Today's International Herald Tribune has a good article on the socio-economic upheavals of '68 and how they are viewed today. I am not much less confused than I was before I read it, but there are some helpful observations and a few wonderful quotes.
One of the enjoyable aspects of Paris life is that so much entertainment is available for free:
Strolling through the Jardin des Tuileries enjoying the magnificent views, contemplating the sculpture - classic and modern - people watching, or simply sitting on a bench basking in the sun;
Wandering through Pere Lachaise cemetery, the largest green space within the city limits of Paris;
Discovering the quiet peacefulness of the interior courtyard of the Hopital Saint-Louis;
Enjoying the panoramic views from the terrace on top of Jean Nouvel's Institute du Monde Arabe.
Exploring I.M. Pei's pyramid inside and window shopping at eclectic shops in the Louvre de Carrousel cost nothing (though you have go through security to get to the Louvre lobby). Most churches are open to the public. Notre Dame and Sacre Coeur are well known but others, like l'église Saint-Paul Saint-Louis in the Marais district, are not only historically interesting but house important art.
One place that can always be counted on for high quality exhibits can be found along the rue de Médicis side of the Jardin du Luxembourg on the elegant fence known as les grilles du Sénat. (The French Senate meets in the Palais du Luxembourg.)
The exhibit now on display features 80 of the best photographs from the past 30 years of Figaro Magazine. Our first visit was a wash out - literally. Rain, sleet and hail- a hazard of outdoor displays - sent us scurrying for cover. (See the Paris Photo du Jour for April 14.) We were so impressed with what we saw before we had to make a strategic retreat, that we knew we would have to return.
On a recent Saturday, pleasant weather enticed us to try again.
Following a leisurely meal at Balzar, one of our perinneal favorites in the Latin Quarter, we strolled down Boulevard St Michel toward the Jardin du Luxembourg. The streets were crowded with people taking advantage of the nice weather. The positive energy from all of the activity put a bounce in my step and a smile on my face.
Walking by the Place de la Sorbonne we were intrigued to discover an outdoor exhibit of Marc Riboud photographs taken in the Sorbonne area during the 1968 social and political upheavals known simply as mai 68.
Riboud's large black and white prints capture the mood of the students (dancing around a burned out car, for example), the amazing extent of property destruction, and the measures taken by the police to deal with the protesters (riot police with shields; tear gas etc.).
France has seen many violent demonstrations since, but never anything approaching the scale of mai 68. The resulting changes to French society were profound, although don't ask me to explain the details because I am still struggling to understand. Suffice it to say that the power that students wield today in the shaping of French social and economic policy - even well before they are of voting age - dates back to this watershed event.
In contrast to the Riboud collection, the photojournalistic works on the Senate fence are in color and the subject matter varies widely. Some works are incredibly beautiful, others so touching that they bring tears to one's eyes. Not one is trivial in its content. And each is an outstanding photograph that can stand on its own as art. Truly inspirational.
Exhibits like these two retrospectives are common in Paris. Sometimes you read or see ads that alert you that they are there. Sometimes you just stumble across them. Many are free. They are one of the joys of being in this city. They are one of the reasons we continue to return.
We made our semi-annual visit to my tree at Versailles today. It is now approximately 8 years old and seems to be doing well, although, as I bemoaned in an earlier post on the subject, it does not put out its leaves in early spring so it and its kind look kind of pathetic just now. Alas,it would seem that April is just too early to see my tree in its full splendor.
Although the tree is in an area closed to the public, as happened last year, we took advantage of an unlocked gate to gain access. Here is a picture of me giving my tree a little TLC.
Unlike last year, no one caught us and ordered us to leave, so our visit was brief and uneventful.
I could have given my tree a hug as I did on my first person-to-tree unsupervised visit almost exactly 2 years ago, but I would have had to get down on my knees to do it and that just wasn't in the cards. This visit, I just gave it a friendly pat on the trunk.
One of these days, we'll figure out what kind of tree it is. For now it is just good to know that it is thriving.
Charles, my right foot (see two views in photo left) and the rest of me spent 7 1/2 hours on Thursday evening in the emergency room of the hospital Cochin Saint-Vincent-de-Paul on the edge of the 5th arrondissement.
We were whisked there by 5 very serious Sapeurs Pompiers (firemen) after I missed a step and fell during a visit to the new gallery associated with les Manufactures des Gobelins, a state owned and operated collective of tapestry and rug makers.
Upon arrival my vital signs were taken, my foot was checked to see what hurt, and personal data collected. All was entered in the computer so that my condition could be evaluated for triage purposes. I was given a couple of pills to dissolve under my tongue for the "douleur" and sent into the waiting room where Charles was checking me in. (Yes, a second check-in was required because I was not a serious enough case to be tended to immediately.)
At no time did anyone ask us about insurance or how we would pay. We understand that we will get a bill for the emergency services sent to our home in Boston and that the cost of the pompiers will be paid by les Manufactures des Gobelins because the accident happened on their property. It will be interesting to see how it all plays out.
Almost all of the seats in the waiting room were taken, but a nice woman moved to allow us to sit together. We later found out that she had already been there for hours waiting to find out the condition of her husband who had been brought in with a heart attack. She had many more hours to wait.
Over the next hour or so we learned about the people sitting around us. Everyone had been waiting for a long time and some as long as 4 hours. More people arrived. A Spanish woman at the beginning of her vacation had somehow taken a blow to her head. Another woman had been injured in an automobile accident. A nun who had accompanied another nun in need of emergency care, sat by us and began reading a book from which she never looked up. A drunk came into the room and set up in a corner with his food and drink. A woman came in in a wheel chair wearing a neck brace.
We settled in for a long wait. Charles went out and bought us a newspaper and book of Soduko puzzles to help keep us occupied. Later he got us a ham and cheese sandwich and some bottled water, which we shared.
We had arrived just before 6 p.m. As 8 o'clock approached, a man sitting near us explained that at 8 there was a reduction in staff so things would go slower. He had been waiting for at least 4 hours already. Eventually, he gave up and left, as did the autombile accident victim.
I hobbled off to the bathroom. My nose alerted me when I was at least it 10 feet away that conditions were not ideal. In fact, it was disgusting, but at least there was toilet paper, running water and soap and I had some packets of Purell wipes with me with which to degerm my hands.
After we had been waiting more than 4 hours, Charles went to the desk to find out how long our wait would be. He had been told we were number 10 a few hours earlier (of course that is after the emergencies are taken care of). The new receptionist on duty was not cooperative. He couldn't even find me on the computer. Later Charles tried again and seeing my name on the computer he showed it to the fellow who immediately called up my record. Oops. Somehow I had slipped through the cracks. I should have been seen earlier. Suddenly I was now #1 in line. It was 11 p.m.
I was finally called about 11:45 and taken to Box 2 (examining room #2) where there was more clucking about the time I had been kept waiting.
A cheerful intern examined me. He checked my vital signs, listened to my heart and chest, poked around my tummy to be sure all of the organs were there, used his little hammer on my elbows, knees and feet to be sure I had reflexes and asked questions about my medical history, including whether I had ever had a pregnancy outside the uterus.
All of this was entered into a computer. The young man then asked a series of questions to determine whether the fall had been clumsiness or because of a stroke or other neurological problem, reminding me (as if I need reminding) that I am no longer young except at heart.
Diagnosis: clumsiness.
Next step was to determine if I had a fracture. Off to radiology said the young man and left the room. Half an hour later, a nurse poked her head in, gave me a puzzled look and asked if I was back from x-ray. My negative response resulted in some hustle and bustle and into a wheelchair I went to be pushed down the hall to have four pictures taken of my right foot.
From there it was to a new "Box" to await the verdict.
Enter a woman MD who examined my foot again and confirmed that there was no fracture. She explained that I had stretched the ligament that wraps around the ankle bone and told me what I needed to do to take care of it. She wrote me a prescription for a foot brace and pain medication. The intern asked me if I needed something to give my employer to prove I was unable to work.
Because I would not be able to buy the brace until the next day, the doctor ordered my foot to be bound up in tape to hold everything rigid. In came a pharmacist to do the deed, accompanied by 3 or 4 women who were there to learn how to do it. I lay on my stomach while my foot was bound up listening to the instructions on how to apply strips of tape. It was nice to be useful.
Finally, around 1:30 a.m. we were done. I was handed a prescription, a summary of the medical findings and the x-rays of my foot to take to my doctor. The receptionist on duty called us a taxi and a very nice man drove us quickly and efficiently across town to our apartment.
Boy was it good to get home.
All in all, I was impressed with the care. The wait was long, but no longer than often occurs in the emergency rooms of Boston. One assumes that someone would have picked up on it right away if I had had a stroke, because a 6-7 hour delay in diagnosis in that case could have been catastrophic.
Charles, by the way, had some very interesting adventures while I was off being examined, including protecting the nun from a drunk who wanted to kiss her head. I am hoping he will write up his experiences so I can post them here.
Snow is a rare occurrence in Paris, even in winter, but when we looked out the window this morning the cars were dusted with snow. Other parts of France had to deal with significant snowfalls. Reminds me of New England in the spring.
Dealing with a 6 hour time change does not get easier as one gets older nor has experience translated into wisdom. Short of slowly shifting our sleeping and eating schedules well in advance of departure, we need to deal with the problem post arrival. The conventional wisdom dictates that the day of arrival you should stay awake and go to bed at the normal time in the new time zone. In recent years we have tried to follow this advice but never quite succeeded.
On arrival day we were in our apartment by 8 a.m. (2 in the morning as far as our bodies were concerned) having had little sleep on the flight over. The thought of diving into bed and taking a "nap" was very, very seductive.
No! No! No! Therein lies a guaranteed reinforcement of jet lag. Gotta keep movin'. We were determined. We needed to get out of the apartment and stay away from the seductive bed as long as possible.
While I did a bit of unpacking, Charles went to buy our monthly Carte Orange tickets that will give us access to the métro and buses for our entire stay.
Then it was off to the bus stop, a short block and a half walk from the apartment. Our destination was the cellphone store near the Hotel de Ville were we would buy calling time to activate our French cell phone numbers. The bus, delightfully more leisurely than the métro, took us through familiar neighborhoods reinforcing our feelings of being home.
From the phone store, we strolled past the Hotel de Ville towards the river. The fountains and the merry-go-round were in operation. A number of policemen were in evidence and barricades were being set up for a student "manifestation" (demonstration) scheduled for later in the day. Just another normal Tuesday in Paris.
We crossed the Seine to the Ile de la Cité, walked past Notre Dame, noted that many of the trees and plants are in bloom
in the Cathedral's garden, and moved on to the left bank. It was windy and chilly and the idea of a cup of coffee sounded wonderful, so we stopped at a little café with a nice view of Notre Dame and watched the world go by. From there we headed away from the river towards the Place de la Contrescarpe near the Panthéon. The Paris Photo du Jour for April 1 was taken on one of the little streets leading up to the square. By then it was almost noon and the idea of stopping for a leisurely lunch at one of our favorite cafés, La Contrescarpe, was irresistible.
We fell in love with this restaurant the first time we came upon it by happenstance three or four years ago. The ambiance indoors, especially in the front room, is cozy. (Click on the picture on the left to get a feel for it. Be sure to back arrow on your browser to get back to the blog.) Lined with bookshelves, decorated in dark woods and soft lights, it is a restful place for a fine meal.
We took our time and watched as the lunchtime crowd arrived. One regular couldn't stop rhapsodizing about the fact that his favorite dish, blanquette de veau, was the daily special. Needless to say, he ordered it and con
tinued to rave throughout his meal. We had both already ordered lamb chops, the other special of the day, so we will never know first hand how good the blanquette was.
Charles started with an avocado tartar atop baby shrimp in a thousand island type dressing. Attractive in presentation, it was tasty too!
We lingered over our coffee but, eventually, nodding heads and drooping eyes suggested that we best get up and get moving.
Instead of taking the most direct route to our next destination, the Jardin des Plantes, we strolled downhill along the colorful rue de Mouffetard that begins at the Place de la Contrescarpe. I kept my camera busy taking pictures of colorful storefronts, amazed as I always am at how colorful this city is. Exploring one side road, we came upon this mural that appeared to be associated with
a school.
Our route took us by the Grand Mosque of Paris (more picture taking) and into the back entrance of the Jardin des Plantes. Once inside, we were delighted to find the flowering trees beginning to bloom and many flowers already in place. We were, however, distressed to discover that the huge dragon made of recyclable materials is gone from its spot of honor just insde the entrance to the gardens. 
Spring cleaning was in progress. The gardeners were mowing the lawns between the flower beds, something we had never seen them doing before. I was taken by the brightly colored lawn mowers that seemed to take their hues from the newly planted flowers.
We walked and explored until we could go no further before picking up the bus outside the entrance that would take us home.
Once back in our apartment, we had the pleasure of a visit from Bill, our landlord. We chatted and he put together a chest of drawers to improve our storage options. By the time he had left, we had satisfied our goal. It was a respectable, if early, bedtime.
Did our long day do the trick? Well, maybe not 100%, but it sure gave us a good start.
It is hard to believe as I sit here by the kitchen window in "our" Paris apartment that it isn't home. I feel as though I have never left. The view of the quiet, one-way street that separates us from the apartment building across the way is as familiar to me as the view of busy Exeter Street from my kitchen window in Boston.
They say that home is where the heart is, but I don't believe it. My heart is in Boston, in Princeton, in Tallahassee, and in other cities and towns that shelter my loved ones. For me, home is where I feel comfortable - where I feel at home. My heart roams through a vaster universe.
We arrived at Charles de Gaulle airport (known to the French as Roissy) early on April Fools day after an uneventful flight in a slightly shabby (inside at least) Boeing 747 that the attendant assured us wouldn't be flying in another year, which was not a very reassuring comment when you think about it.
After picking up our baggage and walking out past customs, we found Monsieur Misery , the colorful fellow who picks us up and whisks us into Paris. He set us up on the sidewalk outside the terminal while he went to get his van. We had noticed armed soldiers and police here and there inside and outside the terminal building but didn't think much about it - they have been a common site at airports and railroad stations for decades. Somewhat bleary eyed from lack of sleep, we ignored the siren blaring in the background and the ambulance and police cars parked around us.
Then one of the armed soldiers approached us and told us politely but quite firmly that we couldn't stay where we were. As we struggled to get our luggage in hand so we could move to the area he indicated, M. Misery appeared with his van. Smiling reassuringly and chattering in the direction of the solider, he tossed our bags and us into his van and we were on our way.
What is going on, we asked. Oh, he shrugged, pointing at a taxi pulled off the access road near where we had been standing, an unidentified bag was found in the taxi and the bomb squad is on its way.
Probably someone's idea of an April Fools joke.
Recently, we gave Emily a box of sewing cards . She was thrilled, treating them as the most wonderful gift in the world, even though I'm reasonably sure she had no idea what they were.
She immediately handed out cards and laces to her grandparents, took one for herself, and we all proceeded to "sew." Her grandfather and I carefully threaded the laces in and out of the holes outlining the pictures on the cards. Em paid no attention to what we were doing. She ignored the outline and quickly used up multiple laces. By the time she was finished her card was a riot of criss crossing colors. Our efforts looked correct but boring.
That wasn't the end of it though. Pretty soon, the cards turned into books for Emily's class of stuffed animal friends. The laces became "sketti" for the hungry crew. Before we knew it the living room floor had become a school, with Emily in charge. Books and food. Complete sustenance for the little ones.
I suppose the time will come when Emily will learn to color within the lines, at least most of the time. But part of me hopes it never happens. There is something wonderful about the creative force unrestricted by the expectations of others. It lightens my heart to see it and inspires me to do a bit more coloring outside the lines.
It is a rainy day here in Boston. The photo of Newbury Street was taken this morning as I made my way to the Public Library to add my vote to the Super Tuesday tally.
Massachusetts is one of the states in which you can vote in either primary no matter what your declared party affiliation. Last night we ran into a neighbor who is a staunch Democrat. She informed us - tongue in cheek as it turned out - that she and her husband were going to vote for Romney, reasoning that Romney would be easier for the Democrats to beat in November than McCain. Even though our friends are not really going to spend their votes on the Republican side of the primary, they could if they wanted to. I suspect that many will, just as some Republicans will use their votes to try to influence which Democrat will get the nomination. There are all sorts of ways of trying to make your vote count.
The pundits tell us that the nomination may well be settled today for the Republicans but probably not for the Democrats. Whether that turns out to be right or wrong, there is a momentous feeling in the air. For me, there is also a certain tristesse perfectly reflected by the weather. With strong feelings come hyperbole and intolerance for those who do not share our opinions, analysis or views. Perhaps that is an inevitable part of the election cycle. Particularly this time around, the thirst for change is so strong that it is hard to keep one's balance. Indeed, it may be that this is exactly the time not to try to stay balanced but instead to take a leap of faith with all one's heart.
Nevertheless, I hope we never lose sight of the fact that the strength of our democracy is in the right of each of us to make the decision for ourselves, no matter what the view of our friends and family. If enough other people agree, our candidate wins. If not, we marshal our forces to try again the next time. But we don't go to war against each other over it. At least I hope not.
... looked beautiful after a snow storm this week.
With just a few weeks left in 2007 when we returned to Boston, we were swept up in a whirlwind of activity that kept us busy into the New Year.
The day after we got home, we headed out for a visit with Emily and her parents. The Adorable One had changed quite a bit in a month, especially in her ability to communicate. At 3 1/2, she is definitely a little girl and no longer a toddler. We had lunch at a local restaurant in Princeton where I took this picture of her enjoying butter straight from the package.
At home, we worked our tails off getting the house ready for the annual Neighborhood Association of the Back Bay (NABB) Let's Wine and Dine holiday brunch. I won't go into gory details but, as it does each year, our cleanup activities led Charles to observe that we need a larger house and me to counter that we need less junk. We survived this annual discussion, but without agreeing on a plan of action, and, as always, were ready when the day came.
Although a snow storm threatened to cut back attendance, the great thing about a neighborhood event is that everyone can walk or take the subway easily to get to our place. We had a full house (60 revelers plus a cheerful set of young helpers). As happens when you get a great group of people together, a good time was had by all, including the host and hostess.
With just over a week to go to Christmas, Charles picked us out a pretty tree and we turned our thoughts to Christmas shopping. We were not very inspired this year, I fear. I made photo note cards and calenders for family and other than that folks got some combination of money, gift certificate, a book or a DVD (the newly issued 5 disk set of Blade Runner was a hit). Luckily, we had bought our Christmas presents for Emily before we left for Paris. Whew.
Christmas Eve was a lovely evening at my daughter's house with Steve's side of the family. Christmas morning, Liz, Steve and Emily came into Boston. Emily had a lot of fun playing with the battery operated animals we pull out every year to the groans of our children and the rest of us had a relaxed time opening presents, chatting, and eating yet another turkey dinner.
Just before Liz, Steve and Em left, we took this group photo of the shoeless bunch. Then Charles, Nick and I went to see Sweeney Todd at the cinema complex on Tremont Street. Not exactly Christmas fare - but an amazing movie and a visual feast for this photographer (except for the slashing part during which I hid my eyes).
New Years Eve took us to the home of friends where we shared good food, good drink and great conversation with lots of people, many of whom we don't get to see very often. Best for me was lighting a sparkler and waving it around as I stood on an outside balcony overlooking the Boston Common. I love sparklers, which, by the way, you cannot buy in Massachusetts.
Then, suddenly, it was 2008.
To ride the métro in Paris is to become familiar with the phenomenon of people moving from car to car in the hopes of picking up a few euros from other passengers. Generally there are two varieties: those who give long speeches explaining how they came to be in their current circumstances and those who perform.
The other day, I was riding the métro when a man began to sing in the car somewhere behind me. He sang a capella through two stops - not a familiar ditty, but a complex piece with which I was not familiar. Ahead of me I watched a couple of teenage girls staring at the singer and rolling their eyes. Other passengers studiously ignored him, while still others exchanged brief, complicit smiles. "Here we go again," you could almost hear them saying with weary tolerance.
Gradually, I became aware that the singer had a lovely voice. The tone was pure and the dynamics nicely modulated. If he had had an instrumental accompaniment, it might have been an unusually good performance. When he finished, he moved through the car, holding out a little purse to gather whatever coins his listeners felt like giving him.
No one gave him anything until a man, sitting just across from me with a young boy, reached into his pocket and dropped a coin into the open purse. As the singer moved on, the man leaned over to the boy and quietly explained that the singer was performing in the métro because he didn't have a job or a place to sleep or money for food. Some people are luckier than others, he explained, and it is the duty of those who have to share with those who do not. The little boy, eyes wide and leaning towards the quiet words, listened intently. I was moved.
Later in the evening as I headed home, a rapper entered at the other end of my car and started to sing. His aggressive delivery and staccato gestures got my attention, briefly, but I didn't give it much thought - opera, rap, sappy ballads, nothing really new for the travel weary. As we pulled into my station, I was amazed to see his feet in the air. He was breakdancing on the floor of the moving car. Passengers, clearly enthralled, formed a circle around him, giving him plenty of space. He was still at it as I walked towards the exit. I felt uplifted.
The holidays season has arrived in full force and Paris is decorated for the season, sometimes tastefully and sometimes garishly. Ads promoting Christmas spending dominate the walls of the métros. One particularly striking ad seen all over the city promotes the new sub basement tool emporium in the BHV, one of the major department stores in downtown Paris. The shocker, for me at least, is that the ad currently covers the walls of the Palais Royale-Musée Louvre métro stop. (See photo) As Charles wondered out loud, who would have thought there was such a good market for tools?
Happy Holidays from the Paris métro!
For much of our first two weeks in Paris, we were consumed by the strikes - trying to understand them, trying to work around them - trying to guess whether or not Sarkozy will pull off his reforms. It felt as though our lives were about nothing but the strikes. Looking back over the 9 days of the transportation strike, however, I realize that we actually did a lot. Here are a few of the highlights.
sel du Louvre. A feast for the eyes and a wonderful opportnity to see vintage, modern, and avant guard photography. And to buy if you have the funds. Charles was fascinated by the two Diane Arubus photographs available for 30,000 and 45,000 Euros, respectively. (He decided not to buy.) The exhibit was worth the price of admission at 10 Euros a head. On the other hand, the catalog was not worth the 15 Euros we paid for it, unless you want a list of the galleries represented at the salon. 
creatures live without light and under pressure hundreds of times that which we experience at the surface. There is no commentary, only an original soundtrack reminiscent of music by Philip Glass. (My apologies to the composer. I do not recall his name.) To me, the images were art - beautiful, intriguing, mysterious and dynamic - well worth the price of admission. That said, the very dark exhibit space is frustrating. It is difficult, sometimes impossible, to read about what you are seeing. For this you need to buy the book. Happily, to enjoy the exhibit, you have only to let the beauty and grace of these amazing creatures delight and amaze you. Click here to read about it in French. Even if you don't read French, check out the site for the pictures. The picture above is of a deep sea octopus. 
Each time we come to Paris there is one outing that must be made: A visit to check on "my" tree at Versailles. Yesterday, we took advantage of the crisp, sunny weather and took the RER to Versailles Rive Gauche.
The RER does not have the speed of the trains or the métros and, with a stop at every station along the way, the trip took us 40 minutes. From there we joined what seemed like thousands of eager tourists from all over the world on a 10 minute walk to the Chateau.
We did not plan to visit the Chateau itself so we went directly through to the gardens. Although most of the statues are covered for the winter and the flower beds are empty, the area near the Chateau was full of people enjoying the beautiful vistas, strolling along the wide paths, and, it goes without saying, taking pictures.
Before making the hike to visit my tree, we had lunch at La Flottille, a lovely little restaurant-brasserie and salon de thé near the Grand Canal. Sitting at a table by the windows surrounded by the 1900 style decor, we indulged in a lazy 2 hour lunch, gazing out at the gorgeous day and watching people, both inside and outside the restaurant. Our waitress, a beautiful, young woman from China, has been in France 4 years. Her waitressing skills were perfect, she handled a couple of dozen tables with apparent ease and her French was beautiful. It turns out that she learned French only after moving here. I'm sure she has a very interesting story to tell, but she was busy and had no time to chat.
Lunch behind us, it was time to strike out for the far reaches of the Versailles grounds beyond the Grand and Petit Trianons to the Allée de la Reine, part of a large area planted with young trees to replace those destroyed in violent storms in late 1999. My tree is one of those replacements, a gift from Charles for my 60th birthday.
When last seen in April, my tree was still the tallest in its row but devoid of new leaves. Clearly, it does not put out its leaves at the first hint of warmth. I was a little worried that the tree was not healthy, but this visit we found it covered with dead leaves, evidence that it had had a good summer. And it continues to be the tallest in its row.
Now for the crime part of the story.
My tree is in an area closed to the public. Each time we visit we try to find a way past the fences and the do-not-enter signs, usually without success. This time, the gate was not locked. We did what any of us would do if we were making a biennial visit to our tree. In we went. I rushed over to stand by the tree, trying not to sink into the muddy turf while Charles set up the shot. Just as I turned for the picture, I saw a woman and dog approaching with determined strides from behind Charles. Too far away to warn him, I tried to convey my thoughts with gestures: "Hurry, hurry, hurry. Get the picture - quick." Unfortunately, setting up a shot with a heavy, telephoto lens can take a bit of time. The woman and dog got closer. Charles took the picture just as the woman reached him and politely told him that we were in an area forbidden to the public and would have to leave.
Undaunted, Charles whipped out our map showing the tree and identifying it as mine and told her the whole story. We all walked back through the gate together at which point she said: "Now that I know you and know how much you love Versailles, you may go back in and take more pictures if you wish."
We were very pleased, but even more pleased when she agreed to join us and take our picture. You can see the result above.
It turns out that the woman, Christelle, works for the Ministry of Culture and lives, with her husband we think, on the grounds in a house just behind the glacier (ice house) built during the
reign of Louis XV. She regularly walks through the grounds keeping an eye on things and came upon us by chance. We strolled together and chatted for a while and were delighted when Christelle invited us to see the glacier, which is currently closed to the public. She explained how the ice was brought from the mountains and stored in a deep, deep hole in the ground under the house for use by the royal entourage. As we headed back towards the Chateau and the train station, she pointed out the house in which the botanist, A.L Jussieu, lived, also during the reign of Louis XV. Christelle assured us that now that she knows us, she will not worry if she finds us visiting our tree in future. Here is a picture of our new friend with her equally friendly dog, Pattie.
It will be awhile before anyone will know which side of the transportation strike "won." One clear winner, however, was the Paris Vélib program of rental bicycles placed at stations throughout the city. Le Parisian reported today that daily utilization of the rental bikes jumped from 90,000 per day to more than 170,000. A report on how the program fared during les grèves can be found here.
What does it all mean? Life? Love? The pursuit of happiness? The strange inexplicable absence of Virginia's Postcards du Jour?
We have been here for two weeks and I have not given birth to one Postcard du Jour. Actually, there is one gestating at the moment. But still, it is a bit embarrassing. Of course, the Postcards du Jour have already become more like Postcards de la Semaine. It would appear, however, that they are evolving into Postcards du Mois. PDM. Yes, that has a nice ring to it. At least I have been posting a photo each day.
Meanwhile, the transportation strike is over - for a few weeks at least. Christmas decorations are going up all over the city and the trees lining the Champs Elysées are now lit up at night. To give you some idea of the festive feel, check out the photo of one of the windows of Hediard, a very upscale delicatessen. The main store in Paris is at the Madelaine. This one is on the Avenue George V.
The more I learn about the ongoing strikes and the strikers, the less I understand - not only about the strikes themselves but about the French system and the French. For me, the situation just gets more and more confusing. Perhaps this means that I am moving towards wisdom. Probably not.
The ongoing strikes do not cause us much inconvenience. We live close to a subway line that has been working quite reliably. It, in turn, connects to the main east-west subway line through Paris. As a result, we can get fairly close to anyplace we want to be. Our feet do the rest. Although we understand that many exhibits are shut down in the major museums because employees have not been able to make it to work, the flexibility we have in choosing what we will do insulates us from frustrations. For the most part, there is nowhere we have to be at a given time. We decide each day what we want to do, knowing that we will be here a few more weeks then back again in April. Nothing is urgent. We are not stressed. Even today's lack of newspapers, which caught us by surprise, did not deprive us of news. We simply went on line.
The strikes result in a much different experience for the French, whose lives are being seriously disrupted. For us, the situation is theater (one might even say, theater of the absurd) but at what a price to the participants. 'Tis a puzzlement.
Here is an article from the International Herald Tribune that gives a coherent update.
La galère.
It means a mess in the sense of a royal pain. That is what the past four days have been for many of the French trying to get to and from their jobs and for anyone seeking to get around France using ground transportation.
We've seen or experienced some of the situations reported in the media, but have not observed any rage. Mostly people on the streets and in the métros seem cheerful or resigned. Still, there is a growing sense of frustration in the face of day after day of aggrevation.
First the métros. Because each métro line is represented by a different union, the level of service can and does differ dramatically from line to line. On a given day during a transportation strike, some lines may not be operating at all even as others run on a reduced, but steady schedule. Happily, reliable information about métro schedules is available on the Internet. This allows people to plan ahead. Nevertheless, there has not been enough service to handle commuter traffic, which means packed trains for much of the day. (See photo on the left taken on the afternoon of day three of the strike.) The good news is that we haven't had to pay to use the métro since the strike began. I figure this buys us half a glass of wine each time we don't pay.
Charles used the métro mid-day during the second day of the strike and experienced very few problems. Yesterday, we took the same route and, when returning in the afternoon, found the subway mobbed, presumably because people were heading home early in the hope of avoiding the problems they had experienced the night before during normal rush hour. At times we were packed with our fellow riders toe to toe, unable to move, tipping forward as the train stopped and backwards as it accelerated, hoping always that the masses would keep us upright. As Charles pointed out, however, it was really no worse than being on the Green Line when it is full of Red Sox fans headed for a game.
Movement by rail has been much more curtailed. The logical result has been an increase in automobile traffic. And boy has it been snarled. Scooters, motorcycles and bicycles weave in and out of cars that only move to dart forward a few yards at a time. The daily number of accidents involving two-wheeled conveyances has reportedly more than doubled in recent days. Air pollution has skyrocketed in Paris.
On Thursday evening , I was in a car trying to get from the Place Vendome to our apartment. It took almost 2 hours for what would normally be a 20 minute trip. On Friday (day three of the strike), Charles and I observed stalled traffic by mid afternoon as many people started their trips home from work early in the futile hope of avoiding the frustrating experiences of the night before.
The snarled traffic takes a huge economic toll in addition to the obvious increase in fuel consumption. Yesterday morning, the family that sells cheese and other dairy products at our local Friday market was an hour and a half late because of traffic. This translated directly into lost sales, adding frustration to frustration. One imagines variations of this situation happening to small businesses throughout France.
Today is day four of the strike. Hope that the transportation strike would end early are fading, even as the strike is weakening and more travel options are becoming available. It looks now like it will continue until the civil servants go on strike on Tuesday. I have no idea what that will bring. I only know that we have a dinner with the Wellesley Club of Paris on Monday night and it is all the way across town. Will we get there? Will we get home? Stay tuned.
This one is for those of you who have seen the Pixar film, Ratatouille. The store to which Remi's father takes him to illustrate with graphic brutality what humans think of rats really exists. It can be found at 8 rue des Halles in the 1st arrondissement, not far from the Seine. The rats in the window were "eliminated" from Les Halles circa 1925.
Thanks to our daughter for setting us on the quest for the dead rats of Paris.
For many, bicycles will be the preferred mode of transportation over the next few days, or possibly even weeks, as France deals with a series of strikes. Parisians are fortunate that their municipal government recently established a system, called Vélib, to provide the populace with bicycles for short term use. Bikes are stationed throughout the city permitting pickup in one location and return to another. Read all about it in this New York Times article. Actually, it is not clear how useful the bikes will prove to be. The fee structure is aimed at short term use. And the weather is not that great for biking. The photograph shows a Vélib station in front of the Ministry of Culture today.
For us, our feet will be providing transport and umbrellas shelter from the rain as needed. Biking would be too risky for those of us who are not familiar with dealing with Paris traffic or wet streets. Of course, being a pedestrian in Paris can be rather exciting too.
The election of Nicolas Sarkozy made the events that are now unfolding almost inevitable. He told the electorate that he would institute significant reforms if elected and he is following through with his promises. Tonight France faces the prospect of weeks of strikes by those opposing various reforms. While public opinion is reportedly behind Sarkozy at the moment, no one knows if that will continue in the face of the inconveniences that the strikes will inevitably bring.
I do not pretend to begin to understand the complexities of the situation. In a country where the right to strike is written into the Constitution and where strikes have successfully beaten back proposed governmental reforms more than once, there could have been no doubt that sooner or later France would be brought to a standstill - at least temporarily - by those opposing the reforms. Tonight, transportation workers have begun a strike to protest proposed changes to retirement benefits. Tomorrow, train, metro and bus service throughout the country will be severely curtailed, although international service will be only slightly affected. The transportation strike may well extend into next week when civil servants are scheduled to go on strike to protest proposed job cuts. Some students are preventing access to University classrooms and libraries in protest of new laws that would grant universities more autonomy. This has led to violent confrontations with police who are supporting the rights of the substantial number of students who wish to continue studying. Later in the month, the judges are set to protest the closing of a number of courts.
Over the coming days, we will be reading as much as we can about the events as they unfold, trying to understand the complexities of what is happening. In any event, it is a historic moment for France with a lot at stake for everyone involved. Having a ring-side seat definitely makes it more real than reading about it on the other side of the Atlantic.
And we will return to Boston in much better shape than when we left. Assuming that we don't decide that passing the day in local cafés is just as good as walking around the city.
We had an easy trip from Boston to Paris. Both of us snoozed, though for once I got some real sleep courtesy of skipping dinner and a drug boost (Lunesta). We arrived 10 minutes late, disembarked at a gate so we didn't have to take a 25 minute bus tour of Charles de Gaulle airport to get from our 747 to the terminal, whipped through passport control and didn't have to wait too long for our luggage.
All squared away, our attention turned to finding Monsieur Misery, whom we had engaged to drive us into the city. He arrived almost immediately bearing a sign with our names on it. (See photo.) Although he meets us at the airport each time we come to Paris, the placard was a first and I'm not sure how I feel about that. I mean, is he afraid we won't recognize him or that he won't recognize us? Probably the latter.
Dawn slowly turned to gray daylight as we drove into the city. (The trip into Paris is always interesting with Jacques at the wheel, but with only Sunday traffic to deal with, it was a less exciting than usual.) In no time, we were at home in "our" little apartment on the rue des Bluets.
After a short nap (it was very hard to keep our eyes open, especially with gray skies threatening rain), we went out to lunch with our friend and landlord, Bill, at one of our lunchtime favorites, Les Philosophes on the rue Vieille du Temple. Then it was off to meet friends from Versailles, June and Robley, for a concert being held at the Carnavalet Musuem - or so we thought.
With lots of time to spare I occupied myself with snapping shots of the lively scene in the Marais on a Sunday afternoon. (See the first of my Photos du Jour for this trip in the gallery on the right. Be sure to double click on the photo to see a copy of the entire picture.)
As 3 o'clock approached, we headed to the Carnavalet. After walking along the rue de Sévigné where the main entrance can found, we discovered that the museum was closed for Armistice Day. (Yep. today is November 11!) Darn, I thought, I got the locale wrong. We walked the not inconsiderable circumference of the Carnavalet looking for concert venues, but came up dry. There was nothing for it but to hike briskly to the nearest subway (Chemin Vert on line 8) and get ourselves home to confirm the venue. Once back in the apartment, the mystery was solved. I had not been mistaken about the locale. The concert was at the Carnavalet. (Point for me.) Alas, it took place yesterday. (Minus 5 points for me.)
Just when everything is going right, there is always something to remind me that I am fallible.
We ended our first day in Paris with a light supper accompanied by wonderful champagne grown and produced by Alain Navarre of Reuilly. (Thank you, Bill !)
Nous sommes arrivées!
It was a few years ago on a gorgeous, sunny, Sunday afternoon, that we first took a boat ride on the Canal Saint-Martin, a 4.5 kilometer canal built in the early 19th century to permit river traffic to avoid the western loop of the Seine around Paris. Departing from the bassin de la Villette roughly 25 meters above the level of the Seine, the leisurely 2 1/2 to 3-hour trip, mostly above ground, took us through a series of four sets of locks as the canal descended from the 19th arrondissement, through portions of the 10th and the 4th, before ending in the 11th not far from the river. We disembarked at the Port de Plaisance Paris-Arsenal adjacent to the Place de la Bastille.
This past April, the lovely weather and the company of our good friends from Nuremberg, Klaus and Marlene, inspired us to do it again, this time in the reverse direction.
Our boat, operated by Canauxrama and seen on the left, was the Arletty, named after a popular French actress of the 1930s and 40s who starred in director Marcel Carné's classic movie, Hôtel du Nord, the name of a small hotel on the banks of the canal.
Like the tourist boats that plow the Seine, seating was available inside or out, topside or in the bow. Klaus and Marlene chose to sit inside at the front of the covered area. We took advantage of our position near the front of the line to make for the first set of seats in the bow thinking it would be ideal for taking pictures. As it turned out, the location was a mixed blessing. Although we had an unencumbered view of what was ahead, traveling upstream through the locks brought an unwelcome surprise. Leaks through the huge doors of the locks and water flowing through small trap doors would spill out with varying degrees of force. Sometimes the result was that we were covered with a fine mist and suffered huge puddles beneath our feet. At one lock, however, the huge discharge of water got us wet from head to toe. So, be warned!
Leaving the Port de Plaisance, we entered a tunnel under the Place de la Bastille and the Boulevard Richard Lenoir. Prior to the mid-19th century, most of this portion of the canal was above ground. The tunnel was part of Haussmann's renovations of Paris.
It was pleasantly serene floating through the tunnel under the street. The light shining through holes in the ceiling brightened the way and reflected off the water to make dancing patterns on the walls. For part of the underwater stretch, an underwhelming light show designed by a Japanese artist, Keiichi Tahara, flashed on the walls.
Exiting the tunnel, we arrived at the first of the four locks that would lift us to our destination, Écluse double du Temple, named for a nearby area that had been inhabited in ancient times by the Knights Templar . As the bow of the boat approached the lock, the water level on the other side was being lowered. Water spurted through as the doors slowly opened. We stayed dry and oblivious to the wet adventures awaiting us.
Immediately after leaving the Écluse double du Temple, we passed a pedestrian bridge, the Pont Tournant Dieu, which swung over to one side to let us pass. It is located near the Hôpital St Louis, built in 1607 under Henry IV in the same style as the Place des Vosages. Today, while it continues to function as a hospital, Hôpital St Louis is said to be well worth a visit just to enjoy the setting and the architecture.
In the 19th century, the ease with which the so-called turning bridges (ponts tournants)
could be pulled to one shore made the canal a natural
line of defense for inhabitants of outlying hamlets who had no use for the city authorities. Construction of the tunnel removed this strategic advantage.
The 
banks of the canal for much of the trip were lined with colorful tent cities set up by the sans-abris (homeless) of Paris. I believe that these and other tent cities were disbanded by the municipal government within a few weeks of our afternoon on the canal. As is true in any large city, the homeless problem continues.
Soon we were passing the Pont Tournant Grange-aux-Belles (constructed in 1884-85) and approaching the Hôtel du Nord, the small hotel made famous by Carné's film. The movie includes what many consider to be the most famous lines in French cinema. Just ask any of your French friends if they can name the movie that made the words "atmosphère, atmosphère" famous and the name of the actress who intoned them. Today the "Hotel" is a bar and bistro.
As I and many other photographers snapped away at the movie landmark, the boat moved by the Pont Tournant de la Grange au Belle and passed through the Écluse double des Récollets, named for the nearby convent of the Récollet established at the beginning of the 17th century.
Throughout the trip our boat attracted an audience. People watched from the banks or from pedestrian bridges that arched over the canal. The photo on the right was taken as we approached the Écluse double des Morts located near the site of a Merovingien graveyard. I was intrigued by the commentator's explanation that, at one time, criminals were hanged not far from there, 50 or more at a time. Their bodies were left to rot. As a result, when the wind was just so, the smell wafted over Paris. For many, the stench was welcome. It meant that rain was coming.
Before entering the final lock, the Écluse double Jaurès, we passed the Rotonde de la Villette, one of 84 entry points in the mur des Férmiers Generaux, a wall encircling the city established by Louis XIV. These portals, of which only 4 survive, were established to facilitate the collection of taxes from farmers and other merchants who wished to enter the city to sell their goods. The Rotonde, designed by French architect Claude Nicolas Ledoux, was built in the 1780s. It survived partial destruction during the 1871 Commune de Paris as well as the destruction of the wall during the French Revolution.
Beyond the Écluse double Jaurès, we passed into the bassin de la Villette. More than one photographer was waiting to capture the boat as it passed into the bassin. (I suppose that somewhere there are at least two photographers who have pictures of me taking pictures of them.)
Although we had reached what would be our final destination, the boat
continued into the Canal de l'Ourcq. We cruised past unusual works of art on the banks of the Canal (see photo on right) and enjoyed panoramic views of La Villette, a huge park area created as one of Mitterrand's lesser-known Grands Travaux.
To the left was the Cité de la Science et de l'Industrie with its Géodome and, on the right, a large park area, including bright red concrete "folies." You can see some of the structures reflected in the Géodome in the photo on the left and more of the colorful structures in the photo on the right. 
The vast area of La Villette is still under development. In September 2007, La Grande Halle, a huge meat market and abattoir that served Paris between 1867 and 1974, reopened as an exhibit space. A home for the Paris Philharmonic, to be designed by architect Jean Nouvel of Quai Branley fame, is scheduled for completion in 2012. Although not a popular tourist destination, La Villette is used extensively by Parisians and people from the nearby suburbs. It is well worth a visit.
Our cruise was coming to an end. The Arletty turned around at the juncture of the Canal de l'Ourcq and the Canal Saint-Denis, made a short stop at Parc de la Villette across from the Cité de la Science et de l'Industrie to allow passengers on and off before discharging us on the the quai de la Loire. All and all, a few hours very well spent on a beautiful spring afternoon.
Thanks to my good friend and superb photographer, Ellen, I discovered that if you Google my name one of the first entries to come up is this one. I'm thinking that I may have just experienced my fifteen minutes of fame.
A reception with the artist was held one week into my Paris Insolite photography exhibit at the Boston French Library Alliance Française and what a delightful evening it turned out to be. Despite the fact that there were other events going on in Bean Town, including an appearance by Hillary Clinton at Symphony Hall (in case you missed it, see it here on YouTube), 77 people came to sip wine, look at the photographs, ask me questions about same and, most of all, to chat with each other. The room overflowed and at times the noise was so loud that it was hard to hear and be heard. Many who came were friends, acquaintances and former business associates Others just came to see the show and stayed to talk. The reception, scheduled to last 1 1/2 hours, lasted a full two hours. The picture on the left was taken of Charles and me after almost everyone had left.
I was touched and pleased by the people who made the effort to show up, especially when I learned of the terrible traffic jams caused by the Clinton appearance. Folks from Lexington with whom I used to work and hadn't seen for years were there. My manicurist, bearing flowers, brought her husband, her brother and his wife. Our cats' veterinarian came with her fiancé and her technical assistant. Many friends and acquaintances from the Back Bay came as did fellow Francophiles Ginger and Foster, of whom we see more in Paris than in Boston. Photographer Robert Castagna, who is now showing his work at the Rolly-Michaux Gallery in the Back Bay, came to lend his support. (Here is a link to a page with some of the remarkable photographs from his series, Kyoto in its Seasons.) Then there were the young people and other members of the French Library who took the time to talk to me. One young man chatted with me for a while then asked me to autograph my business card and clutched it happily to his chest as he left. A young woman asked it she could email me for advice about her own photography efforts. It was touching and very humbling.
I was having a really fine time, when Sophie Koenig, the Library's Cultural Programs Planner & Web Editor gently pulled me away from the people I was talking to for the formal part of the event. This was the only part that I didn't enjoy. There I was, standing under lights meant to illuminate photographs, not women of a certain age, feeling very, very naked without my camera to hide behind. I suppose there was a certain poetic justice in that, but still.... We had agreed ahead of time that I would not make any remarks, but Elaine Uzan Leary, the Library's Executive Director, was fascinated by the photographs of Belleville, in part because her first husband was a Tunisian Jew whose family had settled in Belleville as part of the first major influx of immigrants into the area in the early 20th century. She wanted to know what had drawn me into photographing the area and that gave me an opportunity to talk about my logitudinal project of trying to capture the Belleville of today and the impact of the every changing ethnic mix of the population.
Many were generous in sharing with me which picture or pictures they liked best and why, which I greatly appreciated. Particularly gratifying was the number of people who were intrigued by the Belleville collection. What pleased me most, however, was the excitement of those who know Paris well who were drawn to the picture on the left taken looking down the rue de Belleville toward the Pompidou Center and beyond to the hills on the other side of city. They couldn't believe that they had never seen this particular view before.
By the end of the evening, several photographs had sold, which was pleasing for me and great for the Library. It will use its proceeds to further programs for children among other efforts. But best of all, it was a good party.
Many friends and family members made the exhibit possible by encouraging me, inspiring me, prodding me, and supporting my photography efforts over the past few years. I am deeply grateful to each and everyone of them. Special thanks, however, go to my patient, incredibly supportive sherpa, Charles, to our wonderful friend Chris, without whose generous gifts of time and knowledge the exhibit would not be as classy as it is, and last, but not least, to fellow photographer, Bill, who took me on my first Belleville photo shoot.
Twenty-one photographs are now up in the gallery at the French Library for a month long show which I entitled, with just a little bit of hyperbole: Paris Insolite. For the moment, you can read all about it here. (This link will no longer work when the show ends on November 4.) If you are around, please come to the reception on Wednesday October 10 to say "hi" and enjoy some free wine and cheese. Please be aware that, although you can visit the exhibit anytime the Library is open, you need to RSVP to join the reception. Check out the website for details.
Charles and I, with our good friend, Chris, hung the photographs yesterday. It was the first time for all of us using professional art gallery hanging equipment and lighting and the whole process took a lot longer than we expected. I wasn't able to put the pictures in quite the order I had planned because some spaces I thought would be usable just didn't work. With input from the Library's super Cultural Programs Planner and Web Editor, Sophie Konig, and some good ideas from Chris about using spacing to create groupings, we were still able to hang all 21 framed photographs without the walls looking too crowded.
I was amazed at how colorful the photographs are as a group, especially since my most colorful photos are not included in those we hung. But then, that is one of the things I love about Paris. Unlike many other large cities in the northern climes, including our own Boston, Paris is full of surprising color at every turn. It is part of what makes Paris Paris!!
I didn't get any great shots yesterday, but here is one showing some of the exhibit as we were cleaning up (hour 5 1/2). And here is another showing how things looked early in our effort (about hour 2).
Note who was doing all the work and who was taking pictures.
This project has been more than a year in the making. It has been quite a ride for me and I owe it to family and friends who encouraged me to go for it. Thank you. All of you.
That would be me.
I can't believe that it has been over a month since I last posted. I do have a Postcard du Jour in progress about the very enjoyable afternoon we spent with Klaus and Marlene i-n April cruising on the Canal St-Martin. But I find it hard to make myself finish it up with the summer weather giving way to refreshing hints of autumn, my show approaching at high speed (more about that in another post), Paris a distant memory on the one hand and a subject of anticipation on the other, and the seductive pull of PhotoShop. Yep. I spend a lot of my time playing with the post processing of photographs. You will have seen some of the results in the weekly pictures of the engaging and adorable Miss Em. Here is another from today. Boy, is it addictive, this turning a photo into something more abstract. Tomorrow, though, I must finish my PDJ. It is time.
We celebrated my daughter's birthday today in advance of Tuesday, the actual birth day. I am proud and in awe of how hard working and creative she is on top of being a wonderful mother to the adorable one. In honor of the occasion, I took a series of portraits of her on the front porch of her house. This is one of them.
You can read the story of her birth here.
Last weekend I took a series of formal portrait photos of Charles using a very simple, single light source setup and a paper backdrop. For soothing background music, Charles chose a recording of the Missa Gaudeamus by Josquin Desprez that we brought back from Paris in April. He listened to the music and sipped on his martini, kibitzing only occasionally while I worked on getting the lighting I wanted. He was a patient model and we had a lot of fun getting the pictures. This is one of our favorites. You can see a couple of others here.
I was amused to read this article in today's on-line Washington Post. It seems that jogging in public is totally unsuitable for the serious intellectual. Or is it that, to be taken seriously as an intellectual, you shouldn't jog in public? Whatever, it is yet another American export that apparently sets some French teeth on edge.
