Tales of Two Cities

Notre Dame de Paris

We realized the day before our departure for Boston while we were cleaning the apartment and packing  that we had not been to Notre Dame this visit.  Naturally we immediately dropped everything (any excuse not to clean), and took the bus to the Ile de la Cité.  

As we strolled from the bus stop towards the cathedral, we came upon an "art" display featuring a pile of silver helmets.  It turned out to be one of many installations throughout Paris in honor of Asterix. It was very popular with kids as well as parents who were busy photographing their kids enjoying the experience. 

Given that it was a school vacation week in France (associated with Toussaint - All Saints' Day), we were not surprised to find that we had a wait to get into Notre Dame. Fortunately, the line was relatively short and moved quickly.

Once inside, we made our way through the crowds to what used to be a quiet place for prayer and contemplation under the eyes of a lovely statue of the Virgin and Child. Alas, it has now become a spot for tourists to buy candles (5 euros each requested), take photographs and, maybe, just maybe, pause a minute in meditation,

Ignoring the change in ambiance and the fact that we could no longer see the lovely, serene face of the Virgin because part of the area to which we used to have access is now roped off, we purchased our candles and lit them. Fortunately there were seats free and we were able to sit for a while, remembering those who have gone before us and wishing blessings upon the needy, lost and grieving among us.

While we were meditating, a woman and a teenage girl stopped by.  The woman, standing ready to take pictures,  told the girl to take a candle (no money was donated) then motioned her to put the candle on the rack and light it.  The teenager, who looked mildly confused, needed continuous instructions to complete the task while the woman shot her pictures.  Finally she succeeded in lighting the candle, the photographer was happy with what she had taken, and the two left.  Not a spiritual moment for either of them.  How odd for tourist's to manufacture an experience just for a photo.  Funny but sad - and consistent with the Cathedral's modern day dual purposes as both a place of worship and a major tourist attraction.

 Once we left our special space, we joined the crowd of tourists moving counter clockwise around the Cathedral. Meanwhile, a Mass began.  Only a few people sat in the area roped off for worshipers while huge crowds of tourists wandered past taking flash photographs.  What a contrast!

In tourist mode myself, I took pictures of the rose windows for the umpteenth time and the lovely little prayer space lit only by 5 euro candles and light through stained glass windows.

Once outside, we had one more task to perform.  By tradition, we take a picture of me the zero kilometer spot in front of the Cathedral each time we visit Paris.  This is the point to which all distances to Paris are measured.  Charles did the honors and voilà!

Time to return to the realities of preparing to leave our month-long home.  Charles had some last minute errands, so I grabbed the bus for a leisurely ride through Paris before resuming my packing and cleaning chores.

Even the bus ride was a little adventure.  I sat next to a woman holding a small, squirmy puppy.  My fellow passenger talked non-stop to whomever would listen about the lunch she had just enjoyed,  ski areas in the southeast of France and purebred dogs.  I'm afraid I put on my blank, "je ne comprends pas" face.  With her chatter in the background, I watched Paris pass by me and experienced a physical sense that I was leaving it behind and on my way home.

November in Paris

I was intrigued to come across this on the Budget Travel Blog.  It makes me wish we were still there - until I think of how much we miss Emily and her family when we are away from home.

Still, I'd love to take pictures of fall foliage at the Parc des Buttes Chaumont.  We didn't get there this visit, but I will make sure that my camera and I spend some time in the Parc next fall.

Sunday at Chantilly

Well rested from an extra hour of sleep on our last Sunday in Paris (the time "fell back" here one week ahead of the US), we assessed the sunny skies outside our window and decided that it would be an excellent day to take the train to Chantilly to visit one of the more beautiful chateaux near Paris.  

A short métro ride took us to the Gare du Nord where we caught the train to Chantilly. The chateau is a 1.3 miles from the train station following a path through the forest.  It is a walk we have made 4 times in the past, so it was with confidence (and without a map) that we set ourselves on a path that would take us to our destination.

We walked and walked and walked and walked. The path (used for horses, runners and folk like us) was strewn with yellow and brown leaves. A bower of tree branches provided cover while letting  light from the midday sun dapple the forest floor.  The rains of recent days had left puddles and mud here and there. Occasionally, there was physical evidence that a horse had passed by. It was all pleasantly bracing - as we walked and walked and walked.

 

After a while, when we continued to see nothing but light at the end of the tunnel, we began to wonder if we were on the right path.  Had we made a wrong turn?  Had we not made a right turn?  Had we not made the left turn we should have made?  Of course, the answer turned out to be all of the above. 

We finally got ourselves found, backtracked and arrived at the Chateau, having walked double the distance we had anticipated.  Still, the first views of Chantilly reminded us of how striking it is and our frustration vanished.

The first order of business was to have lunch.  All of the walking and fresh air had made us hungry and it was already 1:30. 

Our destination was a restaurant we have enjoyed in the past located at the chateau's Hameau.  The small hamlet dates from 1775 and predates (and is a good bit more modest than) the  more famous Hameau de la Reine  at Versailles. On our way, we paused to enjoy the characteristic lines and symmetry of the formal gardens designed by André Le Notre.

Looking at this picture,, it is hard to believe that there were a loads of people visiting the Chateau and parks along with us.  The people in the photo give a sense of the immense scale of the park. 

We arrived at last at the little restaurant and chose to eat inside a tent structure that provides a comfortable venue in cool weather.  Many people had chosen to eat outdoors, but, seeing that most had kept their coats on, we decided that inside the tent was probably the better course for us.  The ambiance, inside or out, is definitely rustic.

Our excellent lunch ended with a tarte au poire topped with crème chantilly.  The thick whipped cream was first created by Chef Francois Vatel to be served at a banquet for Louis XIV and 2000 or so of his closest friends held at the Chantilly.  Unfortunately, Monsieur Vatel did not live to enjoy the popularity of his delectable desert.  His despair over a problem with the fish course led him to commit suicide the night of the banquet. All I can say is that the whipped cream served at Chantilly today (and I understand throughout the Oise area) is like no whipped cream I have ever tasted elsewhere.  It is to die for.  The fish?  I think not.

When it came time to pay the bill, we asked our overworked waitress about Roger, a duck with loads of personality who used to entertain the outdoor diners.  She looked solemn and said that he was no more. We immediately assumed that old age that had claimed him, but her next word disabused us.  "Renard," she said, nodding her head sadly.  Roger the friendly duck had become fox food.

Heading back to the Chateau, we wandered through the "savage" part of the gardens, stopping to watch an adult and three adolescent swans gobble bright green algae.  Their beaks made a persistent clicking noise as they practically inhaled their feast and they occasionally made  high pitched whistling sounds, presumably indicating pleasure at the feast.

Charles climbed onto a "folie" of fake volcanic rock to pose for a the camera.

The transition from the bucolic to the elegant interior of the Chateau provided quite a contrast. 

The last private owner of le Chateau de Chantilly was the Duc d'Aumale, the fifth son of France's last King, Louis-Philippe I .  The Duke left an exquisite art collection when he died in 1897.  As a condition of  the Chateau and its collections being given to France, the Duke stipulated that the paintings must continue to hang on the walls just as it was organized at the time of his death.

The special photography exhibit that we went to see included approximately three dozen 19th century photographs, all from the very earliest days of photography.  It contained a wonderful collection showing not only members of the royal family (mostly in exile) and the Chateau before and after its reconstruction circa 1870, but some extraordinary photographs taken during the Crimean War and the War Between the States, aka the Civil War.  

Once we had finished with the exhibit and checked out the gift shop, it was time to decide how we would return to the train station.  We had about 20 minutes until the next train and there was no way we could make the walk and get the train.  Calling a cab was the only alternative

We decided to take the wimpy way out.  We had already walked over 3 miles (including our wanderings around the Chateau grounds) and adding another 1 1/2 miles to that by walking back through the woods (assuming we didn't go astray again)  just didn't appeal.

There are no taxi stands and no local buses handy near the Chateau (at least on a Sunday), but Charles was able to obtain a phone number of a local taxi service.  A chipper woman answered and said someone would be there toute suite.  Indeed, the driver (the woman to whom Charles had spoken on the phone) was there in no time and cheerfully whisked us to the station with minutes to spare before our train to Paris pulled into the station.

It was a very nice Sunday.

Happy Birthday Eiffel Tower

We took the subway to the Trocadéro tonight to join a couple of thousand other people for the Eiffel Tower's 12-minute light show now showing nightly to celebrate the icon's 120th birthday.

It reminded us of a small town fireworks show without the noise, but we got a kick out of it anyway.

Return of the Tree Hugger

We picked the day of a one-day, partial transportation strike and the opening of a new and important exhibit at Versailles to make our biannual visit to my tree.

Happily, we were able to bypass the crowds visiting the new exhibit inside of the palace and the strike had only a modest impact on our travels.  We noticed no delays on our way to Versailles on the RER Line C.  Coming home, there was a long wait for the train to Paris, which was unusual. Then the subway once we got to Paris was crowded to the point of discomfort.  It was rush hour, so we couldn't tell if the crowds were unusual in size.

(This if off topic, but I've got to say that one of the more amazing behaviors I observe here is folks getting on a very crowded trains and buses with a baby stroller, usually occupied by a child.  On our way home from or visit to Versailles, a middle aged woman ran for the subway just as the door was closing, jumped on, then found she had no way to stand up and keep her balance because of a stroller by the door.  She managed to lean over the obstruction, cooing all the while at the little one looking up at her with a less than cheerful mien, as she braced herself against the side of the door.  The rest of us in the area were staying more or less upright only because we were so crammed together we couldn't move.  I'm amazed at how tolerant Parisians seem under these circumstances. Babies rule!)

First stop once we got to Versailles was lunch at La Flotille.  I had a photograph with me of one of the young women waitresses there I had taken a year ago. We were very glad that she was working that day and she was pleased with her picture. Originally from China, she is leaving the Flotille at the end of the month to work at Chez la Carette, a restaurant near the Trocadaro here in Paris. 

After a pleasant lunch at La Flotille,  we set out to find my tree

As some of you will remember, our last visit to my tree provided adventure but ended in failure.  Yes, we probably saw it in the distance, but it was the first time we hadn't been able to get close.  It wasn't that we couldn't have gotten closer, it was that it would have cost us and the two friends we were with 10 euros each. 

This year, we went alone, resigned to paying the 10 euros a head to gain access to the grounds of the Petit and Grand Trianons.

We had no problem reaching my tree once made our way into the gardens.  There it was, looking healthy and still the tallest in its row.  We couldn't get very close, though, because of an iron fence and, where there was no fence, a deep moat-like trench.  Nothing could have said "stay out" louder.

But all hope was not lost!

Earlier on our walk, we had noticed that a new path had opened.  It looked like it might provide access to formerly closed off areas.  Perhaps it would lead us to the other side of the fence.  We decided to find out. It meant trekking most of the way back to the Grand Trianon in order to follow the "new" dirt path.  But we were on a mission and nothing would deter us - short of iron fences and huge trenches, of course. 

There were no "do not enter" signs, no deep trenches, no fences. It looked as though we were on the "right" side of the barriers. Still, we could not tell if we would make it to my tree. 

Finally, after working our way around a building complex, we saw that we had arrived safely (and, to all appearances legally) on the tree's side of the fence. 

Of course, I gave the tree a hug and a pat or two.  Charles spent a few minutes communing with it as well.  We took lots of pictures.  

As we headed home, we felt well exercised and happy.  Mission accomplished. 

An Old Favorite Stumbles

We were first introduced to Balzar, a restaurant located on the left bank near the Sorbonne, many years ago by our very good friends, Marie and Gérard.  It was a classic brasserie with male waiters in black vests and white aprons, crisp service and very good food at a reasonable price.

About 6 years ago, Balzar and a number of other well known Paris brasseries were acquired by a restaurant conglomerate, La Groupe Flo. The upheaval and resistance to the takeover of Balzar was chronicled in a chapter in Adam Gopnik's book, Paris to the Moon. 

Despite the concerns, however, the character of the restaurant didn't change.  We have continued to make it a point to visit the restaurant at least once each time we are in Paris.  We usually try to arrive just as the lunch crowd is thinning.  

The other day, after a busy morning in our neighborhood, we decided to go to Balzar for one of our late lunches and from there to the nearby Shakespeare & Company, a wonderful English language bookstore.

Charles ordered one of his favorite first courses, escargots à la Bourguignonne.  This is usually served on a metal plate designed for snail shells.  In all of the years that Charles has ordered this dish in restaurants modest and grand, the snails have arrived with garlic flavored  butter and bright green parsley pooling in the bottom of the indentations beneath sizzling snails tucked in their shells.  The smell of garlic reaches across the table making me wish I liked snails.

This time, when the dish arrived, we looked at it and knew right away something wasn't right.  There was no bubbling butter.  There was no scent of garlic. There was no bright green parsley.  There were only six dark shells with six dark, dry objects peeking out.  

Being a fair man, Charles tasted one of the snails and found it totally dried out and tasteless.

Mon Dieu!!  Sacré bleu!  Back to the kitchen went the poor abused snails for what I trust was a quick burial.

Happily, the second set delivered to our table was perfect, as one would expect at Balzar.  

I do have to wonder why they even served the first set of snails.  One is tempted to be insulted that they thought Charles wouldn't know any better.  A certain trust in the professionalism of the establishment has been lost. Will we continue to go to Balzar from time to time?  Of course.  But if we have another experience like this one, the restaurant will be crossed off of our list.  There are too many other options available in the City of Light.

Dr. Mandelbrot, I Presume

It is 8:45 on a gray Sunday morning.  The sun has not been up long and there is no one else on the rue des Bluets as we hurry towards the métro at the bottom of the street.  We are headed for the  amphitheater in the Jardin des Plantes to wait in line for a showing of a 2008 NOVA episode called "Fractals: Hunting the Hidden Dimension" (produced by our very own WGBH!).  We have made a reservation for this free event, but we are taking no chances that we will miss it because of lack of space for the hundreds who are expected.  Already the sponsors have moved the event from an auditorium in the building that houses the Hall of Evolution into the more commodious amphitheater.

Why the heavy interest in the event? 

Benoit Mandelbrot will be there to make some remarks and take questions after the film.

We are among the first to arrive, but soon the line begins to grow.  Half an hour before the show is scheduled to begin, a young man, looking very official, asks how many people have reservations.  Hands go up.  He then tells all those who do NOT have reservations to line up in another line.  This leaves us at the front of the "have reservations" line.  More time passes.  The lines grow longer.  New arrivals are placed in the appropriate line.  Then the powers that be start letting people in to get their tickets.  After we get our tickets, we are directed to start a third line:  the line of those with tickets.  Now there are three different lines.  There is a certain amount of amusement expressed by those waiting. How very bureaucratically French, the French say with indulgent smiles.

You would think that all of those with reservations would get their tickets first.  Well, no.  Every now and again, the young man directing traffic sends about 10 people from the "don't have reservations" line in to get tickets, leaving those in the much longer "have reservations" line to wait for theirs, hoping all the while that the supply will not run out.

Finally, those with tickets are invited to enter along with all of those getting tickets but who have not gotten back in line.  (Are you following this?)

All of which to say that we got good seats (good if you consider a wooden bench with a wooden back a good place to sit for more than 2 hours).

The movie is typically NOVA - which is to say excellent.  We learn that, using the characteristics of fractals, it is possible to make more accurate than ever estimates of how much carbon dioxide an Amazon forest absorbs.  We are taken through the history of the theory and see some clips of Dr. Mandelbrot speaking about his years of being ignored because he saw the world with a different and unique eye.

After the film, there is a restless sense of expectation in the audience. 

Is he there?

Is he really coming?

Then in he walks.  A man of 85 who seems much younger.  The crowd rises to its feet and begins to clap in a sustained applause.  He seems pleased.

When the applause subsides and everyone sits down, Dr. Mandelbrot speaks of his early years in Poland (he was born in Warsaw) and Paris the about  how he ended up in the United States working for the IBM Research Center.  He emphasizes his more recent work on the application of fractals to financial behavior and markets, something that was not included in the film. 

The crowd hangs on his every word.

Following his talk, two French mathematicians speak and then the floor is opened to questions and answers.

By this time, my mind is numb and I an having trouble following the questions and answers.  In any event, it is entertaining to just watch the faces of everyone involved. An American woman, speaking in heavily accented French, stands up and announces that she has 4 questions.  The moderator asks her to limit it to one.  She asks question number 1, gets an answer, then proceeds to ask question number 2 before the moderator can stop her.  He graciously lets her continue, remarking that in fairness to others, that is to be her last question.  With canny fortitude, she plows on to question number 3 before she can be silenced.  Dr. Mandelbrot brings it all to an end by a succinct "no" in answer to her third question. This allows the moderator to give a few others a chance.

Shortly afterward, the moderator calls time.  Those in the audience who have come prepared with books for Dr. Mandelbrot to sign rush to the table where he sits.  Those with cameras (I am not the only one) rush to get a snap or two.

Charles waits to shake Dr. Mandelbrot's hand and I wait with my camera.  Alas, a young woman  gets in the way and refuses to move in time and all I get is this:

Talk about missing the decisive moment!!  Just the same, as Emily would say, it is evidence.

What a great time!!

Back in Our Neighborhood

 

We are back at 27 rue des Bluets feeling, as we always do,as though we had never left.  We found "our" apartment in nice shape and it was easy to settle in.  In many ways, it is as though we never left.

The neighborhood is continuing to change, but it has a positive vibe.The streets are cleaner than they were in April. People have a bounce in their steps and smiles on their faces.  Maybe it is the autumn weather.  Whatever the reason, it is pleasant to be strolling through the neighborhood.

Our favorite local café, Le Factory Saint Amour (formerly Le Saint Amour), is growing nicely into its renovations.  We miss the old homey menu (I particularly miss the stuffed cabbage avec son aligot) and Aniek, a manager who has been there for many years (she is home in Normandy recuperating from hip surgery).  Céline, a lively young waitress with beautiful eyes, is a familiar, friendly face, however, and we continue to feel relaxed and welcome the minute we walk in the door.  

Construction around the Ménilmontant métro stop is a major disruptionn in the neighborhood. (See panorama above.)  The route of the 96 bus has been altered because of it and it will shortly displace the newspaper kiosk where Charles buys papers early each morning.  The owner (seen here last April with Charles) will take a month and a half off beginning in mid-October then reopen his business with a new and larger facility.  He seems quite cheerful about the changes.

Monsieur and Madame Ventura continue to sell their cheeses at the Ménilmontant Friday open air market. We had a chance to visit with them briefly yesterday when we stopped by to stock up on milk and cheese.

Madame Z, the boulangère from whom we buy yummy croissants each morning, is, as ever, all smiles and sparkling eyes.  She and her family took their annual vacation in the mountains of Tunisia this summer. I always walk out of her shop feeling happier than when I went in.

We have reasonably reliable intelligence that two of our favorite restaurants in years past that had fallen on hard times have again become wonderful places to eat.  We look forward to trying out the new Astier and Chardenoux.

It is good to be back, even though things are constantly changing.  As the French say, plus ça change. plus c'est la même chose.

Tweets from Paris

This blog was born  four and a half years ago to replace my email "postcards du jour" from Paris. I thought it would be less intrusive for me to put my reports in blog form than sending long emails with photos to all my nearest and dearest.

I'm going to continue posting reports from Paris here, but this trip I am also going to give tweeting a try. 

I have to confess that I'm not at all sure about the value of tweeting.  But it, along with Facebook, are very much "the thing" these days and I thought I should give it a try.  (I'm on Facebook too if you want to be friends!)

In any event, this will be an experiment for the amusement of family and those who want to know what we are up to in the City of Light on a more or less daily basis. 

If you are curious, just go to twitter.com and search for flyinggina.   And make sure to let me know if you are a tweeter on twitter (or is that twit on tweeter?) so I can sign up to follow you

This could be fun.

Or not.

One final note, I notice that my last two tweets (out of the 5 total since I joined) say just about the same thing - probably because I have been obsessing about getting ready to leave for Paris.  That is, however, no excuse.  I shall try not to repeat myself in future.

Reading Blogs about Paris and the French

I just came across this link on Budget Travel on-line to a number of blogs by expats about Paris and the French. One of the ones I already follow, Polly-Vous Français, is on the list.   I'm still working my way through the other blogs, but so far, they are great fun.  Check them out! 

(If you have a Google account, Google Reader is a great way to keep up with blogs.)

Another blog about things French that I have been following is John Talbott's Paris.  He is wonderfully knowledgeable about the French food scene and reviews loads of local Paris restaurants - many of which are in our price range (or almost).  He is a much more adventurous eater than I am and chooses many dishes that I probably wouldn't ever order, but it is a pleasure to read his reviews and the comments of those with whom he shares his culinary explorations.  He discusses not only the food, but the service, ambiance and the qualité/pris.  He doesn't mince words.

We are off to Paris in a few weeks.  What a great way to get me in the mood!