Tales of Two Cities

What a Wonderful Christmas!

Christmas this year was the best ever.  May each year continue to be thus for years to come!

We celebrated Christmas Eve at our daughter and son-in-law's house along with her in-laws, our adult grandchildren, and 7 year old granddaughter Emily, then Christmas Day "chez nous" with both of our children, our son-in-law and Emily (seen in our annual Christmas photo).

It was a reminder that nothing beats lots of conversation and laughter accompanied by good food in a warm, loving environment.  Of course, beribboned presents in colorful wrapping paper are not too bad either!

A Happy, Healthy New Year to everyone!  

Dancing the Skies on Laughter-Silvered Wings

I learned to fly in a Cessna 152 when I was 26 years old. I fell in love with a depth and passion that I had not experienced before and have not experienced since. Not only was I no longer earthbound in the literal sense, I developed faith in a new self - a woman with the ability not only to dream but with the capacity to follow those dreams.

This all came to mind recently when, after 40 years, we reestablished contact with the co-owner of the flight school where I learned to fly.  Bob was the instructor who soloed me, the pilot who gave me my first ride in a biplane, and an aerobatic pilot who was one of the subjects in articles I wrote for aviation magazines. He was our friend. Today he is a retired Delta captain and the owner of a beautiful, highly modified Cessna 180 (pictured on the left with Bob and wife, Amy).

There is a saying that there are old pilots and bold pilots but no old bold pilots. Now in his early 70's, Bob is the exception that proves the rule.

Back in the 60's and 70's, Bob owned N2RZ, a Dehavilland Chipmunk, which had started life as a WWII trainer and had been modified for aerobatics. Together Bob and N2RZ performed in airshows here in New England and throughout the country and in Canada.  I remember seeing him on early mornings flying inverted over our house on his way to the practice area as though hanging upside down high above the ground was the most natural thing in the world.  For him it was.

With Bob's permission, I'd like to share what he wrote when he sold his beloved Chipmunk 35 years ago.   More than just a tribute to flying in the "old days," his words express the joy of being alone in the sky at the controls of an airplane that he knew and loved.  It is a feeling shared by all pilots who love flying. even those of us who are not necessarily comfortable flying inverted.

* * * * * * * 

LOSS OF A FRIEND - by Bob Ziminsky 1976

The loss of a friend in my situation was like the passing of an era.  For that matter, it was the passing of an era!

I knew that the good era in which we spent so much time together was rapidly ending when we we were no long able to travel together in any direction at any time without the burden of restrictions on our freedom....

I recall so many times aiming the pointed snout of N2RZ directly at Kennedy Airport, my first check point on the way to my destination, then flying directly over the airport at 3,000 feet and watching the then behemoths, 707's & DC-8's, lifting off and passing me vertically in the distance on their mechanical un-fun way to far away places.

Traveling cross country, I used to pick a compass heading, consider winds aloft and then fly for 3 hours on that heading, navigating by dead-reckoning. After the time was up, I would determine my position on the map, make a single heading change and land at my fuel stop. The compass was always perfect with no deviation because there was no electrical system to bother it. These trips could be made across the country without ever having radio contact or any other tether to the ground. The Chipmunk's Ranger 200 engine would drone on flawlessly like a well-oiled Singer Sewing Machine - what a pleasure!

In early 1975 N2RZ had a radio permanently affixed to its insides as well as an ELT (emergency locator transmitter) that had to be removed during aerobatics because it set off under G loads in flight. Surely that was the most definitive signal of the end of our era together.

Few people have ever flown aircraft that were hard to manage, ready to breakup and poorly designed, and then had the experience of sitting in and flying to its limits a DeHavilland Chipmunk that couldn't break. N2RZ could fly vertically straight up to a point where I thought there was nothing left, and then continue higher and higher. It could dive straight down at more than 260 miles per hour and pull out in a few hundred feet with no more effort than used in opening a car door. The controls were responsive and light just as an extension of one's body should be.

I became part of the Chipmunk when I flew it. It was an extension of my will. I would often find myself flying aerobatics without physical awareness of what I was doing. It was almost as if the plane was flying through its maneuvers simply because I willed it to do so. I would frequently find my conscious self projected outside of the cockpit, in space where I would watch and critique. There is no more beautiful nor graceful flying machine in the world than the Chipmunk....

My decision to part from the Chipmunk was made some time before the day came. One could not part company with such a devoted servant without long and painful consideration. The decision was based on many factors, personal and otherwise. I owned N2RZ for almost ten years without a hitch, and that alone was a valid consideration for parting company while we were still on good terms. Sure, I swore at her many times  and even came close to throwing a wrench or two at her. I'll bet that she would have done the same to me on a few occasions if she could. Sometimes I'd almost have sworn that she was getting back at me for my abuse. We did have bouts of not speaking to each other, periods of not even wanting to see each other. And then the renewed vigor of forgiveness and love and working together in the freest place and way that I know of would bring us together again. In my memory, the most beautiful part of my life will be the hours spent together with N2RZ alone, up high, feeling light as ether with no restrictions in any dimension.

* * * * * * * 

For the curious, the title to this blog comes from the following poem. 

High Flight Oh! I have slipped the surly bonds of earth And danced the skies on laughter-silvered wings; Sunward I've climbed, and joined the tumbling mirth Of sun-split clouds - and done a hundred things You have not dreamed of - wheeled and soared and swung High in the sunlit silence. Hov'ring there I've chased the shouting wind along, and flung My eager craft through footless halls of air. Up, up the long delirious, burning blue, I've topped the windswept heights with easy grace Where never lark, or even eagle flew - And, while with silent lifting mind I've trod The high untresspassed sanctity of space, Put out my hand and touched the face of God.

Pilot Officer Gillespie Magee No 412 squadron, RCAF Killed 11 December 1941

 

Marlene

Marlene

September 28, 1950 - August 8, 2011

Marlene died unexpectedly at a hospital in Padua while on the way to Ferrara with Klaus for a long anticipated visit with our mutual friends, Gerard and Marie.  

This is the kind of news that one does not absorb quickly. We grieve for her husband Klaus, son Tom, other surviving family members, and her many, many friends.  

I am slow to absorb the fact of Marlene's death.  As I process the awful news, memories of our times together -  in Paris, in Bedford, in Boston, at our daughter's wedding, at Klaus's 60th birthday - begin to provide solace.  Through my memories, she remains a permanent part of my life.

 Some of what I remember about Marlene:

     She loved steak with bernaise sauce.

     She loved her annual getaway with girlfriends.

     She loved Cape Cod.

     She had no sense of smell yet managed always to smell the roses.

     She complained about all the walking she had to do with Klaus, but did it just            the same.

     She was a thoughtful, kind and empathic friend while being strong in her                    opinions.

     She loved window shopping in Paris.

     She was a generous and wonderful hostess.

     She loved her family.

Most of all, though, I remember her smile.

 

Palais de la Porte Dorée

These folks were waiting, along with lots of other children and adults, for the gates to the Cité National de l'Histoire de l'Immigration and the Aquarium to open for the day.  Both of these attractions are located in the Palais de la Porte Dorée.  Guess which of the two these children will be visiting?

Me?  I was with a group of 12 adults scheduled to take a 1 1/2 hour guided tour of the Immigration Museum.

Le Palais is the only building remaining from the 1931 International Colonial Exposition, a glorification of the riches and wonders of France's far-flung colonies and possessions. As you can see, it is an impressive building with a beautiful, intricately carved facade (the work of Alfred Janniot), and was certainly worth saving.  

Following the Exposition, the Palais became home to the Musée National des Arts d'Afrique et d'Océanie. (The aquarium remained.)

In 2003, the museum closed when its contents were moved to the new Musee du quai Branley, leaving a substantial amount of empty space in the building.

What to do with the vacated space? Use it for an immigration, museum, of course.  It seems logical and, to me, as an American, non-controversial, but the decision was not made easily and many questioned why such a museum was needed or relevant in today's France.

In the end, the project went forward and, in 2009, the Cité National de l'Histoire de l'Immigration became reality without fanfare.  There was not one major political dignitary in attendance at the opening ceremony. 

The museum is modest in size, content and scope.  Early on, it was decided that the time period to be covered by the exhibits should be limited to the most recent 200 years.

In general the exhibits are cheery and don't push the viewer to ask hard questions about the reality of life for those who left their homelands to live and work in France.  There was a very unsettling series of anti-semitic and anti-Roma posters, which, our young French guide explained, were exhibited to show the strong prejudices in the late 19th and early 20th centuries. 

Another exhibit was made of up photographs of immigrant men who had come to France for the work. What did it mean to them that they left their homelands in order to support their families and ended up living in  dormitories for years?     

(Our group looks at objects from immigrant life that evolved into decorative items.) 

Despite the guided tour and a lively disucssion afterwards led by a Wellesley College graduate working on a PHD about treatment of immigration in the upper grades of  French schools(teachers are not allowed to ask where a student's parents or grandparents came from), I have to admit that I simply don't understand the cultural sensitivity about the role of immigration in France's history. 

It is clear that the sensitivity exists, although it often comes across as a total lack of interest, but I can't get my arms around the "why."  It is easy in today's world to write it off as political correctness, a concept, as an American, I certainly understand. If everyone is first and foremost French it is rude to pry into information that might be understood to contradict that.  Also, exploring the past would undoubtedly expose still sensitive wounds resulting from the separation of Algeria from France and perhaps other painful episodes in French history.

Whatever the cause, there is at best an antipathy to, and at most an avoidance of, exploring the issues raised by France's immigration history.  Instead of enlightening me, the museum's exhibits left me more confused than ever.

 

(Statue of Athena at the Porte Dorée, which borders on the Bois de Vincennes.)

Blue

Conditions 

Air temperature: 38 degrees

Water temperature:  100 degrees

Weather:  rain, sleet, snow, hail and sun, all within a 2-hour period

Robes and towels:  damp to wet and you don't care

Afterwards

Body: limp

Face:  rosy from the silica mud treatment

Hair:  frizzy and unmanageable

Mind and body:  relaxed

 

A History Lesson

  Until recently, I knew only that La Commune had been a brief, 19th century revolt by Parisian workers (les Communards or les Fédérérs) against the elected government. I was also aware that one of the final battles of the insurrection took place in Père Lachaise and that a number of the Communards were subsequently executed against a wall in that cemetery, known as La Mur des Fédérérs. 

An exhibit at the Hotel de Ville celebrating the 140th anniversary of La Commune provided a welcome opportunity to learn more.

La Commune officially began on March 18,1871 and ended on May 28 just over 2 months later.  During the final, bloody week ("La Semaine Sanglante"), thousands were killed and Paris was set aflame by the insurgents.

 

 

 

 

 

Although we had always understood La Commune to have been a revolt by extremists, the exposition suggested a nobility in the workers'  movement that is worthy of commemoration.  How much of the pro-Communards bias is due to the fact that the current Mayor of Paris is a socialist is hard to tell.  One thing is certain, however,  In some areas of the city, the support for the goals of La Commune 140 years later is evident.

(This photograph was taken in the 20th Arrondissement not far from the apartment where we stay in Paris.)

This political framework does not begin to explain the events of 1871, however.

I was surprised to learn that La Commune would not have happened as it did had it not been for the Franco-Prussian war of 1870, a war of choice started by Napoleon III that turned disastrous for France and for Napoleon's tenure as Emperor.

Two days after Napoleon III lost his final battle to the Prussian army at Sedan in the Ardennes, the Third Republic was proclaimed. National elections resulted in an Assembly Nationale eager for peace with the Prussians.  Despite the fact that France's capital had suffered much during the war and was still a city under siege, the citizenry passionately opposed capitulation.

When the President of the new Republic ordered removal of defensive canons from the hills of Montmartre, Parisians resisted with force resulting in many deaths on both sides  The legitimate government fled the capital for Versailles in the dead of night taking the military with it and leaving Paris to its citizens.

Staunchly in favor of workers' rights and passionate about not yielding the capital to the Prussians, the Parisians moved quickly to fill the void in local government.  An 83 member assembly was elected composed of workers, small business owners, journalists and members of other professions. A large number of those elected were in their thirties.  Laws were proclaimed improving the lot of workers (e.g., a prohibition on requiring all night work in bakeries).  La Commune, in all its idealism, was born.

Meanwhile, the legitimately elected government (now headquartered in Versailles and known as les "Versaillais") made peace with Prussia (ceding Alsace and Lorraine in the process). 

It was time to bring an end to the insurrection.  The Versaillais marched to the capital city and moved decisively against the insurgents. Following a deadly Semaine Sanglante during which the Versaillais fought the Communards in skirmishes and battles throughout the city, the Versaillais achieved their goal.  In the process, the Communards burned or destroyed many of Paris' important buildings and monuments.

Looking at the many photographs and period prints of Paris burning that are on display at the Hotel de Ville exhibit leaves one with a feeling of how impressive and overwhelming the destruction must have been during that final week.

The cost in lives was high: Tens of thousands of French on both sides of the insurrection were killed.

In the aftermath, some of the insurgents were executed.  Many were imprisoned or deported (including women and children). Nine years later, however, the government granted the Communards amnesty.

What to do with the damaged buildings and monuments was the subject of debate. In the end, it was decided that restoration was the answer.

 One exception was the Palais des Tuileries.  The impressive ruins of the palace that had been home to all of the 19th century kings of France were razed. 

There would be no more kings or emperors.

La Mur des Fédérés

Pere Lachaise Cemetery

"Where are We Now?"

 

140 years since the Paris Commune  .. and today?

Spring!!

Hugging My Tree

  Those who have followed my blog over the years know that each time we visit Paris we make a pilgrimage to visit "my" tree at Versailles. (You can read about how I came to have a tree at Versailles here.)

Yesterday, we took the RER to Versailles to meet our friends, Robley and June, who own a neat little pied à terre not too far from the Chateau.  We haven't seen them since April 2009 when June drove us on a rutted, muddy road trying to find a way to see my tree from afar.  Read here to find out why we embarked on that venture and how it turned out.

Since that experience, we have twice shelled out 10 Euros a head for the privilege of visiting "my" tree. 

This visit we had hopes of avoiding the hefty entry fee because the Chateau itself is closed on Mondays and access to the gardens is free.

After a very enjoyable lunch at Le Limousin, a local Versailles restaurant known for its leg of lamb, we headed for the Chateau on foot.  Robley and June both set little gadgets that are able to give a fairly accurate measure of the distance walked so we would know how many miles we covered.

About 45 minutes later and after some energetic but friendly debate about which was the best way to go, we arrived at the Grand Trianon to discover that the entry to Marie Antoinette's domaine, the far reaches of which are home to my tree, was closed. 

Charles refused to take no for an answer, explaining to a very nice guard why we wanted to get into the domaine.  Helpless in the face of our obvious emotional need to commune with my tree, the kind monsieur finally suggested a pathway that might work.

Off we went, four happy hikers striding along a narrow path that soon took us into familiar territory.

Of course, nothing is ever easy and we hadn't gotten far before we realized that we would not be able to get to the tree itself by our usual route.  We would be able to see it across a trough too large and deep to leap over, but we would not be able to give my tree the tender loving care to which it had become accustomed.

Once again, Charles came to the rescue, cornering a gardener and explaining why it was absolutely imperative that we get to the tree.  Fortunately,Charles  had not lost his power of persuasion and, sure enough, a few minutes later we were following a path and looking for a small opening in a wall that would let us in.

As you can see from the photograph above, we made it and, of course, all four of us gave the tree lots of love.

I am happy to report that my tree continues to be the tallest in its row. 'Tis true that it looks a bit forlorn at the moment, but this is the norm in the early spring; the tree clings to the prior year's leaves through the winter and doesn't produce new leaves until late spring.  It is a late bloomer, like me!

Mission accomplished, we hiked back to the Grand Trianon and, as a treat for our feet, we took the tourist tram back to the Chateau.

Before we parted company at the train station, June and Robley checked their gadgets to see how far we had all walked.  Four miles, they agreed!!  Not bad for a little after lunch promenade.

 

 

Consensus

 

The French love consensus.  50% agree and 50% disagree.

If you understand this, you understand a lot about the French - and their sense of humor!!

Another sign in the same series (also bright red) announces that 95% of French people believe that the French are the best lovers.  When I first saw this one, I took it seriously.  Now I know better.  Then again, I don't have any first hand experience so what do I know?  Maybe it's true.

Saturday Afternoon at the Jardin de Luxembourg

Sun on a cold, late winter day warms the soul even if you still need a heavy coat and scarf to warm the body.

 Read about the Jardin de Luxembourg here.

 

 

Two Reasons to Smile

It was hard not to smile as we walked past St. Eustache yesterday.

Forsythia were in bloom ...

                                                                                .... and children were full of joyful energy!

Change in Routine

We took a different route to Paris this trip, flying Icelandair (instead of Air France) with a stop in Reykjavik (instead of direct).  The trip was about 3 hours longer, roughly half of that waiting at  Keflavik Airport to board our flight to Paris. We didn't get to "our" apartment until 2 pm (instead of 7-9 am), but it would have been 1 pm if there had not been a delay with our ride from Charles de Gaulle Airport into Paris.  

Overall, we were pleased with our experience.  The service on the plane was efficient and non-intrusive without being cold.  It made me feel as though I was wrapped in serenity as well as in the warm blanket we were provided. 

One real bonus of flying through Reykjavik was that we entered the European Union in Iceland where the volume of passengers is modest and so did not have to wait through the long lines at Charles de Gaulle in order to go through passport control. 

The cloudy weather kept us from the possibility of seeing the Northern Lights on the first leg of our trip, but shortly after we took off for Paris from Keflavik Airport, we flew into the sunrise.  It was quite lovely for a few minutes before the sun was hidden by clouds.

Despite the late start to our first day in Paris, we stuck to our standard first day agenda and checked out the status of the flora in the Jardin des Plantes before eating at Les Philosophes.

The gardeners were busy at the Jardin des Plantes tidying up flower beds and grooming the grounds. Many annuals are already in the ground and a few are beginning to flower. We were delighted to find a peach tree in bloom, It may not yet be spring in Paris, but the peach blossoms promise that it will arrive soon.

By the time we finally went to bed, we felt quite settled in our home away from home.

Taking Leave

 

I know you are a bit sad, Leia, because you are not going to Paris with us.   But, as you can tell, my suitcase is already too full to accommodate you. 

It's just Charles and I who will be leavin' on a jet plane tomorrow.  You and your sister, Yoda, get to stay home and make sure everything stays under control in the condo, and, believe, me, that is a tough job.

I truly believe that you will enjoy that much more than you would enjoy international travel.  We will miss you both, but Alejandro will take great care of you.  

Enjoy many sunny days on the widow sills and please, please, please don't hide from Alejandro when he drops by. It stresses him out a lot.  Remember, he only wants to feed (and medicate) you so you will both be plump and healthy when we get home.

And just think.  It will be April when you see us again and Spring will almost be here!

We Will Always Have Yesterday

We woke up yesterday morning to a winter wonderland.  Tree branches were encased in sparkling, white snow.  The dirty remains of accumulated, packed, old snow and ice was covered with lovely white fluff making everything seem new.

Well, maybe not quite new (I should have gotten up earlier), but close enough to make me throw open my bedroom window to take some photographs.  

Although we are very busy trying to get organized for Wednesday's departure for Paris ("trying" being the operative word -  my organizational skills have gone into hibernation), we took a walk in the early afternoon.

The picture below was taken in the Boston Public Garden where almost everything was in black and white except the willow trees. 

It has been a hard, dispiriting winter.  Yesterday gave us a break - a chance to enjoy the beauty of snow in the city.

Today is is sleeting.  It is bone chilling cold.  Not to worry.

We will always have yesterday. And Paris.

 

 

 

The Gift of Time

It was February school vacation last week and our 6 1/2 year old granddaughter, Emily, came to visit for three days.

What a delight it was to spend time with her.  At her request, we visited both the Museum of Science and the New England Aquarium.  In addition, she had two play dates with our neighbor's daughter, also a first grader.

The museums were very crowded, which was only to be expected as the children were all out of school  The crowds were especially difficult at the Aquarium where there is less space for visitors and where strollers - including double wides  - are permitted throughout, causing traffic jams not to mention banged up shins.

As you can see, Em had great fun outside watching the seals cavort. 

As always, Em was thrilled with our rides on the T and the chance to ride on escalators, which she loves. 

She delighted in finding our kitties and petting them gently before racing off to do something else. Though I doubt the kitties were nearly as delighted as Emily was, they are no longer afraid of her, which is a big improvement.

She played scrabble with her grandfather and, in the end, the most questionable words on the board were his not hers.

We all had lots of fun and skimped on sleep so, by the time we delivered Emily back to her mother, she and we were exhausted.  But happy.  

It is such a gift to be able to spend time with our energetic, creative, funny, sweet-tempered (most of the time) granddaughter.

Setting and Meeting Goals

On January 15 last year I began a year-long project with the goal of posting a photograph every day. The catch was that the picture had to be taken on that day.  My undertaking was inspired by similar projects of photographers whose work I follow and by a charming book given to me by my granddaughter, Meg, called A Year of Mornings 3191 Miles Apart. 

The project year ended on January 14, 2011 with a total of 323 posted photographs.  Looking at my two galleries is like reading a diary of my day to day life last year, my daily environments and my travels.

I'm glad I did it. I love many of the photographs. But, honestly, despite the advice that to become a better photographer you should pick up your camera and take pictures every day, my project  seemed to stifled my creativity.  Looking over my year of photographs, I don't think that is really true, but I feel as though that is what happened. However I frame my thoughts about it, I lost the joy I used to feel in being so inspired by the world around me that I had to pick up my camera.

So where do I go from here?  There is no conventional advice that answers that question. Just continuing to shoot for shooting's sake without more won't cut it.

The bottom line is that I know what I love to do and that is what I must do.  The truth is that I have not had the courage or the energy to make it happen.  I need to fish or cut bait.  I need to screw my courage to the sticking point.  This is where the rubber hits the road. 2011 has to be the year.

 And I suppose it will be.

One way or the other.

 

In Which We Find the Château on the Hill - Écouen Part 2

For those who don't remember Part I (written roughly 8 months ago!),  here is a brief summary.

Charles and I knew that the best way to get to the National Renaissance Museum at the Château d'Écouen is by car because it is set high on a hill some distance from the local train station. We were curious, however, about using public transportation. The guide book made it sound pretty easy.  A train ride, a bus ride and a little uphill walking and voilà. Despite threatening weather, we decided to  give it a try. After overcoming some frustrating problems buying our train tickets and finding the correct train, we completed the first leg of our journey.  It even looked as though the rain might hold off.

To continue.

Mildly elated, we walked out of the Écouen-Ézanville train station eager for the next phase of our adventure, which was to find the bus that would - we thought - take us to the Château. We spotted the stop, but could find no information about the schedule, route, how to buy tickets or cost. Hmmm.  This was a little glitch that we hadn't anticipated.

The two of us must have looked puzzled (or maybe like clueless tourists) because a cheery man approached us and asked if he could help.  We explained what we wanted to do. He responded with a comment that suggested that the bus would not be our best option, then said, while vaguely gesturing to a road we couldn't see, that we could always proceed on foot taking the road to make the climb to the Château. Alternatively, he suggested, with another vague gesture towards the wooded hillside, that we might take the path through the woods up the hill.  (There was were no signs visible indicting either route.)

We told him we really wanted to try the bus and would probably take the path through the woods on our return if it weren't raining by then.  When we asked how we could buy tickets for the bus, he smiled, shrugged and offered us a ride in his car.  It was on his way home, he assured us.  We looked at each other and accepted the offer.

While waiting for the man to retrieve his car, we watched the comings and goings at the local boulangerie. It was close to noon and seeing the customers emerge with their fresh bagettes made us hungry.  We looked forward to eating at the château restaurant.

Monsieur (he never gave us his name) picked us up and off we went up the winding road toward the Château.  The road was under construction and I was very glad we hadn't embarked on foot.

After a relatively short distance that took rather a long time because of alternating one-way traffic, we arrived at a village at the foot of the Château grounds.  We recognized the area.  We had had lunch there on our first visit years ago (by car) and I knew that we had a climb ahead of us to complete our journey.  Interestingly, this was also the bus stop for the Château, so even the bus would have left us with some climbing to do.  

We said goodbye to Monsieur, who was good natured about having his picture taken, and started our trek up the steep hill.

 

 Our path took us through the Château grounds as we climbed and approached from off to one side.  We had seen people standing on the terrace in front of the facade, so, in the absence of any signs to tell us where the entrance to the museum could be found, that is where we headed.  The photo on the left shows the front of the Château, which faces the town and overlooks a majestic view of the countryside.  (Photo courtesy of all-free-photos.com). 

The double doors on the left are the entrance to a only restaurant at the Château and Charles went immediately to confirm that we could have lunch there.  We had a 20 minute wait until they opened, so we walked through the restaurant into the museum where we were able to enjoy the featured exhibit without tickets or even seeing any museum personnel.

 A side note:  I have an embarrassing confession to make.  One of the reasons we decided to visit the museum was a special exhibit called "De la Lettre à l'Émail."  Why a renaissance museum would have an exhibit about the evolution of communication into modern times was not clear to me, but it sounded intriguing.  As we moved through the darkened room looking at beautifully illustrated texts of Ovid's Heroides, I noticed that there were a lot of enameled tiles by the 16th century artist Leonard Limosin on display, but nothing related to computer communication. It finally dawned on me that émail is not the same as email. What a difference an accent makes! 

I was, however, happy to learn that the name of the exhibit  defied translation by Google Translate.  Letter to the Enamel?  Now that's funny. 

Lunch time found us in an elegant dining room with a French tour group of 30 or so senior citizens.  The young couple who ran the restaurant were efficient, relaxed and charming, so we didn't mind waiting while they prepared kirs royales for the group.

I don't recall what we ordered, but we took the chef's recommendations and were pleased.  After the group left, we chatted with the couple and learned that the restaurant would be closing within a few weeks because the pair were moving to Brazil to open a hotel and restaurant.  According to the museum's website, the restaurant is still temporarily closed.  

After lunch, we found our way through the Chateau's courtyard,  located  the museum's main entrance and paid our entry fee (only 3 euros/person for seniors!).

The weather was definitely more threatening, but still no rain.  Meanwhile inside, there were some lovely works of art to be enjoyed.  A few examples:

Detail from one of ten huge tapestries made around 1525 in Brussels.  The beautifully preserved series depicts almost 600 people in telling the story of David and Bathsheba.

The Trojan horse 

The iconic statue of Daphne in the process of changing into a tree.

View from and through the fourth floor window, which was very dirty.  Still, it gives you an idea of the setting.

For a nice set of photographs I took during our first visit in 2004 (by car with our friend, Gerard), click here.

When it was time to leave, we asked the man who sells the tickets and manages the gift shop for directions to the train station via the path through the woods.  The skies were still threatening, but we had brought umbrellas and felt prepared so long as there wasn't a real deluge.

Monsieur told us it would be very easy.  Just go this way, turn right, go through the gate and simply keep going straight until you reach the train station.  

Now, I ask you.  Does this look like the way home?

It should have been expected, but we were nonetheless surprised when we discovered that the path offered many crossroads and that going straight ahead was not going to lead us to the train station.   Moreover, there was absolutely no signage to help us on our way. Of course, at about the time we realized that we had a problem, it began to rain. Understandably, there was no one about, so we resolutely opened our umbrellas and continued, figuring that if we kept walking we would get to civilization. Really, though, this was NOT a happy state of affairs.

Fortunately, after we had walked for a while, we came upon a hearty soul from whom to ask directions. Then, at as we approached yet another intersection with no sign to indicate which way we should go, another person came along and graciously pointed the way. Eventually, we made it out of the woods and to the train station.  The trip home was a piece of cake.

It had been quite an adventure and we were glad we had tried it.  We might even do it again one day when the sun is shining, now that we know the ropes.  

As for the National Renaissance Museum, it is a marvelous museum and definitely worth a trip.  By car. 

Addendum:  It has occurred to me that if we had had one of the sophisticated gadgets that people carry around these days, we might have been able to use Google Earth to find our way.  Food for thought.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Congratulations to Newlyweds Francine and Georges!

We met Francine and Georges when we were seated next to them at  l'Agrume, one of our new restaurant discoveries this trip.

As Georges now tells it now, he knew as soon as we walked in that he wanted to get to know Charles.

In any event, the four of us were soon engaged in lively conversation.  They raved about the restaurant and we ended up ordering everything they recommended.

Georges is a retired law professor and author of law texts that, he is proud to point out, are still in print. The two of them have visited New York City, which they loved.  We told them about Boston and how much we love Paris.  They lingered over their dessert and coffee while our lunch got underway.

Here they are with our cheery waitress, Katrine, who is also the wife of the chef. 

Georges and Francine have been together for 40 years, neither has any children and, they told us, they were shortly to be married in a civil ceremony at the City Hall (Mairie) for the 5th arrondissement.  Would we like to come, they asked?  It would be a small wedding - our presence would raise the number of guests to 10, including the four  required witnesses.  Charmed and delighted, we said yes.

The Mairie is located in a beautiful old building across from the Pantheon.  We arrived in plenty of time for the 11:30 a.m. wedding.  It wasn't long before the bride, groom and guests had all assembled at the foot of an elegant staircase waiting for the prior ceremony to be completed so we could be ushered upstairs to the high-ceilinged room used for weddings.  We were introduced to each of the guests and made to feel very welcome.

The room where the ceremony was performed can easily seat a large crowd.  Our group didn't take up much space, but it felt cozy and just right for the occasion.  A gentleman in tails ushered us in and made sure that the bride and groom and their four witnesses were seated in the first row.  The 6 remaining guests took their seats in the second row.

Jean Tiberi, the Mayor, entered wearing a tricolor sash and took his place behind a table under a bust of Marianne, the symbol of France. (It was a special honor to have the Mayor himself perform the wedding ceremony.)

The ceremony began with a clerk reading out information about each of the parties: parents' names, full name of the bride and groom along with their birth dates and places of birth.

The Mayor welcomed us all to the Mairie, spoke of the bride and groom's longstanding connections with the 5th arrondissement, then invited the bride and groom to step forward for the official ceremony.

It was a solemn service in which the Mayor spoke of the importance of marriage, the reasons that two people choose to unite as one, and the joy of the union.  Rings were placed on hands and Georges and Francine became man and wife.

Well, not quite yet.  First they and each of their four witnesses had to sign the official register.  Then it was done.

Afterwards, we were ushered into a small room with a greenhouse ceiling for champagne, snacks and conversation. The Mayor joined the group briefly, shaking hands with each of us before returning to his office. It was raining outside, but the mood inside was cozy.  As the saying goes:  mariage pluvieux, mariage heureux! 

Here Charles charms everyone by giving a warm toast to the couple in English.

The bride and groom are off to Rome for their honeymoon, but we look forward very much to seeing them when we return to Paris in the Spring.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

We Write Off Another Old Favorite!

We are creatures of habit, Charles and I.  We return again and again to certain restaurants here in Paris because over the years we have accumulated memories of good food, a welcoming (or funky) ambiance and good to excellent service, all as a backdrop to hours of conversation with friends old and new.

Of course, times do change and we drift away from old favorites, not really rejecting them, but simply not choosing them for one reason or another in favor of an alternative.

Sometimes, though, an old faithful disappoints enough to make us decide never to return.  It happened last October with  Brasserie Balzar. (You can read the details here.)

It happened this visit with Angelina's, home of one of th best cups of hot chocolate you will find anywhere. Like Balzar, Angelina's has recently become part of a larger group of restaurants and perhaps that has something to do with the changes.  Whatever, the cause, the experience was not fun.

The food, I hasten to mention, was excellent, if expensive.  The first course of the day was a spicey, textured gazpacho ladled atop a generous amount of smooth, thick, avocado cream.  Truly delicious.  Charles had the plat du jour, a wonderful scallop dish and I had a reliable luncheon salad.  The hot chocolate that Charles ordered for dessert was creamy and smooth and served with a generous amount of unsweetened whipped cream. 

So what was not to like?

The sullen and extremely slow service. The staff looked miserable and totally bored.

No wonder the restaurant seemed populated soley by tourists - mostly Italians seated near us.  There was no sign of the French grandmama dressed in Chanel treating her equally well dressed young granddaughter to tea and a pastry.  And, indeed, why would there be?  No self respecting Parisian would put up with such service.

Happily, we have since had the pleasure of dining at two restaurants new to us that are in the same price range as Angelina's (at lunch time at least), each of which serves food as good or better than we had at Angelina's, with service that made us feel welcome and appreciated.

Before I knew about the wonderful celebration that my family had planned for the big birthday, I chose Kitchen Gallerie Bis (known as KBG) in the 6th as the official site of a birthday celebration with Charles.  I had been wanting to try it for over a year,  but we had never had the chance.  I am not enough of a "foodie" to describe what we ate, but it was all delicious, a pleasure for the eyes as well as the taste buds.  The chef produces dishes he calls "tapas" that include small portions of a variety of delicious concoctions.  The pasta main course was delicious as were the various sweets at the end.  Read a review by John Talbott here.

The price was actually a bit less than our bill at Angelina's but  the service was all one could wish for:  professional, pleasant, attentive but unobtrusive.

Then yesterday, we dropped into l'Agrume, a tiny restaurant in the 5th near the Jardin des Plantes (it seats less than 30) that has received excellent reviews and is reported very hard to get into.  We thought we would see about making a reservation for later in our stay.  It was 2:30 p.m. and we hadn't yet eaten.  It turned out that they had an open table and welcomed us right then and there.  All I can say is the meal was just wonderful.  Cep (wild mushrooms) in a light, foamy broth were followed by a marvelous scallop dish.  Dessert was poached pears for me and strawberries for Charles, each with a dollop of a slightly sweetened whipped cream concoction. Lovely wines by the glass and coffee rounded off the meal.

Here the service was warm and friendly while being totally professional and efficient.  The sole waitress is the wife of the cook and has a smile and lively demeanor that makes you feel welcome as soon as you walk in the door. Seated next to us was a French couple about our age who live not far from the restaurant and eat there often.  They were just finishing their lunch and gave us advice on what to order (all of which we took).  The four of us had a long conversation and, before they left, we had agreed to attend their civil wedding next Saturday!!  (Definitely a subject for another blog!)

So there you have it.  Three very good meals.  One delivered with poor service and two with excellent service.  It makes the decision easy.

Farewell Angelina's. Bonjour KGB and L'Agrume!!

 

 

Best Birthday Ever

Ten years ago I celebrated my 60th birthday in a little French village in Champagne country with family and friends from the States, France, the Netherlands, and Germany.  It was a blast and, until last weekend, it was my best birthday celebration ever.

I gave little thought to parties or celebrations as my 70th approached.  We were busy getting ready to leave for Paris and dealing with unanticipated and sometimes unwelcome demands on our time. I figured that a leisurely lunch in a Paris restaurant that I have been wanting to try would be enough celebration for me.

Don't get me wrong.  I was not sanguine about turning 70.  I found myself having difficulty saying it out loud and I certainly did not call anyone's attention to the coming benchmark.  As someone who has never worried too much about her age and who has certainly never lied about it (except sometimes in marketing surveys), the eternal child within me was reluctant to accept the idea that I have actually lived for 70 years.

In this era where 40 is the new 30, etc., I indulged in the conceit through my 60's that I was merely middle aged.

Seventy, however, can hardly be considered middle age no matter how you spin it.

But no matter.  It was Friday night and I was focused on what needed to get done before we left for Paris.  I was not surprised when my Tallahassee-based son called.  He knew we were leaving in less than a week and I assumed he was checking in to say goodbye. 

He wasn't calling from Tallahasse, however.  He was in the entryway to our building, having flown to Boston for my birthday.

He, my daughter and Charles had planned  a weekend of family time together.  I was totally surprised and touched to tears.

Being together with all of my immediate family was the perfect gift. 

And that is how my 70th turned out to be the most wonderful birthday ever - even if I still don't believe I have officially entered old age.

 

 

Excuses, Excuses

I don't suppose lack of time is a good excuse for falling so far behind on my blog.  But truthfully, the hours, days and weeks have been filled since our return from Paris at the beginning of June and somehow blogging has remained the next thing I'm going to do on my to do list. 

The one exception is my posting of at least one new photo of Emily each week. 

Just last week, Em spent two nights and three days with us in the city.  Our time together was filled with fun, frustration and learning on all sides.  I do wonder, though, how I cared for two little kids 18-months apart when sharing the care of one 6 year old is so exhausting!  (It can't be that 40 years can make that much difference, can it?)

 Earlier this month I did my first product photo shoot for a neighbor who has a growing business making and selling artisanal chocolates. She and I had a lot of fun and the task gave me the opportunity to learn a bit about macro photography.  Check out her blog here.  I can attest that her chocolates are to die for!

Also, I am continuing my daily photo project.  I've missed a few days here and there, but am pleased by how consistent I have been so far. The consistency is in the posting, I hasten to add, not in the quality of the pictures, which varies with my mood and the luck of the shutter.  See the latest photos here.

Since returning from Paris, I have been trying to master the newest version of PhotoShop (CS5) and to harness the power of LightRoom3.  While I have been using PS since CS2, LR is relatively new to me. 

Anyone will tell you that LR has a steep learning curve, and they are right. I have found LR3 to be a sophisticated and very complex program offering powerful database capabilities and surprisingly versatile post processing functions.

The road to understanding how to use CS5 and LR3 and developing an efficient work flow has not been an easy one and there have been times when I have been frustrated to the point of madness.  I am smitten though.  And the more proficient I become, the more enamored I am.  Perverse, I know. But  that is the way it goes with passions.

Yes, give me LR over whips and chains any day.  (Just testing to see if you are still reading.)

It is hard to believe that it was only 10 years ago that I got my first digital camera, a 3 megapixel Canon point and shoot.  Innocently, I thought that it would make picture taking simpler and, even funnier in retrospect, I thought that doing photography would be cheaper. I was intrigued by how nifty it would be to be able to take unlimited photographs without having to buy tons of film and pay for processing. 

The costs of migrating regularly to more and more sophisticated camera bodies and acquiring nicer and nicer lenses not to mention investing in better and better computer equipment and more and more advanced computer programs never entered my calculus.  

It didn't take me long to realize that I had much to learn, not just about taking photographs, which was a given, but about turning my photographs into a finished product. It is amazing how much intellectual, technical and artistic work is involved.  But the biggest surprise was how much I grew to enjoy the entire process. Taking and processing photographs has turned out to be one of the unexpected pleasures of my life.  

But I digress.  What I started out to say is that, despite the demands on my time (real and self imposed), Part Two of our adventures visiting Chateau d'Ecouen, home of the wonderful Musee national de la Renaissance, is coming soon.  I promise.  Meanwhile, you can read Part One  if you missed it.

Meanwhile, I leave you with this recent image of summer in the city.  Stay cool and enjoy the summer, wherever you are in the Northern Hemisphere.  For my Aussie and NZ friends, I hope your winter has been full of warm moments.

Guest Blog - Vegetables in Frog Saliva and other Experiences Traveling in China

My sister, Gery, has kindly agreed to be "a guest blogger" and share some of the emails she sent us about her experiences with her husband, Bob, on a recent trip to China. 

     "I sympathize with your getting really, really tired after a long day out at Versailles, " she writes. (More about our day at Versaille visiting my tree in a future blog!)

     "We had a day like that in Shanghai when we walked for about a mile down the Bund, looking for a tourist boat which we'd read could take us for a ride along the river, but much has been changed because of the World Expo they're having there now.

     "Finally, we gave up on that idea and instead on impulse grabbed a ferry we saw crossing the river, then walked a distance on the other Pudong side along a park-like Riverside walk. Found a Starbucks with a view (Starbucks is very popular in China--at least it's always busy when we see one), had coffee and snack, walked to a shopping mall to see modern affluent Chinese in action, walked some more to a skyscraper that has an observation platform on the 88th floor (Jin Mao Tower), went up, walked back to the river where we took the "Tourist tunnel" under the river (you would love this--a little enclosed car that goes through a tunnel with a very hooky light show with commentary like "Meteor shower", "bubbling lava," etc), walked back to a restaurant with a view of the river, then back to the hotel.  I felt like we'd walked at least 6 miles and my feet were very, very tired.  Ah, such is travel.

     "The Chinese have three systems of writing: traditional characters, simplified characters (which are apparently in wide use today), and a transcription of Chinese characters into alphabetic form, which is called pinyin.  "Bejing" is therefore the pinyin version of the Chinese characters which allows foreigners to pronounce the name, whereas Chinese characters would be hopeless for almost anyone but a Chinese person.

     "We never ran into a taxi driver or hardly anyone on the street who could communicate at all in English (this is except for the "backpacker hangout" towns of Yangshuo and Dali, where young hip Chinese are not bad at English).

    "The magic key to getting around on your own--and this is essential--is to have your hotel person, or someone, write down your destination in Chinese.  You can then hop in a taxi and show the driver the piece of paper.  Meanwhile, you also have with you the hotel card with its name in Chinese, so you can get back.  If you're planning on going to the museum first, say, then a particular restaurant somewhere else, you'd better have both those locations written down for you unless you think you are close to and can use the metro system or figure out the buses.  Some of the bigger hotels have a little card with the main sights of the city listed on them and you can just check off the one you're interested in to show to the taxi driver.  (Taxis are cheap and are therefore a good way to get around.)

     "In big cities, street signs, when you can find them, are usually in Chinese and then in smaller letters in pinyin.  So if you have a map--and that map happens to have the street names in pinyin--and are looking for Fushing San Road, you can usually find it.  Buses also have the destination in both Chinese and pinyin. 

     "Most of the restaurants we went into did have the menu in both Chinese and English, even ones that were not in the main tourist track, had no other foreigners in them, and no English spoken by waitresses.  In the few cases where this wasn't the case, we fell back on the good old pointing technique.  Luckily the Chinese favor those menus that have lots of pictures, but I was always grateful to have the English translation because they do have things like "vegetables in Frog saliva" (I'm not kidding), and I'd just as soon not order that.

     "However, China is putting a big push on learning English, presumably to help them get ahead with the rest of the world.  While this hasn't made a big dent in the main population yet, as far as we could see, it does mean they're not offended by English.  Almost everywhere we went, we ran into kids who would try out their "hello" on us and then giggle.

     "Sights and destinations aimed at tourists were often in English as well as Chinese: e.g.  'ferry,' 'chair lift,' etc.

     "People were very friendly and tried to be helpful.
  
     "Sometimes we had to use a lot of sign language.  This was the case when we hired a driver and car to take us out to the terra cotta warriors which are about an hour out of Xi'an.  There was a tour we could've signed up for right at the hostel, but we wanted to get there before the crowds, so we hired this car so we could leave early and get there at opening (and in fact we did have the main hall to ourselves for about an hour).  The driver didn't speak any English, and at one point he called someone on his cell phone to act as a translator (he wanted to explain that we were going to arrive before opening, which was okay with us).  When we got there, we had to go through a lot of sign language to figure out what he thought our best plan of attack was and where to meet him when we were done.

     "Starbucks is written exactly as you see it here.  When we went to the shopping mall, every store was an American or European brand name like Guess or The Gap (this was less true on the main shopping streets).  Many people wear T-shirts with English on them--often nonsensical English, but English."

Gery Greer and Bob Ruddick are the co-authors of many children's books, perhaps the most popular of which is This Island isn't Big Enough for the Four of Us!

If You Have to Ask Directions, You're Not Going to Get There - Part 1

Not really, but sometimes it sure seems that way.

Wednesday morning, with a very iffy weather forecast for the next three day and less than a week left before our return to Boston, we decided to visit the French National Renaissance Museum housed in Château Écouen north of Paris.  We knew that weather might spoil our outing, so we decided ahead of time that the voyage would be our adventure. Anything more would be a bonus.

We had visited the museum some years ago by car with our friend, Gérard.  This time we would use public transport, which, for various reasons, seemed just a bit daunting.

We determined that the the town of Écouen is just over twenty minutes by train from the Gare du Nord. Once there, one has the option of taking a bus most of the way up the hill to the Château, or hiking - either through the forest or up a winding road.  Sounds simple, right?

Alas, we had forgotten the challenges we would face in order to buy our tickets for the suburban rail line.

We arrived at the Gare de Nord, followed a series of confusing signs up escalators, down ramps, and through gates until we arrived in the vicinity of our train.  (We are getting good at this.  It seems as though the entire Paris métro system is in under construction with the result that figuring out where to go once you are underground requires you to see around corners and behind you in order not to miss the one small opening that will lead you to the right train.)

But where was the ticket booth?

Ah yes.  How could we forget?  Automation rules.  The reason that there are no ticket booths immediately visible is that there are lots of machines offering tickets to a variety of destinations, including ours.

From past experience, we knew that our American credit cards sometimes don't work in French machines because they lack an embedded  "puce"  (smart chip or flea). We crossed our fingers, however, and gave ours a try.

We were not surprised when our puceless card was rejected, even though the machine advertised enticingly that it accepted Visa, Mastercard, and Bank cards and made no mention of a puce requirement.

(Note:  I am not complaining about the rejection of our flealess credit card.  The machines are in France and they work for the French so who am I to complain?)

We figured that, in any event, the card rejection was not a serious problem because the machines take cash.  Our round trip tickets cost roughly 14 Euros.  Our frowns turned to smiles.  We could do that

Actually, it turned out that we couldn't because the machine did not accept bills.  It could digest coins but but who carries around 14 Euros in coins?  We don't.  And there were no change machines to be found.

Undaunted we looked for a manned information booth.  This took a while, but eventually we found a human whose job it was to answer questions and, after waiting our turn in line, we were directed to a ticket booth where real people were selling tickets using machines that accepted puceless credit cards.

We felt quite elated with our tickets finally in hand, but victory turned to puzzlement when we discovered that we had to know which track the train would be leaving from before we could use our tickets and we had to use our tickets to gain access to the tracks in order to find out what track our train would be leaving from.  If we made a wrong choice, .... well, we really didn't want to go there. 

So, it was back to the ticket booth and another wait in line to learn that our train would leave from track 30. 

Having spent nearly an hour on our adventure (and we were still only at the Gare du Nord - twenty minutes from home), it was time to take a risk.

Crossing our fingers, we used our tickets to access track 30.  There we found a list of stations posted, including Écouen, and assumed that the train waiting on the track would stop at our destination.  Efforts to verify this were not successful, however. A gentleman informed Charles that one couldn't trust "those signs." We shrugged and took our seats.

You can imagine that we were very happy when, from info that whizzed by the window as the train pulled out of the station, I determined that Écouen would be the third stop.

Our relief was short-lived. Apparently my speed reading capabilities have deteriorated alarmingly of late, because it was  not the third stop.  Nor was it the fourth or fifth stop. 

At this point we were trying to be philosophical about the fact that we were probably not going to Écouen at all but to some other destination in the Iles de France.

It was a good thing that we had started our day with the mindset that the voyage would be our adventure.

Happily, though, Écouen turned out to be the sixth stop. 

We disembarked into partially sunny weather, and looming storm clouds, feeling rather smug that the weather was better than forecast.

Our next challenge was to figure out where to get the bus to the Chateau and how to pay for it, or, alternatively, how to find the path through the forest or the winding road up the steep hill to the Chateau.  

Stay tuned.  The adventure continues.

Happy Birthday Emily!

Our own Miss Em, aka the AO (Adorable One), is six years old today!!  (Picture from a few weeks ago.)

We are far away on her big day,  but she is in our hearts, as always.

Waiter #48

Being a waiter or waitress in France can be an honorable, lifelong career.  Certainly, that seems to be the case for the waiters (and more recently, waitresses) that work at Chartier, the turn-of-the 20th Century workers' "bouillion" (roughly translated "canteen") that is highly popular with both French locals and tourists.

Eating at Chartier can be a dizzying experience  You find yourself seated cheek by jowl with strangers in a huge room that easily seats over 200 people.  You must deal with waiters whizzing by and taking orders at Mach speed, stopping briefly to jot details of your order on your paper table cover.  You share the salt, pepper and mustard and sometimes the bread basket with your neighbors. You dine in a room with very high ceilings, mirrored and mural-lined walls, beautiful brass baggage racks and wooden seats and benches burnished by decades of use. On holidays, you can find yourself waiting for half an hour in line to get seated. 

It is always good to bring your sense of humor with you when you dine at Chartier, as my experience with a pigeon proved. 

Waiting on the hordes is truly an art when done well, and generally the waiters and waitresses at Chartier do it well. 

We dropped by for lunch during our first week in Paris.  As often happens, we ended up chatting with our neighbors José and Rosa, a charming couple from Bilbao, Spain.  (To be honest, Charles did the chatting since I don't speak Spanish.) I took pictures, including this one with Charles, and promised to send them prints.

The waiter we shared with the charming couple introduced himself as "Monsieur #48," patting his left breast as though there was something there that would verify his statement.

Turns out, that there probably should have been.

I had never before noticed it, but each waiter at Chartier (except ours that day) wears a numbered white button on his or her black vest.

There must be a fascinating history surrounding the numbering system. 

I imagine a happy ceremony at which the button is pinned to the newly promoted waiter's black vest that is perfectly fitted over his crisp clean shirt and pristine long white apron.

Then, after years of service, comes a  bittersweet ceremony of turning in one's button to be used by someone new who has been deemed to be worthy of continuing the tradition.

I did not get a picture of Mr. #48, but here is one of Mr. #33, a younger and newer waiter who was just "suiting up" for duty.  Perhaps he inherited his number from someone now enjoying a well earned retirement in the country.  Whatever the real facts behind the numbered buttons, he is clearly a professional.

Our French Film Debut!

Imagine my surprise when I checked the web site of the Jardin des Plantes today to find out if the gardeners were giving one of their twice monthly nature walks this Thursday only to spot Charles in a photo!! 

See if you can spot him.

We can both be seen in this video of an April 2009 walk led by  Alain Douineau, head gardener of the Botanical Gardens. 

Charles is the most visible, but you can spot me from time to time.  We first show up pretty near the beginning.

We may appear later (probably do), but I haven't had a chance to watch the video all the way through - something only a francophone plant lover is likely to do!

Hitting the Ground Running

I can't believe we've been here well over a week and I am just getting our "nous sommes arrivés" blog done.  The truth is that we hit the ground running and haven't stopped yet and our not-so-young bodies are letting us know!

The good news is that I am pretty much keeping up with my photo a day project.

In recent years we have worked to beat the jet lag problem by doing our best to sleep for a few hours on the plane with the gentle aid of melatonin (for Charles) and a prescription pill (for me).  As usual, we arrived a little after 6 a.m. and were in Paris by 7:30.  After a bit of unpacking and longing looks at the bed, we resolutely headed out the door.

First "to do" was to charge up our Navigos, which will allow us to use the Paris metro and buses throughout  the month of May.

First stop:  the Jardin des Plantes to see how it was looking on the first day of May. Although we had missed the flowering trees that brighten the garden in April,  I was surprised that the plantings were not further along. (Paris, like Boston, has had an unusually cool and wet Spring.)  Still all looked in good order and, by the time we leave at the end of the month, it should be fully planted for the summer.

I couldn't resist taking pictures of some of the flowers with my new favorite lens (50 mm 1.2).  In my enthusiasm, I sat down on the edge of the grass to get a closeup of a flower, took the picture, stood up and found myself facing someone official who informed me that I was not supposed to be on the grass.  Oops.  You  mean that that the little sign stuck into the lawn nearby really meant what it said? And, wouldn't you know, the picture was only so-so, as you can see. Crime doesn't pay.

After a leisurely stroll through the gardens, we decided that, rather than take public transportation to Les Philosophes, our favorite lunch place for our first day in Paris, we would walk the mile or so, wandering through the Ménagerie in the Jardin des Plantes on our way. The Ménagerie was founded  during the French revolution and in modern times continues to be worth a visit. I was particularly surprised to come upon brightly colored flamingos and intrigued by a beautiful snow leopard, (though I confess to hating to see the animals caged).

Once we arrived at our destination, I ordered my favorite, tarte Tatin aux tomates (click here to see a photo), and Charles had his first confit de canard of the trip.  With a little wine to wash it all down, we were smiling happily as we left the restaurant and headed home.

After a very brief mid-afternoon rest, we traveled across town for a Wellesley Club of France tea at the home of the group's immediate past president, Nadia Lacoste, Class of 1944. Nadia is a wonderful hostess and it was a lot of fun spending a couple of hours with a fascinating group of women of all ages who find themselves living and/or working in Paris. 

Finally, we headed home and, hungry once again, stopped at our favorite local restaurant, La Factorie (formerly Le Saint Amour) for a light supper. 

As you might imagine, we were quite ready for bed by the time we climbed the stairs to our apartment.  We slept right through the night and, voila, no jet lag!!

Since then , we have been going full tilt.  Stay tuned. 

Overload - But Continuing to Move On

Aloha!
 

I am so far behind on my blog!!  I have started to write up my wonderful two weeks in Hawaii with my sister, Gery and her husband, Bob, but just haven't been able to get it done. 

The short version is that I had a fabulous time and managed to experience the tsunami while in Waikiki and an earthquake on the Big Island.  Saw breaching whales (admittedly from a distance), marveled at gorgeous scenery, took a dip in the Pacific, visited the Doris Duke estate on Oahu, watched surfers, learned a lot about volcanoes, drank many MaiTai's and enjoyed  evenings dancing (East Coast swing) at various venues with Gery and Bob.  

The photograph was taken atop the 10,023 foot Haleakala volcano on Maui during a very brief period when the clouds filling the caldera pulled back enough to make some of the gorgeous landscape visible. 

But, as I said, moving on ... 

Today,  we are off to Paris for the month of May.  The weeks leading up to departure have been so full that we haven't had a moment to catch our breath.  And, since we are planning to attend a Wellesley Club of France event in Paris tomorrow night, it doesn't look like we'll have much chance to rest up from all of the flurry until --- well, probably until we get back from Paris. 

 This picture was taken last week when Emily came into the city and spent the night with us.  She and Vienna, our neighbor's daughter, are roughly the same age and  have become fast friends.  We were all on our way to the Public Garden to take a ride on the Swan Boats. 

More from Paris.

Photo A Day Project

This is an experiment.   I am providing a slide show of my photo a day project.  Presumably, it will update as I add photos.

We'll see!!