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Paris - Day 7

Saturday 2010-05-01

So I miscalculated the effects of Labor Day, but ended up having more fun serendipitously in the end.

The Chateau Versailles was closed, presumably for the holiday. I did a half circuit of the immediate grounds, and decided to hop the train back into town. I don’t feel I’ve missed much, except for the experience of walking down halls once walked by kings. There’s always next time (or next week).

I bought some more postcards in Versailles, and should really get around to sending them. Always the dilemma, which ones to send to whom? (Not really, I’m just lazy)

So instead of Versailles, I went to the Père Lachaise cemetery. The idea of a cemetery as a tourist attraction seems odd, but then many things about Paris are odd at first blush (in comparison to elsewhere; while here, it seems just a matter of course/no big deal).

I made it to Oscar Wilde and Jim Morrison, and happened upon a couple random notables (Chopin, Picard). Mostly it was just a pleasant, if maudlin, stroll through a garden chock full of mausoleums and statuary. Well-shaded, and not too strenuous if you start from the back and work your way “forward”. (Naturally the route prescribed by Mr. Steves, though not exactly, as somebody keeps leaving the guide at the hostel)

I had a late lunch / early dinner at a cafe across the street from the cemetery, also named Pére Lachaise, which had wifi. It was much higher quality than at the Séraphin (perhaps they don’t keep their router inside an impromptu Faraday cage). It looked like a family-run establishment, and the teenaged server had fun checking out my iPad.

As I was exiting the République station on my way back to the hostel, a wild cacophony of sounds arrested my attention from behind. It turns out Place de la République was the staging ground / origin of a large, rowdy May Day parade. Lots of vibrant red and yellow, hallmarks of various Communist / left-wing political groups.

A riot of people and messages, I almost cackled with glee as I whipped out my bazooka and dove into the fray. It was exactly the kind of kinetic people photography that I love, the environment where my baby shines. Great fun walking up and down several blocks on Avenue de la République, wading in and out of the fringes of the procession itself.

Such chants and decibels, sacre bleu! I was quite worn out after only a few blocks of frenzied shutter action, I can’t imagine following the whole parade next to one of those screeching loudspeakers.

Well, I should get on those postcards already. Tomorrow, Mont St Michel!

Paris - Day 6

Friday 2010-04-30

For a change of pace, I am lunching in what amounts to a mall food court. The major difference between this and one stateside is, of of course, the overwhelming amount of fine art spanning thousands of years located mere yards above. Oh, and the beer and wine for sale along with the sandwiches and hot dogs.

Yes, I finally made it to the Louvre. To my chagrin, I became one of the rubes taking pictures of paintings today. They are that amazing. (I have no qualms whatsoever about photographing sculpture)

The Mona Lisa is comically mobbed, no doubt from open to close 365 days a year. It’s only impressive by reputation. There are plenty of stupendous canvases strewn about the Grand Gallery, seemingly at random. My 24mm got a good workout.

Last night before dinner I finally located a cafe with wifi. Super-helpful waiters helped me navigate the forest of SSIDs and odd passwords. The iPad is serviceable, a joy to use, but I’m glad I’m not attempting anything more than email and light e-commerce (securing a hotel for Bruges next week).

Herb has these crazy ideas about places for dinner, and is usually thwarted by a lack of reservation or deeply-ingrained Midwestern thrift (not “cheap”, by any stretch, but simply unwilling to pay more than something is worth). Le Chateuabriand was, much like Frenchie before it, absolutely booked. Our good fortune at Bistrot Paul Bert looks increasingly like a fluke (which increases our appreciation commensurately).

So dreams of 5-course splendour dashed, I drag him along on one of my signature random wanderungen.

We ended up at a charming cafe, Chez Justine, largely on account of the live jazz quartet playing. They finished their first set as we were being seated, and thankfully they began again after our main course was finished. I had a scotch and dessert (Charlotte au chocolat, delicious) and stayed through most of the second set. It was great.

The quartet was fronted by a petite black woman with a silky red shirt and a bouffant gamine. Tenor sax, electric guitar, and a double bass rounded out the group. Despite the lack of traditional percussion (you don’t notice the rhythmic importance of the brushes until they’re gone), it was a very tight sound. They did an excellent cover of Miles’ “All Blues” to begin the second set (the vocalist taking on the trumpet lines).

It was great fun to snap along to, feeling the rhythm deeply. The 50cl Blanche de Bruges (a Belgian white) didn’t hurt either.

The Louvre is ginormous. I managed to make it through the abbreviated Rick Steves tour. Some great shots of Greek statuary (Venus de Milo and Michelangelo among the highlights). The building itself was often the subject of my photos, as I warmed to the notion of capturing such immense canvases on “film”.

And, as always, a gaggle of ignorant tourists with no idea how or inclination to turn off their damned flash.

“At the Café des Deux Moulins”

As per usual, the original always looks weird when you first saw it on screen (part of it fake, even; the tabac counter is not present in reality). Montmartre is charming, once you escape the legions of souvenir shops. Very steep climbs, beginning with the interminable spiral staircase sortie at the Abbesses Métro station.

Herb left for Monaco this morning, so today is my first as a newly-solo traveler. Not the first such event this trip, though I am better prepared this time. It helped my acclimation to the city a great deal to have a partner in crime.

I did revel in my solitude a bit this morning at the Louvre, though I’m sure in a few days I’ll have another opportunity to feel lonely in a sea of people. It is a special talent.

This Picon 1664 (biére) I just ordered is exquisite, amber-coloured and tasting of caramel and citrus. There is a grizzled scouser talking about the music biz next to me, and it is amusing to overhear.

Urp. The sweetness of the beer is a bit cloying, now. C’est la vie. At least I have the waitresses walking by to divert me, and quite handily, from thoughts undesired. Though ironically dredged up the selfsame via the writing process. (Definitely not thoughts about the beer, in case you were wondering)

As much as I love “Amelie”, I’m kind of amused that I actually made a pilgrimage to the bar she worked at in the movie. There is (of course) a huge picture of her along the back wall and on every menu cover (from the front of the DVD). I would hate working here.

The walk up to Sacre Coeur, also in the movie, looks totally different. Such is the magic of cinema (and lenses and lighting and framing, etc). The carousel is there, but not the phone booths. I really wanted a picture of the phone booths. No weird carny haunted house, though I’m less torn-up about that (didn’t expect it at all, actually).

I haven’t yet made it to Pigalle (the red light district), so we’ll see how much I can blush yet. (ed: I didn’t make it there today, being distracted by other streets and largely mapless)

Dinner at Café Séraphin, where I got wifi the other day. I had the special, “wok de bœuf, légumes croquants, crème aux épices”. It was very good. (posted a picture to Facebook, even)

It turns out Gare St. Lazare is totally not the one from Amelie, despite being the closest to Montmartre, geographically. You know what happens when one assumes…

I am looking forward to tomorrow, which happens to be Labor Day (in the Communist sense). I am planning on going to Versailles, but we’ll see about that. Lots of places will be closed (ed: this should have been a hint), and I get the impression there will be several celebratory protest marches. Only in Paris.

I’ve never had chocolate chip cookies crumbled over crème brûlée, but it is very tasty (as if you could make caramelized custard any other way). Again, two things I wish American restaurants did: “prix nets, service compris” (tip and tax included in final bill), and the expectation of after-dinner café (espresso, not drip, and very good).

Then again, I wouldn’t enjoy it as much in Paris if these things became de rigeur in the States. But seriously, think about prix nets.

At some point, I need to do laundry (or buy new clothes…).

I have been journaling rather consistently, which is pleasing. Perhaps it is the aesthetic of sitting in a brasserie, sipping my café and scratching away in a Moleskine (sheesh, Hemingway much?). Whatever it is, I’m glad it works. This is the most I’ve written for myself in quite some time.

The frequency of my journaling is perhaps increased due to the lack of a traveling partner. While I would without question enjoy someone special along to share experiences with, I am not entirely certain it would be the best choice, given recent conditions. The path of self-discovery is ever trod alone. (Not always does the path lead through Paris, but I am an odd duck)

Be that as it may, I aim to return to the States a fuller, more independent man. When I do meet that special someone, I will be prepared to match their completeness with my own.

Paris - Day 5

Thursday 2010-04-29

Contemplating carrying the bazooka (70-200 f/2.8) today. The pounds add up over the course of the day. I might as well. Aches and pains are temporary.

Temporary they may be, but oy my shoulders and calves hurt. We went to the Arc de Triomphe, walked up and down the Champs d’Elysée, and rode the Métro a fair bit (to see the Catacombs).

Both attractions had non-trivial spiral staircases (the Arc easily double the Catacombs’ in height), so it is understandable that it is not even 16:00 yet and we’re back at the hostel. I took a shower, and a nap sounds inviting.

The Arc de Triomphe is certainly impressive, with very good views of the old city. Too bad we didn’t go yesterday, it was hazier and more obviously smoggy today. The Champs d’Elysée is what you’d expect of open-air haute couture, though I did mischievously punctuate it with a Royale Bacon at McDonald’s (they were out of Royales with Cheese, oddly enough).

We walked down almost all the way to Place de la Concorde, then doubled back through side streets after gawking at the Petit & (inside the) Grand Palais (structures left over from a world’s fair over 100 years ago). The rates at the Four Seasons are predictably insane (Herb was shopping for a place to stay a few weeks later, on the return leg of his travels).

The catacombs were chilly and damp, which was a nice change from the stuffy Métro and hot sun. Piles and piles of bones, neatly arranged in stacks and facades with designs (mostly crosses). It’s a little spooky when you consider that the bones of 6 million Parisiens lie there, deep below the subways and sewers.

No flash is allowed, with frequent signage to this effect, but that did not stop a particularly arresting blonde immediately ahead of us. At one point I even took her picture (with her camera, this time), but shamefully I could not discern how to turn her flash off. I was not exactly in a mood to complain about her rule-breaking, if you catch my drift.

I almost asked her for directions after we exited, in an unsubtle attempt to keep talking to her, but I demurred. Score one for the scaredy-cats.

Paris - Day 4

Wednesday 2010-04-28

Last night I had perhaps the best culinary experience of my life. But let’s back up first.

After lunch yesterday, I went to le Hôtel les Invalides and saw Napoleon’s tomb. It was shockingly cold inside the mausoleum/basilica. (As I suspected, that was the gold dome I had been taking pictures of over the walls of Rodin’s garden)

I then toured a bit of Musée l’Armée, chiefly the medieval and world war sections. The harrowing landscapes of bombed-out cities still get me, the senselessness of war.

So it was already 4 o’clock, and my feet tired; I decided to return to the hostel. There I met my new friend Herb, a hedge fund manager from Chicago with a contagious taste for the good life.

I became his navigator on a 2km adventure through the 11th arrondissement to locate a highly recommended bistro on rue Paul Bert: le Bistrot Paul Bert. We both ordered the Menu (3-course meal, entrée + plat + dessert), and Herb got us an excellent wine (Morgon 2006).

My entrée (appetizer) was a plate of thinly-sliced veal, covered in some sort of pesto-like spices. It was raw, and could have been lamb brains for all I know. It was certainly a unique experience for my palate.

The plat (main course) was also veal, but prepared in a more recognizable manner (medium rare) and accompanied by yellow potatoes. Add a dab of mustard, and it melted in my mouth with a spicy zip.

The dessert was soufflé au Grand Marnier, and it was absolutely divine. We both promised to start our diets the next morning.

We got a relatively late start today (9:30, zut alors!). The islands in the Seine were the target (Iles de la Cité et Saint Louis). The first stop was Sainte-Chapelle and le Palais de Justice (French high courts). The courts are housed in an impressive building, and of course Sainte-Chapelle was splendid (especially the stained glass).

Notre-Dame was next, which while impressive in it’s own right, was rather similar to Westminster Abbey. Unlike Westminster, they do not forbid photography. :)

We walked around Ile de la Cité, and onward to St. Louis (the smaller island) in search of lunch.

We ended up constructing a picnic lunch from local shops: a baguette from a boulangerie, jambon (ham) & salami from a charcuterie, and some mysterious hard white cheese from the cremerie next door. The baker spoke English with an English accent, the butcher a very broken patois, and the jolly old cheese maker we had to pantomime and point like monkeys. He really paired the cheese well, though.

Picnic in hand, we went down to the park at the tippy end of Ile de St Louis and down to the riverwalk to eat. There were several Parisiens sunbathing along this concrete beach (it was ~26 C today, a bad day to wear jeans).

And, perhaps inevitably, there was some fat dude in a G-string. Every bit as scarring as it sounds.

After the picnic, we had a glass of red at the bar (comptoir) of a nearby brasserie. Then northward to the Place Georges Pompidou, and the National Gallery of Modern Art.

I wish we had skipped the rotating exhibition on the 4th floor and just went straight to the “actual” art. It was some insufferably brittle show about women in art (so lots of body parts and vaginal simulacra). The permanent collection’s good stuff was very good (Picasso, Kandinsky, et al), but I was so exhausted by the floor below that it was very hard to enjoy as fully as I would’ve liked.

We passed through a really cool-looking Métro station on our way down (Arts et Métiers #3, swathed in steampunk brass and portholes), and I made a point of stepping off while on the way back to the hostel and taking a picture. 

Paris - Day 3

Tuesday 2010-04-27

Well, I lost my pen. The Musée Rodin, while wonderful, is not the cheapest place to replenish one’s writing instrument.

Last night I got lost south of the Eiffel Tower, because some fool left the hostel without a map. It turns out I unwittingly passed three Métro stations (with increasing desperation) before I made a huge circle, and found my way back.

A French woman, almost as harried as I was, tried to ask me directions of some sort. As I tripped over my tongue she realized her error and click-clacked on her way. I wish I knew even a little elementary French.

I am eating lunch at Café du Musée, across the street from the gold-domed Les Invalides (Napoleon’s tomb, specifically). The poor waiter. I did finally get a croque monsieur, and now I shall devour the raspberry tart (Tarte Fraise) that caught my eye.

Oh my, it was divine. Trés bien! I took a picture :D

The Musée d’Orsay did not disappoint, though of course I wish photography was allowed (of the gallery’s interior, not the art). I despise those who take pictures of the art, often standing not three feet from a sign expressly forbidding it. It’s completely missing the point of the gallery experience, in my opinion, and their crappy point and shoots won’t record the art any better than their contemplative memories could.

The architecture of the museum is sublime, however (an old train station). It did get somewhat hot, as the place was packed (the Louvre was closed).

Rodin was amazing (I keep over-using that word), as expected. Lots of good photos, I hope. Jaw-dropping evocations of suffering and physicality.

Last night before I got lost, I hung around la Tour Eiffel through the golden hour and into dusk. The sight of the tower lit up after the sun set almost brought me to tears with its beauty. I felt at peace, especially since I had shed that black canvas albatross of a camera bag and brought only my 24mm.

I’ve brought only my 50mm and grip, which I am enjoying the lightness of.

I love the way the French eat. So… refined. The coffee is really good, too.

The gendarmes are out in force today. Navy blue jumpsuited, wearing what look like catcher’s kneeguards. Big blue vans all over. Must be some sort of dignitary visiting? Could just be the area. I’m not sure. (And certainly my French is nonexistent, or else I’d ask)

(Later, I would learn that it was related to a protest of milk farmers happening that day, which caused tractors to gum up traffic near the Place de la République)

I had the luck to be seated next to a pleasant older French couple, who are entertaining to listen to (despite not following a single word of the conversation). They have a great rapport with the waiter, almost as if they had been coming here for years.

Paris - Day 2

Monday 2010-04-26

“Après le Photo Tour”

I met Randy Harris in front of the Hotel du Louvre this morning after a suitably frantic navigation of le Métro (which needn’t have been so frantic, had I correctly read the time to rendezvous.

I prefer London’s tube, at first blush, but it is similar enough. They have no in-car announcer (I later found that the newer, rarer trains do), so an eagle-eye on the cluttered station walls is required.

I am lunching at Sanseveria, across the street from le Jardin Tuilleries. I ordered a croque monsieur (open-faced ham and cheese, toasted), but the waitress brought an omelette. She was kind of forgetful, but cute, apologetic, and spoke English.

At least it was ham and cheese.

Randy is a great guide, and even knows a few people at Zillow (Doug Slotkin among others, who also used to be at HouseValues.com). Easy-going, lots of good stories, and really engages. Classic salesman, in other words. :)

We started in and around the Louvre, which even the exterior thereof is amazing. My tour companions: Greg & Denise, from San Francisco; Dennis & Cindy from Florida; Linda, a journalist from Miami. Greg & Denise were my favourite, coincidentally the first to arrive at the meeting point after I did.

We traveled a vague “S” through the Tuilleries garden, ducking into side streets almost at random (the shopping district around the rue de Rivoli, quite posh).

I am feeling a lot better about the culture shock today; perhaps a morning with Americans helped. The shower at the hostel is hilariously decrepit, but at least it is hot.

I may or may not regret lugging my 70-200 everywhere, but I kind of have no choice here. Ah well. I shall return to the States that much beefier (or sorer, which is the likelier outcome).

Paris - Day 1

Sunday 2010-04-25

I feel so alone. Which I guess was the point.

One does not travel to a country alone, not speaking the language, expecting anything else.

But still.

I am eating dinner at the Café Bata’clan. I was attracted by the vibrant facade, a fool’s motley of pastel. I felt like an idiot trying to order, eventually pointing and grunting at Tartine du Chef.

I still don’t know what it is.

I won the “single-serving friend” lottery for the second time in my life on the flight from Seattle to London. Matilda di Torino (she was from Torino, never got her last name) was consulting a guidebook to London when I found my seat.

She was moving from Vancouver to London, being employed by the Olympics in some capacity (she started in Torino). Really fun to talk to, as we compared notes. I neglected to wish her luck flat-hunting, which brings me to the next point.

I am never eating Asian food before an international flight again.

Especially the kind that has been stewing under a hot lamp for most of the day, along with very sketchy fried rice.

Combine that with a window seat, and, well, the distress was at times epic, and at others frustratingly reticent.

And that’s all I’m saying about that.

Onward to Paris!

I’ll be making my best effort to blog my experiences in Paris here. Woooooogottapackgottapackgottapack…