dedicated to the living memory of the 200,000 French deportees sleeping in the night and the fog, exterminated in the Nazi concentration camps."

It's unfortunate that even in this day and age, antisemitism still exists in France... but apparently it still does, as someone just recently vandalized another memorial in Drancy, site of one of France's deportation camps near Paris.

When is a wall not just a wall

Answer: When it is a remnant of the ORIGINAL wall built around Paris by Philippe Auguste, circa 1200 or so. You can even see a bit of a tower there at the end. There are only a few places in Paris where bits of this wall still exist, and this one in the Marais is one of the largest portions left standing.

This is one old city. My American brain sometimes can't quite grasp being in a place that is so old that you can find ancient Roman structures (the Arène and the baths at the Cluny) mixed with the Medieval, Renaissance, Art Nouveau and Modern, all within a space of just a few square kilometers.

Joyeuses Pâques

Photo: Polish bookshop on Blvd. Saint Germain des Pres, 2007

Yeah, I know I'm a few days late to wish you all a Happy Easter. Unless of course you're observing the Orthodox Easter which is this Sunday the 19th. In which case I'm a few days early!

And if you think these hand-painted Easter eggs are gorgeous, I wish I could show you the amazing eggs my dear Ukranian friend, Lesya, makes. I still have a few that she made back in 1979, the year we graduated high school. Utterly gorgeous and each one takes hours to paint, with intricate traditional patterns and vibrant colors. If you've got a moment, please send some good energy to my friend (Lesya in Stroudsburg, PA)... she's facing a pretty major health issue (with surgery) right now and she believes in the power of prayer. Thanks.

What she's really thinking... NOW

Head held high

Lookit what I finally got around to doing today: a REAL haircut! And I'm quite happy with it.

My last professional coupe was last JUNE... before the WEDDING. Since then, I've been letting it grow but with no clear idea of what kind of new "do" I wanted, so I just settled for self-trimming my bangs and the ends at the back. But this week I finally looked in the mirror and couldn't take it anymore. I booked an appointment at this cute salon just down the street on Rue Simart (it's called "Elisabeth"), where our gardienne's daughter cuts hair (Georges has been going there for a long time). It may not be in the chi-chi part of town but the salon looked pretty nice, and I didn't just see a bunch of blue-haired old ladies in there so I figured it would probably be OK. Now I just have to make time to color all those pesky grays; sitting in the salon chair where there is better lighting than in my own bathroom, I couldn't believe how much gray was up there! Ah, 47.

But at least I've got a decent cut and can avoid remarks from my mother, when I see her next week, about how crappy my hair looks. As it is, I'll still have to endure her observations about my weight (gain), and a girl can only take so much. I keep reminding her that I don't need any help to feel bad about myself; I'm already a pro at it.

That's what all those years of therapy were for.

Around every corner

One of the things I love about living in a city with such a long history (the Parisii tribe, for which the city is named, dates to about 250 BC) is walking down a street, turning a corner, and then seeing some glorious bit of architecture that takes my breath away.

Like this one, in the Marais quartier, which is a section of Paris with some of the oldest surviving buildings (those that Haussmann didn't level in during the 19th century, when he was hired to improve both sanitary conditions and traffic flow throughout the ancient city).

Isn't the color of the stone just beautiful?

First day

My friend Cathy sent me this photo of the two of us on our first day of school:

Welcome to 1967 (when cordovan shoes were the height of fashion for 5-year-olds, apparently). We were five years old and I was such a midget (with a bad haircut à la Mom, I think -- my little sister got the GOOD hair in the family). I see that we both have cards pinned to our dresses, probably so the teachers would know where to put us when we got off the school bus.

Do we look brave? Bold? Excited? Or a bit hesitant? All of the above, probably.

Like looking in a mirror

Kind of how I both looked and felt this morning, after a night of spotty sleep and a touch of bronchitis (again). Half of a double door in the Marais; the other half had the same face on it... Medusa?

A la récherche du sommeil perdu

At the Musée Carnavalet (one of the few museums in that part of Paris that was NOT closed today for the big national strike), you can see Proust's bedroom furniture and the desk at which he reportedly wrote his most notable work, which probably gave him at least an occasional bout of insomnia.

Which, I blush to confess, I have also not yet read. You know what? Living in America it was a lot easier being less well-read. Here I'm constantly surrounded by philosophers and intellectuals -- dead or alive.

Waiting

Come and take a walk with me, on the Rue du Mont Cenis

It's been a while since I took you on a walking tour with me, so today is your lucky day! I decided to get up and walk Georges to his bus stop, and then continue on from there with an ambitious hike up Rue du Mont Cenis -- one of the steepest walks in Paris, if not THE steepest!

Rue du Mont Cenis is a fairly long street that begins all the way out at the edge of the city in the 18th arrondissement, but my street (Rue Marcadet) intersects with it at about the halfway point and just at the base of the Butte de Montmartre (the big hill). So we begin here:

Turn left onto Rue du Mont Cenis from here, pointing yourself up-hill. And take a very deep breath now, because you'll need it later.

Now, if you were to look at a map of the street, you'd think you could just drive on it from end to end, but au contraire! Don't even attempt it past this point, because the street becomes a series of breath-taking (and I mean that LITERALLY) staircases, like this one:

The city fathers very thoughtfully placed a banc publique at the top, in case you need it. This, by the way, is the second staircase you will have climbed, but there's one more after this.

However, I took a detour, turning right onto Rue Saint-Vincent, when I looked down the street and realized the vineyard was there:

 

Montmartre was originally a separate village from Paris and it was more rural with many vineyards. But as old Paris grew and expanded it eventually absorbed the peripheral villages such as Montmartre and Belleville, and the wine growers could no longer compete with the need for more real estate. This is now the last working vineyard in Paris.

Still, wouldn't you love to own one of the adjacent apartments? Although you'd have to put up with hoards of camera-wielding tourists (very few of them out and about at this hour, fortunately, so I had no competition!), it's still very quiet over here and view of wine grapes would be well worth it.

Turn left at the corner of the vineyard onto Rue des Saules and walk up the hill. At the next corner you'll find this adorable little maison rose, in which artist Maurice Utrillo once lived.

Utrillo's unwed mother was a former circus acrobat and artist's model who posed for the likes of Renoir and Toulouse-Lautrec; there is speculation that Renoir was the father of Utrillo, but no one knows for sure. Utrillo is buried just around the corner in the small Cimitière Saint Vincent, next to his mother; take the street to the left of the pink house if you want to visit his grave because the cemetery is just down the hill.

Heading back up the Rue des Saules, turn left onto Rue Cortot. This is your view:

 

Can't you just imagine that this is Montmartre 100 years ago, maybe more?

On this petite street, you'll find the Musée de Montmartre in a building that claims to be the oldest in Montmartre. Keep going, and you'll find yourself back on the Rue de Mont Cenis again, just at the top of the third and last long staircase (and wasn't I clever to help you avoid it by walking you around the block?)

So, you're at the top of the Butte! You've survived (and so have I)! Now it's time for the payoff for all that hard work of hiking up here, but first you have just a little farther to walk. After taking a moment to look down the staircase to your left and appreciate how far you've come in the past 40-odd minutes, take another moment and look up. Wow! Who put THAT there?

Look at this big white tower standing right in front of you! What is it? Is Rapunzel hiding up there? Or maybe some cell phone tower? I'm not positive (and no doubt a reader will write in and tell me if I'm mistaken) but I think this is a water tower; I neglected to look around for a descriptive sign.

Turn right and continue down the last (and now level) stretch of Rue du Mont Cenis. You are approaching the infamous Place du Tertre which will be on your right, but before you even get there you will be accosted (even at 9:30 am) by the roving, stalking street artists who will try to get you to stand still for a "portrait". Even when you say "Monsieur, je ne suis pas une touriste!" with as much indignation as you can muster, they will keep at it especially if you've got a camera in hand. Just bear to your left, keep walking and save your money for a restorative drink later.

You'll come upon a tiny little garden with one of the Wallace Fountains and a rather nice view over the city as well. Turn left onto Rue Azais, and just ahead you'll see it (because this is one sight in Paris you can't miss):

Sacre Coeur... the Sacred Heart. Not the oldest church in Paris, but surely one of the most beautiful and my second favorite in Paris after Notre Dame. Do take a moment to go inside (or I'll take you there myself in a future post) and appreciate the glorious mosaic in the large dome as well as the stained glass.

Oh, and don't forget to turn around and see where you are:

 

Even shrouded in the morning mist, Paris is just lovely to behold.

You can walk through the entire virtual walking tour here on my Flickr site. And should you decide to do this walk for real some day*, don't forget your good walking shoes, your camera, a withering look for the stalking street artists, a bottle of water, and most of all don't forget to BREATHE. A lot.

*To get to the same starting point, take Metro line 12 to Jules Joffrin. Take the exit at the end of the platform with the escalator, which brings you right onto Rue du Mont Cenis opposite the Mairie. Just turn right and begin! Or wimp out and start at Sacre Coeur and do the same thing in reverse ALL DOWN HILL, and use the metro to get back to the center of Paris again.

In case you forget what city you're in...

... THIS little shop on the Rue du Mont-Cenis will be happy to sell you a few souvenirs, like this "Paris, Oh Paris!" briefcase or a model Tour Eiffel with a wine bottle glued where the top of the tower would normally be.

[resigned sigh]

And this store isn't even anywhere near a tourist zone; it's right down the street from where I live.

Impromptu biology lesson

Overheard at the Paris Salon de l'Agriculture on Saturday:

"Look, Papa! That bull has TWO zizis!"

"Uhhh..."

[Georges looks where Little Guy is pointing, then leans in close to whisper in his ear.]

"Non, mon garçon... he has ONE zizi there [points a little to the right] and those are the two testicules."

[Momentary silence while the Little Guy processes this new information, and then...]

"Lisa, look!" [more pointing, with out-of-control giggling]

Having nothing whatsoever to do with Paris

I was digging through my archives of photos on a back-up disk and came across this image, taken about 12 or 13 years ago from the balcony of my hotel room, at the Ponte Vedra Resort in Florida.

It's cold and there are no palm trees in sight in Paris today, and looking at this photo just warmed me right up. Hope it does the same for you, wherever you may be.

And then there were none

Saturday night, Georges and I were killing time before seeing "Pink Panther 2" at the Gaumont on the Champs Elysées, so we headed to the Virgin Megastore to browse the book section. We asked an employee where we could find books in English.

And were directed HERE. To the place where they apparently keep the ONE English-language book they have in stock. The one I bought ("About a Boy" by Nick Hornby).

So much for that.

P.S. I am pretty sure the sign actually does say "English", not "Engiish" -- that would have been too good for words -- but I think it's just the angle and lighting. Or maybe they really DID misspell English.

Sunshine on a rainy day

Because someone loves me, he gave me some sunshine on this rainy Paris day. And now I have an art gallery in my office.

Hope in a flowerpot

As seen from my kitchen window, spring comes to Paris in flowerpots and window boxes:

But I don't care... I'll take spring on any basis. Seeing these sweet little flowers blooming gives me hope... that perhaps other things will be blooming soon, too.

70's chic at 11

Something both painful and laughable at the same time: my 6th grade class photo. I was 11 years old. My best friend was Claire (red dress, upper left) and we were both boy-crazy. Problem was... SHE pretty much always got the boys! There were two in our class she liked that year (I won't point out which ones and they ALL have bad hair, but then again that was the 70's). I remember she had one boy's ID bracelet (the 6th grade 1970's equivalent of "going steady") and one day she and I went for a walk in the alfalfa field near our house. She picked some alfalfa and then tossed it away, sort of absentmindedly -- and the ID bracelet went FLYING in the air, landing yards away in a sea of green vegetation. We trampled half the alfalfa field looking for it until the farmer saw us and came out to yell at us and chase us away (he asked for our names so he could call our parents, and we gave him fake ones!) We never did find that ID bracelet and she had to explain it to her boyfriend.

On the other hand while I rarely "got" the boy I wanted (a pattern that started when I was 10 and continued until I was, uh, like 46) I think I TOTALLY had the cutest outfit in this picture... and the best footwear. Another thing I recall about this time in my life at school was that this was the first year the school ALLOWED girls to wear PANTS to school. But they had to be nice pants, and no blue jeans.

Only I look a little like Wednesday Addams in this photo; jeez, did they tell us NOT to smile and say "cheese"? Most of us look clinically depressed.

At least I remember really liking my teacher that year. It must be a tough job, corralling 24 pre-pubescent brats with attitude problems, but Mr. Janon seemed to know how to do it and still keep a smile on his face most of the time. FYI my sister now teaches 1st grade at this same school; and I'll bet that wall in the school entrance is still painted that same institutional green.

Photo scan courtesy of former classmate Sean D., middle row, 4th from the left.

The last thing you'd expect to see in downtown Paris

... a shipwreck and a lighthouse. And it's no where near the Seine or any body of water. It's actually just down the street from my old apartment in the 15ème, next to a seafood market and just adjacent to the Montparnasse railroad lines. I see that someone has thoughtfully scribbled some graffiti on the lighthouse, too.