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.
