Beware of Distractions

Beware of people claiming you dropped a gold ring, earring, money, etc. Suz and I had these encounters at least twice; and I witnessed and then had another one yesterday. I was not aware of this ruse; this is the first time it's happened to me. Walking towards you or beside you, someone suddenly bends down like they’re picking something off the pavement, subtly drops the treasure on the ground, and then pretends to pick it up and give it back to you. I think it’s all about distraction so that they can pickpocket you.

It happened to Suz when we were walking on my favorite bridge, pont Alexandre III; a guy approached her and she rudely walked away from him. Then we saw a lady do it with a guy on the Grand Boulevards (she wasn’t successful); but next she set her sights on us—walking just a little behind us so that both of us became nervous, stopped, and decided to cross the street. She knew we were onto her—she continued walking but looked at me as she dropped whatever on the ground, picked it up and held it out towards me, smiling. We crossed the street.

Yesterday, I was several yards behind a guy wearing a backpack walking along a path next to the Seine--not far from the Champs-Elysees. A lady approaching pulled the trick on him—he momentarily stopped but realizing he hadn’t dropped whatever she was holding, he continued on. She didn’t seem to pay me any mind but just a few minutes later, another lady came along. And I watched her stoop down right in front of me, drop the ring from her hands, say “ooh la la”—I kept walking. “Excuse me? Excuse me?” I wanted to say, “FAT CHANCE,” but didn’t think she’d understand that. I never turned around; I just kept walking. Beware of distractions!

Up Close and Personal with Notre-Dame's Chimeras

I had one plan this morning—yet now I can’t remember what it was—but there were less clouds and more sun in the sky so I changed the plan. I had noted in my little brain that on the next sunny day, I was going to finally climb the towers at Notre-Dame. The reason I was waiting until the end of my trip was because there are 422 marches (steps) and I figured I was in much better shape now having climbed up and down 48 marches to the apartment several times a day in about 60. And I am.

I rushed over there (a brisk 15-20 minute walk from the apartment) to be in line when it opened (10:00 AM) and I was in the first group of 20 to enter. I love when a plan comes together—and I’m first! The tower tour is very well controlled by the staff; and as we started to climb, I was impressed with the wide staircase and the comfortable depth of the steps. Who said this was going to be claustrophobic? After we’d climbed not very many steps (maybe 50?), they directed us into an exhibit room and gift shop. Huh? I was all warmed up and ready to keep climbing!

This room is called the upper room of the North tower, which is on the same level as the organ loft. It has an eight-section rib-vaulted ceiling whose center keystone is about 46 feet above the floor (if I’m converting meters correctly). In one corner of the room is a beautiful spiral staircase that is an entirely separate openwork turret…it supposedly leads to the room where Quasimodo hid Esmeralda in Victor Hugo’s “The Hunchback of Notre-Dame.”

The exhibit in this upper room was about Victor Hugo, who wrote his famous book in 1831—and interesting, of course—but I wanted to keep going. The sun was shining! I’m sure a great view awaited me! They ignored us for about 10 minutes—would someone please buy something so we can get on with this?? (Usually the gift shop is at the Sortie (exit) so I’m sure they are losing out on lots of sales by its placement at the beginning of the tour.)

Finally, we were allowed to proceed and as we climbed higher and higher—oh, this is what they mean by claustrophobic! Actually, it wasn’t too bad but I imagine that it wouldn’t be as comfortable in the summer heat, for example. The tower got smaller, the climb tighter, and the steps more narrow. There was an interim level (I think our first view was right above the rose window) and then the top level (looking at the bell towers), which is about 151 feet above the ground. They call this the Chimeras Gallery after the statues adorning the corners of the balustrade. These creatures were designed by our friend, Viollet-Le-Duc, in the 19th century when he did the major renovation of the cathedral (see 1/22/07 blog). We usually refer to all of them as gargoyles but most are really representations of fantastic birds, hybrid animals, and mythical monsters—ornamental sculptures not to be confused with a gargoyle, which is a feature designed to drain rainwater. The most famous chimera is the Stryge, who “seems from its pensive attitude to never tire of contemplating the metamorphoses of the capital.” (this as written in the brochure handed to us at the tour entrance). The one above is called the Guardian.

I think I got some terrific pictures of all the gargoyles—whoops—chimeras. The views were spectacular—especially in the sun—of the rooftops, the Seine, the bell towers, Paris’ historic monuments and buildings, and Viollet-Le-Duc admiring his new spire of the transept crossing. The wind was really blowing up there and I was having trouble standing still (and keeping my hair out of the shots) so I'm happy to see that these pictures turned out so well. Who needs their postcards??

Speaking of the towers--there are 11 bells in Notre-Dame. The four in the north tower were cast in 1856 to replace older ones that were melted down during the French Revolution to make cannons and coins. The 14-ton bass bell in the south tower was cast in 1680 and is supported by a vast wooden cage that dates to the Middle Ages. Six small bells were installed in the 19th century in and below the spire above the church's transept. The bells, as sacred instruments, are all christened: the bass bell is Emmanuel; the largest of the smaller bells is Angelique Francoise; the smallest, Denise David.

When ringing high in the north tower, the four immense bells shake the massive oak frame which weighs more than 187 tons. Currently, a 40+-year-old chemist by training is the chief sacristan of the cathedral (there are four) and thus, he is also the chief bell ringer. The caretakers of the bells visit six times a year to check on the condition of the bronze bells; examine the electric motors with the intricate chains that wring the bells; and insect the wooden frame from which they are suspended. They want less music or bell-ringing to diminish wear on the centuries-old bells; obviously, Monsieur Urbain wants more. The four smaller bells in the north tower and the bass bell (or bourdon) in the south still display the remains of wooden platforms and metal bars that the bell ringers used to swing the huge bells by pumping with their feet. These were electrified in 1930 and are now controlled electronically by computer. Monsieur Urbain is a master of the sofware programming as well.

Finally, all good things must end and the employees stationed along the way kept us moving. When I clamored down the 422 marches on the South side of the cathedral (BYW, I'm intrigued with old stairways—the way they are worn from the millions of feet that have trudged up and down them over the centuries), I found many of my climbing buddies standing in a locked-up pen waiting to be freed. Were they counting to make sure all of the first two groups were back on the ground before they let us escape or did someone just forget to get everything opened up this morning? So after about 10 minutes and that many stragglers mad their way down, we were able to continue with our respective plans for the day. PS--I loved this little excursion and highly recommend it. It was one of my favorite days!

Trouble with the American Embassy

Well, THAT got your attention, didn't it?! I got in trouble with the American Embassy this afternoon. You think I would have known not to, but it was such a beautiful shot and I snapped the picture without even thinking... So the gendarme (yes, they’re French and they’re guarding the American Embassy) ran over and made me delete it. He was very nice—didn’t speak English to me though—but made me scroll back and forth through the pictures a couple of times to be sure that I did delete it. It was a really good picture, too. I apologized and he said it was OK. (So if it was OK, then why didn’t he let me keep my picture?!?!) I guess I should’ve taken it from across the street (from where he may not have noticed) and he would’ve been in it… And I guess if I'd had a print camera, he would’ve taken my film! Yikes!!

(Sadly, pictures will not be posted after I get home...)

Jacquemart-Andre Museum, Shoah Memorial, and Saint-Gervais

Yesterday I hopped the Metro (only one more day to get my money’s worth out of my February Metro/bus pass) to the Jacquemart-Andre Museum, a beautiful mansion belonging to a wealthy, art-loving 19th-century couple (Edouard Andre and his wife, Nelie Jacquemart) located on boulevard Haussman. This area near Parc Monceau is bordered by the grand boulevards so the home was very opulent. I had to giggle when the guy on the audio guide (included in the 9,50 euro admission price) said that the tour would show us the lifestyle of the “typical upper middle-class” and how they lived. The house looked to me like it belonged to a member of the upper UPPER-class!

Monsieur Andre, a popular Parisian bachelor and sole heir to a banking fortune, built the house between 1869 and 1875; it was inaugurated with a sumptuous ball in 1876. He met Nelie Jacquemart in 1872 when he commissioned her to paint his portrait. No one knows if this is when they hit it off but they married nine years later. They spent time together collecting art from their travels (at least six months each year)—they especially loved Italy—and decorating the mansion. Their annual art acquisition budget was 500,000 francs (76,225 in today’s euros)—double the Louvre’s budget at that time. So they would not bid up collections to the detriment of the Louvre, for example, plus they made many donations of art to the Paris museums. After Edouard died, Nelie continued to travel—even to the Orient—to collect more pieces; shipments of art were still arriving at the house seven months after she died.

The paintings (Rembrandt, Botticelli, Fragonard, etc.), busts, tapestries, statues, and artwork are too numerous to mention but a couple things really impressed me about the museum. A double staircase wrapped around above a beautiful winter garden with large windows and a skylight two stories above leading to the open foyer which overlooked the music room on the first floor. This was built at the end of the house rather than in the middle as was more common in those days; but the materials (marble, bronze, and wrought iron with mirrors) were very vogue in the second Empire Period. It is suspected that the fancy staircases were revenge by the designer and architect, Henri Parent, who lost out to Charles Garnier, the architect chosen to design the Opera Garnier (which has its own beautiful staircase) (see 2/20/07 blog). I wasn't supposed to take pictures in here but I couldn't resist sneaking one of the winter garden (pa-leez!) with a hint of the double staircases. The other impressive feature (to me) was that the paneling next to the entry doors in two of the rooms could drop into the basement or wrap around the side walls. This allowed three rooms to be opened into one huge and grand ballroom. The enlarged room could then easily hold 1,000 people comfortably with plenty of additional side rooms for private conversations, smoking, etc.

Nelie and Edouard never had any children. So when Nelie died, as her husband wanted, she bequeathed the mansion and its collections to the Institut de France, which opened to the public in 1913. After I grabbed a bus and then another Metro (it was sprinkling and windy and again, I want to get my money’s worth…) to go home for lunch, I headed to the Picasso Museum—only to remember that it’s Tuesday and the Picasso is closed on Tuesdays. So I continued with another portion of the Marais walk and ended up at the Memorial of the Shoah (Hebrew word for “catastrophe”), a Holocaust Memorial. This memorial was opened to the public in 2005 and is the largest research, information and awareness-raising center in Europe on the history of the genocide of the Jews during the Second World War.

The memorial includes a wall of names and birth years of the 76,000 Jewish men, women and children deported from France between 1942 and 1944. It even includes the police files kept on the French Jews between 1940 and 1944. There’s a Wall of the Righteous with engraved names of people who rescued Jews in France during that time. The Crypt includes a very large black marble Star of David representing the six million Jews who perished in WWII and who have no graves. In the center of the star lie the ashes of victims collected from various Nazi death camps as well as from the Warsaw ghetto. Soil from Israel was actually brought to this memorial so the ashes would be laid to rest in it.

All of these Jewish memorials are very touching and I immediately tear up every time I enter one. This one was no exception. On my way back to the apartment, I stopped at Saint-Gervais Saint-Protais, a gothic church built with the first classical façade in Paris in 1620. Since 1975 this church, allocated to the Fraternity of Monastic Communities of Jerusalem, is where the monks and nuns of Jerusalem pray the daily liturgy. Very fitting since it sits in the Jewish Quarter, the Marais. It also has the oldest organs in Paris and appropriately, shortly after I entered, someone began practicing. An additional treat for me as I watched a nun praying at the alter and wandered around the beautiful church with its little individual benches for worshippers.

www.cestsoparis.com

There’s a new Paris web site from the tourist office— www.cestsoparis.com (C’est so Paris or It is so Paris). It not only provides handy information for visitors, upcoming events, and some special offers but also mocks the French. There’s a tab showing you how to cop a Parisian attitude with amusing illustrated explanations of typical gestures (e.g., the Gallic shrug: “Use it to deny knowledge, agreement or responsibility”). Hmmm, I don’t see the lip thing they do when they’re irritated with you…they pucker up their lips while blowing out a puff of air… Check it out.

The Conciergerie and Marais Walking Tours

On Sunday after Suz left, I visited the Conciergerie in between two very long walks around the city. In fact, yesterday, I was actually feeling some pain in my legs so who knows how far I walked on Sunday. And I’m not sure why I continue to walk so fast—as if I am going to a fire, my sister claims.

The name of the building, Conciergerie, is related to the French word for a caretaker or door keeper (concierge), now a disappearing profession in Paris. Almost all buildings in the city used to have a lady (usually) living in the ground floor apartment (a few still do) who made sure everyone who entered the building had a right to be there. In this case, there was certainly a need for a door keeper because this became Paris' first and most famous prison.
With its four high pointed towers sitting next to the Seine on the Ile de la Cite, its unenviable reputation is of being the last "residence" for many headed to the guillotine. During the French Revolution, some 2,800 people were dispatched from here. There's a memorial room showing the names of all those condemned to death and when you search, you can find both names of the prison's most famous residents: King Louis XVI (called Capet: last king of France) and his widow (veuve), Marie-Antoinette. A portion of her cell was converted into a chapel dedicated to her memory with silver embroidered tears displayed on the walls. The recreated cell close to the chapel is just that--recreated containing nothing original.Formerly a royal palace built as a fortress between 1284-1314, the prison looks like a gloomy medieval castle. When the kings moved to the palaces of the Louvre, Vincennes, and others by the end of the 14th century, this part became the Parliament seat along with the prison.

The enormous vaulted late-Gothic Salle des Gens d’Armes (Cavalrymen's Room) in the basement is amazingly well-preserved but there is little to look at beyond appreciating the impressive architecture. It originally served as the Palace refectory (you should see the huge fireplaces) but during the Revolution, it housed the male prisoners, especially the ones who could pay for better "lodging." Prisoners during that time were not here very long; most of them were condemned quickly and then taken to the guillotine.

Only a small part of the building is open for tourists because much of it, which sits next to the current Palais de Justice, is still used for the Paris law courts. La Conciergerie served as a prison until 1914.
The corner tower, called the Clock Tower because it housed France’s first public clock, was built in 1370 and is supposedly fully restored. Everything I read says it’s still working; but in the last several years, the hands appear in the same place every time I walk by. The other three towers are the Caesar Tower, the Silver Tower (where the royal jewelry may have been kept), and the Bon Bec (medieval slang for tattler) Tower where the confessions were obtained.

Yesterday, I took the “Paris Walks” book and combined parts of two walks in my arrondissement, the Marais. One was of the place des Vosges (see 1/28/07 blog) and the neighborhood surrounding it, including the Hotel de Sully. In these parts, the word “hotel” most often refers to a grand private resident—many have been turned into museums, government buildings, offices, etc. and are national historical monuments. Last night, I took another brisk walk around the area—the nights always seem calmer and milder than during the day. Yesterday, it was quite windy and my feet got cold so I came home mid-afternoon for lunch. Nine days and counting... Today I'm off to another museum, the Jacquemart-Andre.

Walking Through Walls

This sculpture by French actor Jean Marais is called Le Passe-Muraille (The Walker-Through-Walls), named after a short story by Marcel Ayme (1902 – 1968). The short story, which most French pupils have read, tells about a clerk who finds out one day that he is able to walk through walls. He can then eavesdrop on private conversations, steal, read confidential stuff, snoop—do all sorts of things. Suz and I walked by this statue in (where else?) the place Marcel Ayme in Montmartre two weeks ago. And I think it was at about this time that we were wishing we could walk through some walls to save ourselves some steps.

PS—The green toothbrush was not in the statue’s hand the first two times I saw it on this trip. Another statue in Montmartre that day was holding an orange toothbrush. French people do have a sense of humor!!!

Time to Diet but There’s Hope…

OK, it’s time to stop with the chocolate, the wine, the pain au chocolates, the wonderful cherry cookies covered in vanilla and chocolate frosting, the goat cheese with honey, the special puddings, etc., etc., etc.; I've enjoyed taste-testing them all. But reality is headed my way on March 8th when I must return to my life in Houston. I won’t be walking 4-5 miles a day then so I can not continue with the eating habits that I’ve picked up—and especially since Suz arrived. We were even eating ice cream, which is something I hardly EVER do!

Mireille Guiliano recently wrote a book that got some attention in the US, “French Women Don’t Get Fat.” In every article and on every talk show when she was interviewed, Americans were intrigued and curious about how French women stay so thin. She had lots of ideas that make sense—eat small portions, walk, drink lots of water, don’t starve yourself until you binge on your cravings, etc.

But 30% of the French are overweight; 12% are considered obese (this compares with about 30% in the US). The country is not happy that within 9 years, the French population has gained on average slightly less than 5 pounds. Many people do not need or keep a car and many buildings do not have elevators. So they are forced to walk—at least to and from the bus or Metro—and go up and down many stairs. But they also eat very late in the evenings and there is that required glass or two of wine with dinner (and sometimes lunch..)

Then I see these statues and this graffiti—and I feel that size doesn’t matter. There’s hope for us girls. Right??

Shakespeare and Company

There is a delightful little bookstore with lots of history and charm sitting across the Seine from Notre-Dame that I always visit when in Paris. And every person I’ve introduced to the place has been equally charmed. The original store with the famous American proprietor, Sylvia Beach, began in 1919 on the Left Bank (the second location on 12 rue de l’Odeon was the most famous) where it flourished with many American and French readers. Madame Beach loved Paris and since she couldn’t afford to open a shop in NYC, she opened her English-language bookstore and lending library here. Its reputation was as a center for Anglo/American literary culture where Sylvia offered encouragement and hospitality to many aspiring writers like Gertrude Stein, Ezra Pound, F. Scott Fitzgerald, and Ernest Hemingway—authors often referred to as the “lost generation.” Along with her book store, which provided a hangout for the crowd of writers, Sylvia Beach is probably best known for publishing James Joyce’s controversial novel, “Ulysses” when he couldn’t get an edition published in an English-speaking country. It was subsequently banned, of course, in the US and the United Kingdom. Beach would later be strapped financially when Joyce signed on with another publisher and the Great Depression hit but she was kept in business with financial help from her wealthy friends. Eventually a group of writers organized a “Shakespeare and Friends” club; each paid 200 francs a year to attend readings which translated into lucrative attention from the press. Shortly after the fall of Paris, Beach was forced to close the shop and was actually interned for six months during WWII. But she kept her books hidden in a vacant upstairs apartment during that time and in 1944, Hemmingway symbolically liberated the shop—although Sylvia’s "Shakespeare and Company" never re-opened. In the early 1950s, George Whitman founded a new bookstore at the current address (37 rue de la Bucherie) and obtained Madame Beach’s permission to use the name. It remains an independent business—still specializing in English-language literature as a bookstore, lending library, venue for readings, plus a dormitory for travelers who earn their keep by helping out in the shop. Not easy to find among all the stacks and stacks of books, there are supposedly 13 beds upstairs; and George says that more than 50,000 people have slept there at one time or other. All he asks is that you make your bed in the morning, help in the shop, and read a book a day.According to the website (http://shakespeareco.org/), George is in his 90s but “still sits as a figurehead above his store.” His daughter, a beautiful young lady, Sylvia Beach Whitman, now runs the shop. (We tried to get her in so many pictures, I swear she thought we were stalking her! Suz finally got this shot of her--wearing a skirt with tights--carrying books into the shop.)

Suz Returns to Seattle

I just returned (7:15 AM) from putting mon amie, Suz, on the Roissy Bus to the airport. We got up before 5 and left here around 6:15 to catch the Metro to L'Opera Garnier. She made the 6:45 bus and should be at Charles de Gaulle by 7:30 with plenty of time to line up for check-in. I pray that her trip is safe and uneventful—and everything, including her connection in Dallas to Seattle, is on time. We had a wonderful and very busy time; and I will miss her! (Plus she made the best breakfasts!) Thank you, Suz, and bon voyage! Some observations about this morning: I haven't seen 5 AM in months. I really do like the mornings--now daylight is around 7:30 instead of 8:45. Lots of people were out and about but I think some of them were just heading home from a night of partying. It rained in the night (as it often does) so we didn't have to walk in the rain with Suz's luggage--a good sign, I think.

Yesterday we did more exploring--new streets and areas that we haven't seen before. We went to a lively street market near Les Halles and the Saint-Eustache church, rue Montorgueil. Later we had coffee and picked up chicken for dinner at the oldest covered market in Paris, Marches des Enfants Rouges, which is less than a half block from the apartment. We watched one of our favorite movies, "Something's Gotta Give" en francais with English subtitles--I will get this language... And last night we went to mass at Saint-Augustin, before walking to place de la Concorde from where Suz got one last look at the sparkling Eiffel Tower.
So what is on my agenda for today? Good question—I am making a list of everything that I still want to do before I leave on the 8th. Unfortunately, that is right around the corner—less than two weeks away. Many, many choices….and it’s supposed to be another partly sunny day in the 50s. Life is good!

Winter Sports in Paris

Since I arrived on New Year’s Day, I’ve admired the ice skating rink every time I walked by the Hotel de Ville. But until last week, I hadn’t noticed the bobsled tracks. Everyone was smiling and laughing as they rode their way to the bottom the day Suz and I stopped to watch. Seemed out of place when it was sunny and in the 50s!

Always Walking and Exploring Paris

For two days, Suz and I have been walking around Paris and exploring many more streets and neighborhoods where neither of us has ever ventured. On Thursday—another nice, sunny day in the high 50s—our planned destination was one of the city’s most beautiful public parks, Parc de Monceau. This park, north of the Champs-Elysees and not far from the Arc de Triomphe, was established by Louis Phillippe, Duke of Orleans (and father of a future King, Louis-Philippe). He began buying land in 1769 on which to establish the gardens and it eventually grew to about 30 acres. He loved all things English so his aim was to create an informal English-style garden in the middle of Paris. The park includes a collection of scaled-down architectural features like Corinthian pillars, an Egyptian pyramid, a Dutch windmill, a Chinese fort, and a small rotunda at its entrance. Because of its randomly-placed statues, curved walkways, and informal layout, the park is unusual due to its English style.

One interesting piece of park history: in 1797, the first parachute jump happened here when Andre-Jacques Garnerin jumped from a hot air balloon and landed in the park. When the park was purchased in 1860 by the city of Paris, half of the land went to build houses and half, thanks to our friend, Baron Haussmann, was preserved as green space for the public park. Napoleon III inaugurated the park in 1861 and Claude Monet painted a series of paintings of it. They say that half the people who run the French economy today spent their infancy here pushed in baby carriages by their nannies. And on this sunny day, the park was full of people.Yesterday—partly cloudy and in the low 50s with occasional sprinkles—we walked a new route to the Bastille area, which is very close to the apartment. The Bastille is the symbolic beginning of the French Revolution—when a mob stormed the prison in 1789 to rebel against the absent (Versailles) and frivolous royalty. This area used to have an entry to the city with a drawbridge and two huge towers called a bastille (a term for a detached fortification). It eventually became a prison but the reasons for imprisonment were often peculiar. Plus, prisoners could keep a servant, make arrangements for receiving lovers, bring their one silver and porcelain, etc. It was criticized as an expense to the state and unnecessary—a good reason, I guess, to incite the ire of a bunch of revolutionists. Only seven prisoners were held at the time—four forgers, a count accused of incest, a madman, and one accomplice to an attempted murder.

Today, the place de Bastille is another huge turnabout with lots of traffic around a very tall monument (thanks to Napoleon I). Interestingly enough, the Colonne de Juillet has nothing to do with the French Revolution or the storming of the Bastille. Rather, it commemorates a totally different revolution, which occurred over three days of fighting that marked the end of the reign of Charles X (brother of Louis XVI) in 1830 (a royal who didn't get the message from the original storming of the Bastille.)

Nearly 1000 people died over those three days; 500+ are buried underneath the column, which is divided into three portions listing the casualties on each day. Although Napoleon wanted the monument to be a fountain topped with an elephant (!), that project was eventually trashed (see 3/1/07 post). The crowning adornment on the column is "The Spirit of Liberty" represented by Auguste Dumont's naked man with wings.

Some interesting trivia about the bodies buried beneath the column. Before their internment, they were obviously widely scattered (in the Champs-de-Mars, Montmartre, and in front of the Colonnade of the Louvre). All were collected and brought to the place--but not without some interesting intruders. During an earlier restoration of the Louvre, a number of Egyptian mummies which had decomposed from an extended stay in the ground-floor rooms of the Louvre were buried outside the castle. During the 1830 uprising, some assailants killed in the attack on the Louvre were hurriedly thrown into a common grave. Ten years later, when the government decided to give these heros a more noble burial place, patriots and mummies were dug up and moved to the place. Soooo, some Pharaoh contemporaries are interred under the Bastille Column as brave fighters of this July Revolution! Although the location of the Bastille’s ancient walls are marked in the pavement in brown bricks (most of them constantly under the traffic), we were able to find the entrance (you can see the different tone of the bricks in the photo). By the way, the building in the background of the photo is l'Opera Bastille, designed by Carlos Ott and inaugurated in 1989. Architecturally, it is not well thought of by Parisians because it disturbs the esthetics of the place de la Bastille.Next we headed on another route to the Left Bank. When you cross the Pont au Double, the walking bridge crossing the Seine to the Left Bank next to Notre-Dame, you enter Medieval Paris and one of the city’s oldest neighborhoods with crooked streets and crooked buildings. In front of the oldest church, St. Julien-le-Pauvre (1250), you see Paris’ oldest inhabitant and still alive, an acacia tree nicknamed Robinier after the guy who planted it in 1602. Granted, they’ve done all they can to keep it alive including pouring cement columns where the tree has split its trunk. We used a walking tour written in “Paris Walks” by Sonia, Alison, and Rebecca Landes—noticing new things along the way. The authors thoroughly explained many of the buildings and streets—the history, the structures, lots of interesting facts and stories that we enjoyed immensely. There’s even a pub on one of these streets with an authentic guillotine from 1792 on its wall…however, it was closed so we couldn’t see it.

Finally, we headed up to the Pantheon (Suz’s former “neighborhood” when she’s stayed in Paris before) and then to a café for a coffee while staring out the window at the Luxembourg Gardens. Then down through the Saint Germaine area on our way back to the Jewish Quarter for a treat at a famous Yiddish bakery, Sacha Finkelsztajn, where we tried the recommended lemon cheesecake and apple/caramel/raisin/orange strudel. The shop is a cross between a caterer, bakery, and pastry shop; and the mosaic facade is from the 1930s. Very, very good and a very sweet family running it. I don’t think we walked five miles each of these past two days—maybe four…

Today is Suz’s last day in Paris (does she look like she wants to leave?) and who knows what we’ll find to do!

Paris – An Outdoor Museum - Part I

This statue not far from my apartment (near the Arts et Metiers Metro station) was carved, as it says on the base, by French sculpture Antoniucci Volti. He drew every day using live models and devoted his life to celebrating women. “What interests me is less the woman than her architecture.” On the base, you can see that he called this statue, Harmonie. A week or so after I took the first picture, I passed by the statue again to see this city employee (I assume) lovingly repairing and polishing the healthy young lady. In the unlikely place next to the famous St. Eustache church and in the midst of the huge Les Halles shopping area, this giant granite head resting on its side has a hand curving around its ear. It’s called “The Listener” and was created by Henri de Miller in 1988. Who knows what the head is listening to but I know that every Sunday morning, he hears a marvelous organ concert from the 8,000 pipe organ in the church. I sure did (refer to 1/19/07 and 1/22/07 postings). Don’t they say that art is all in the eye of the beholder? When I first caught a glance of this fallen tree in the Tuileries Gardens, I thought it was just that—a fallen tree that hadn’t been removed yet by the little green man. I was wrong. It is art, a monumental bronze tree created by Guiseppe Penone in 1999. Walking around Paris is truly like walking through a museum.