Paris Journal, Part 1
Paris Journal
6/2 Paris! (Monday)
Got in yesterday after one of those all-night flights with a time change that pushed us from 1am to 7am by the time we arrived. No sleep for me and Suz, a little for Nicholas. When we got to the apartment we were greeted by our very gracious hostess, Anne, who took us around to the local grocery store and also to the very lovely fresh market, where we picked up a few fruits and veggies, including some excellent French strawberries. Also got a cheap but good bottle of Chardonnay from the corner store, and even managed to read a little of my Philip K. Dick novel last night--but the whole "day" (or whatever you call it) passed in a strange blur of fatigue. We did manage a few hours sleep in the afternoon, but Suz had to run off to Cite Universitaire to meet her students and Nicholas was a bit of a basket case by evening, when we went to the local pizzeria.
Everybody's cheerier this morning after getting at least a bit of sleep, and starting to break out of the jet lag. Nicholas just had his first bath in our Paris tub, and came out to show me a silly new dance he just invented, smiling, rosy, and clean. I had strange broken dreams last night and popped awake at 6am to the light through the curtains (a bit too bright for me) and the unfamiliar street noises (not used to being in the city--any city--any more). Right now a siren is going off, and kids are pouring out of the school across the street. Looks like a fire drill. Sun's trying to come out.
Ok, time for some ablutions. And Nicholas has been promised that he can watch some more of Cars, which means I have to give up the laptop for now. A class of young kids--probably kindergarteners--is going by on the street. An old nun gives one of the teachers kiss on both cheeks (but didn't she kiss her on the forehead first?). The kitchen staff is standing around on the corner in white chef's coats and those grey-and-black checked pants. Lots to see out the window.
________________________________________________________________________
6/3 Tuesday
Notre Dame. Hugo's Notre Dame. Isle St. Louis. Hemingway. Allergies. Faster-than-light vehicles. Shopping at the supermarche.
Rainy off and on yesterday, and that's what they're calling for the next couple of days, but we made an expedition up to Notre Dame yesterday and got things off to a nice start. Nicholas was excited to see such a famous building, and we even got inside without waiting (I seem to remember a line to get in last time). Read in the guide book that the building was nearly torn down in the 19thC, but that the popularity of Hugo's Hunchback of Notre Dame, along with a revival of interest in Gothic architecture, saved it. Last night Suz read out a bit of Hemingway's Sun Also Rises, where he talks about the cathedral "squatting" on the island. That's a good choice of verb--makes me think of the building itself, with its ugly beauty, as a larger version of one of its own famous gargoyles.
After walking around the dark interior, looking at the stained glass, the statues, etc. we moved on to the Isle St. Louis, a favorite of ours from the last visit. We found the spot where we had our (to us) famous picnic of wine and brie and baguette. There was a steady shower by this time, which forced us to seek the expensive shelter of an awning at one of the local cafes. We had a pricey but delicious treat of glace vanille and sorbet fraise. Nicholas first thought the glace was the best, then the sorbet, then the glace, continuing back and forth in this manner the whole time we ate, in an exquisite agony of indecision. At one point, he said, "You know what this place is to me?" The answer: "Paradise!"
I had bad allergies all day, and they culminated in an uncontrollable fit of sneezing and weepy eyes by late afternoon. Same thing happened on Cape Cod last June, and also the year before. Apparently I'm now destined to be beset by killer June allergies wherever I am in the world.
~
Today Suzanne taught her first class, tackling Hemingway (manly metaphors seem appropriate in this case) and finding her students eager and bright-eyed, the natural vitality of youth working to counteract their jet lag. Nicholas and I went off to the Jardin Luxembourg, where we gazed at the palace, watched the old guys playing chess, fed the birds some of our daddy-packed pb&j picnic, looked at various intriguing sculpture installations (including one whose title translates roughly as "pot of legs, bouquet of feet"), inspected the various varieties of palm tree on view, gathered rocks, etc. Nicholas got particularly excited about the rocks, which were not the usual sort we find around home--especially when I told him I was pretty sure they are volcanic (which seems to me likely, given their waviform smoothness).
Before we went out, I had N. occupy himself for a bit by drawing faster-than-light aircraft, having explained to him that--Star Wars aside--we had conquered the sound barrier but had not yet topped the speed of light (I didn't get around to explaining that we would have to do so with space vehicles, not planes). After producing several fierce-looking designs, Nicholas wanted me to draw one. I conjured up something I thought was pretty sleek and impressive, but when I showed it to N. he smiled tolerantly and said, "Let me show you a model." After scrutinizing several models, I grasped the need for extra sets of wings and a plethora of guns, and thus managed to turn out something acceptable.
~
I didn't like the soy milk we picked up yesterday, so I went to the supermarche tonight to try to find another brand. It was difficult to locate, so I ended up inquiring "Avez-vous soja?" First I was shown a can of soy beans, but with the clarifier "a boire" I did eventually obtain the desired beverage. A small success in the on-going transatlantic negotiations, but I'll find out tomorrow morning if this one tastes any better. We haven't gone to a restaurant for a real French meal yet, which means that so far the usual food inconveniences faced by travelers are hanging in the balance with the compensatory treats (excellent strawberries, some good street-vendor crepes, mousse from the supermarche, good cheap wine plentifully available, etc.)
________________________________________________________________________
6/4 Wednesday
Eiffel Tower. Les Olivades. Vagabonds. The "lucky" ring. American library.
Made our inevitable trip to the Eiffel Tower today. The three of us are starting to get the hang of the Metro (sometimes a bit challenging with Nicholas in tow). On our last Paris visit, Suz and I only gazed at the tower from a bateau-mouche, so we didn't know about the carnivalesque scene at its base--crowds from the world over, street performers, ice cream, sketch artists (we got one done of Nicholas and the Eiffel tower, which was sort of fun, but the result was, alas, a poor likeness), a carousel, etc.. The lines to go up and take in the view were long, and Nicholas wasn't so sure he liked the idea anyway, so we confined ourselves to taking in the atmosphere and taking the usual pictures of ourselves against the backdrop of the tower. Not unlike Notre Dame, but with a modernist twist, it has a strange way of oscillating between beauty and ugliness when you see it up close. I'd like to see it lit up at night, but it stays light so late here--that is, so far past N.'s bedtime--that I don't know if we'll be able to manage it.
~
We also went for our first real French meal of the trip--at Les Olivades--selected from Pudlo's as one of the best bets in the 7th (the chef is Bruno Deligne, for those who know about such things). But the 12 Euro prix fixe lunch mentioned in the guide (which is 2007-2008) is apparently a thing of the past. It had gone up to 25E, and all told it was not by any means a cheap meal, but it was an experience. Pudlo's ratings ascend as follows: simple, comfortable, very comfortable, luxurious, very luxurious. Le Colimacon, the Marais restaurant we liked so well on our last visit, is listed as "simple." Les Olivades is listed as "comfortable," but we found it both as expensive and as formal as we are likely to be able to handle. The younger waitress who served us was very precise and very French, but friendly enough and game to shepherd a table of Americans through the ritual of a French meal. We went through only an attenuated version of this ritual, skipping the aperitif at one end and coffee at the other, and we expended a good deal of effort behaving ourselves, keeping Nicholas in line (he was actually very good), and summoning our very best French. With only a few rough patches we were able to understand and to be understood. The older matron of the establishment also participated in the service, and she was more formidable, but we succeeded, I think, in not provoking her full scorn. The meal was initiated by the waitress bringing us each a large plate bearing a tiny sort of scoop-like dish containing a small white disk. After placing these on the table, the waitress said to us repeatedly and emphatically, "Ne mangez pas!" (Do not eat!") Then she returned with an elegant pitcher and poured a few drops of water onto each of the white disks, at which point they expanded into white towers several inches high and revealed themselves to be wet naps for cleaning the hands before the meal. Suzanne and Nicholas had some marvelous, tiny, cheese-filled raviolis in pesto, served with shavings of fresh cheese (probably some variety of parm, i guess). I had the Black Tiger shrimp with finely minced papaya, pepper, and sweet onions, one of the dishes mentioned in Pudlo's. There were three, or perhaps four, of these good-sized shrimp, and then a thin line of the minced accompaniment along one edge of the plate. All very spicy and tasty, but though I am not a meat-and-potatoes sort of guy, I did find it a bit minimalist. Dessert was surprisingly unsweet (and therefore spurned by Nicholas)--a whipped "fromage blanc" with a layer of rhubarb sauce underneath, both a bit sour, but nevertheless delicious. For a touch of sweetness there were some sugar crystals sprinkled on top, and these turned out to fizz in the mouth--the "pop rocks" effect that is apparently popular these days (or so I have gleaned from reading the occasional food column in the Times). Nicholas did think that part was pretty cool.
~
The Indian fellow who did Nicholas's portrait was not much of an artist, but had the knack of seeming friendly and honest. Of course it was a smart line of his to say that Nicholas was so handsome that he really wanted to sketch him. Later, as we were leaving the scene and on our way to the American library, a slightly scroungy looking fellow of some non-French but European origin (possibly Italian) found a "gold" ring on the ground as were passing by. He made a big show of finding it, and of reading some initials on the inside that he took to signal that it was genuine gold. Then he tried it on his fingers but it was too small, so he tried it on mine (he had captured my interest) and the ring fit. He then gave me the ring, saying it must be my lucky day, bid us a cheery "Ciao," and headed on his way. After a minute, though, he trotted back to ask if I might perhaps spare the money for a sandwich. I obliged, in a mix of Euros and dollars (he almost didn't want to take one of the bills, which had a slight tear), and he took his farewell again. Later, it occurred to me that the whole thing had the aspect of a show (especially when he tried the ring on his fingers in a bigger-than-life, nothing-up-my-sleeve sort of way), and was most likely a well rehearsed scam. Anyway, if it was a scam, I don't really mind. He did look rather down and out, and probably could have used the lunch. I have a soft spot for vagabonds, and I don't really begrudge those who try to put their wits to use to fill their bellies. I got to know the street culture of Washington, D.C. way back when I was a bike courier, and I tend also to think of all the hungry artists--first and foremost, Henry Miller--who have written so sharply of trying to scrape up the next meal. Hemingway claimed to have gotten many a dinner out of the fat pigeons of Le Jardin du Luxembourg, waiting for the moment when the gendarme went off for his glass of wine and then sneaking up on his victim to wring its neck (whether true or not, the story has made it into our guidebook). But neither Hemingway nor Miller, it goes without saying, would have spurned a nice meal at Les Olivades, given the chance.
~
We also signed up for membership in the American Library of Paris. We got some videos for Nicholas (including Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame, of course), and a couple for ourselves as well, and Suz was able to get some books she needs for her teaching.
6/2 Paris! (Monday)
Got in yesterday after one of those all-night flights with a time change that pushed us from 1am to 7am by the time we arrived. No sleep for me and Suz, a little for Nicholas. When we got to the apartment we were greeted by our very gracious hostess, Anne, who took us around to the local grocery store and also to the very lovely fresh market, where we picked up a few fruits and veggies, including some excellent French strawberries. Also got a cheap but good bottle of Chardonnay from the corner store, and even managed to read a little of my Philip K. Dick novel last night--but the whole "day" (or whatever you call it) passed in a strange blur of fatigue. We did manage a few hours sleep in the afternoon, but Suz had to run off to Cite Universitaire to meet her students and Nicholas was a bit of a basket case by evening, when we went to the local pizzeria.
Everybody's cheerier this morning after getting at least a bit of sleep, and starting to break out of the jet lag. Nicholas just had his first bath in our Paris tub, and came out to show me a silly new dance he just invented, smiling, rosy, and clean. I had strange broken dreams last night and popped awake at 6am to the light through the curtains (a bit too bright for me) and the unfamiliar street noises (not used to being in the city--any city--any more). Right now a siren is going off, and kids are pouring out of the school across the street. Looks like a fire drill. Sun's trying to come out.
Ok, time for some ablutions. And Nicholas has been promised that he can watch some more of Cars, which means I have to give up the laptop for now. A class of young kids--probably kindergarteners--is going by on the street. An old nun gives one of the teachers kiss on both cheeks (but didn't she kiss her on the forehead first?). The kitchen staff is standing around on the corner in white chef's coats and those grey-and-black checked pants. Lots to see out the window.
________________________________________________________________________
6/3 Tuesday
Notre Dame. Hugo's Notre Dame. Isle St. Louis. Hemingway. Allergies. Faster-than-light vehicles. Shopping at the supermarche.
Rainy off and on yesterday, and that's what they're calling for the next couple of days, but we made an expedition up to Notre Dame yesterday and got things off to a nice start. Nicholas was excited to see such a famous building, and we even got inside without waiting (I seem to remember a line to get in last time). Read in the guide book that the building was nearly torn down in the 19thC, but that the popularity of Hugo's Hunchback of Notre Dame, along with a revival of interest in Gothic architecture, saved it. Last night Suz read out a bit of Hemingway's Sun Also Rises, where he talks about the cathedral "squatting" on the island. That's a good choice of verb--makes me think of the building itself, with its ugly beauty, as a larger version of one of its own famous gargoyles.
After walking around the dark interior, looking at the stained glass, the statues, etc. we moved on to the Isle St. Louis, a favorite of ours from the last visit. We found the spot where we had our (to us) famous picnic of wine and brie and baguette. There was a steady shower by this time, which forced us to seek the expensive shelter of an awning at one of the local cafes. We had a pricey but delicious treat of glace vanille and sorbet fraise. Nicholas first thought the glace was the best, then the sorbet, then the glace, continuing back and forth in this manner the whole time we ate, in an exquisite agony of indecision. At one point, he said, "You know what this place is to me?" The answer: "Paradise!"
I had bad allergies all day, and they culminated in an uncontrollable fit of sneezing and weepy eyes by late afternoon. Same thing happened on Cape Cod last June, and also the year before. Apparently I'm now destined to be beset by killer June allergies wherever I am in the world.
~
Today Suzanne taught her first class, tackling Hemingway (manly metaphors seem appropriate in this case) and finding her students eager and bright-eyed, the natural vitality of youth working to counteract their jet lag. Nicholas and I went off to the Jardin Luxembourg, where we gazed at the palace, watched the old guys playing chess, fed the birds some of our daddy-packed pb&j picnic, looked at various intriguing sculpture installations (including one whose title translates roughly as "pot of legs, bouquet of feet"), inspected the various varieties of palm tree on view, gathered rocks, etc. Nicholas got particularly excited about the rocks, which were not the usual sort we find around home--especially when I told him I was pretty sure they are volcanic (which seems to me likely, given their waviform smoothness).
Before we went out, I had N. occupy himself for a bit by drawing faster-than-light aircraft, having explained to him that--Star Wars aside--we had conquered the sound barrier but had not yet topped the speed of light (I didn't get around to explaining that we would have to do so with space vehicles, not planes). After producing several fierce-looking designs, Nicholas wanted me to draw one. I conjured up something I thought was pretty sleek and impressive, but when I showed it to N. he smiled tolerantly and said, "Let me show you a model." After scrutinizing several models, I grasped the need for extra sets of wings and a plethora of guns, and thus managed to turn out something acceptable.
~
I didn't like the soy milk we picked up yesterday, so I went to the supermarche tonight to try to find another brand. It was difficult to locate, so I ended up inquiring "Avez-vous soja?" First I was shown a can of soy beans, but with the clarifier "a boire" I did eventually obtain the desired beverage. A small success in the on-going transatlantic negotiations, but I'll find out tomorrow morning if this one tastes any better. We haven't gone to a restaurant for a real French meal yet, which means that so far the usual food inconveniences faced by travelers are hanging in the balance with the compensatory treats (excellent strawberries, some good street-vendor crepes, mousse from the supermarche, good cheap wine plentifully available, etc.)
________________________________________________________________________
6/4 Wednesday
Eiffel Tower. Les Olivades. Vagabonds. The "lucky" ring. American library.
Made our inevitable trip to the Eiffel Tower today. The three of us are starting to get the hang of the Metro (sometimes a bit challenging with Nicholas in tow). On our last Paris visit, Suz and I only gazed at the tower from a bateau-mouche, so we didn't know about the carnivalesque scene at its base--crowds from the world over, street performers, ice cream, sketch artists (we got one done of Nicholas and the Eiffel tower, which was sort of fun, but the result was, alas, a poor likeness), a carousel, etc.. The lines to go up and take in the view were long, and Nicholas wasn't so sure he liked the idea anyway, so we confined ourselves to taking in the atmosphere and taking the usual pictures of ourselves against the backdrop of the tower. Not unlike Notre Dame, but with a modernist twist, it has a strange way of oscillating between beauty and ugliness when you see it up close. I'd like to see it lit up at night, but it stays light so late here--that is, so far past N.'s bedtime--that I don't know if we'll be able to manage it.
~
We also went for our first real French meal of the trip--at Les Olivades--selected from Pudlo's as one of the best bets in the 7th (the chef is Bruno Deligne, for those who know about such things). But the 12 Euro prix fixe lunch mentioned in the guide (which is 2007-2008) is apparently a thing of the past. It had gone up to 25E, and all told it was not by any means a cheap meal, but it was an experience. Pudlo's ratings ascend as follows: simple, comfortable, very comfortable, luxurious, very luxurious. Le Colimacon, the Marais restaurant we liked so well on our last visit, is listed as "simple." Les Olivades is listed as "comfortable," but we found it both as expensive and as formal as we are likely to be able to handle. The younger waitress who served us was very precise and very French, but friendly enough and game to shepherd a table of Americans through the ritual of a French meal. We went through only an attenuated version of this ritual, skipping the aperitif at one end and coffee at the other, and we expended a good deal of effort behaving ourselves, keeping Nicholas in line (he was actually very good), and summoning our very best French. With only a few rough patches we were able to understand and to be understood. The older matron of the establishment also participated in the service, and she was more formidable, but we succeeded, I think, in not provoking her full scorn. The meal was initiated by the waitress bringing us each a large plate bearing a tiny sort of scoop-like dish containing a small white disk. After placing these on the table, the waitress said to us repeatedly and emphatically, "Ne mangez pas!" (Do not eat!") Then she returned with an elegant pitcher and poured a few drops of water onto each of the white disks, at which point they expanded into white towers several inches high and revealed themselves to be wet naps for cleaning the hands before the meal. Suzanne and Nicholas had some marvelous, tiny, cheese-filled raviolis in pesto, served with shavings of fresh cheese (probably some variety of parm, i guess). I had the Black Tiger shrimp with finely minced papaya, pepper, and sweet onions, one of the dishes mentioned in Pudlo's. There were three, or perhaps four, of these good-sized shrimp, and then a thin line of the minced accompaniment along one edge of the plate. All very spicy and tasty, but though I am not a meat-and-potatoes sort of guy, I did find it a bit minimalist. Dessert was surprisingly unsweet (and therefore spurned by Nicholas)--a whipped "fromage blanc" with a layer of rhubarb sauce underneath, both a bit sour, but nevertheless delicious. For a touch of sweetness there were some sugar crystals sprinkled on top, and these turned out to fizz in the mouth--the "pop rocks" effect that is apparently popular these days (or so I have gleaned from reading the occasional food column in the Times). Nicholas did think that part was pretty cool.
~
The Indian fellow who did Nicholas's portrait was not much of an artist, but had the knack of seeming friendly and honest. Of course it was a smart line of his to say that Nicholas was so handsome that he really wanted to sketch him. Later, as we were leaving the scene and on our way to the American library, a slightly scroungy looking fellow of some non-French but European origin (possibly Italian) found a "gold" ring on the ground as were passing by. He made a big show of finding it, and of reading some initials on the inside that he took to signal that it was genuine gold. Then he tried it on his fingers but it was too small, so he tried it on mine (he had captured my interest) and the ring fit. He then gave me the ring, saying it must be my lucky day, bid us a cheery "Ciao," and headed on his way. After a minute, though, he trotted back to ask if I might perhaps spare the money for a sandwich. I obliged, in a mix of Euros and dollars (he almost didn't want to take one of the bills, which had a slight tear), and he took his farewell again. Later, it occurred to me that the whole thing had the aspect of a show (especially when he tried the ring on his fingers in a bigger-than-life, nothing-up-my-sleeve sort of way), and was most likely a well rehearsed scam. Anyway, if it was a scam, I don't really mind. He did look rather down and out, and probably could have used the lunch. I have a soft spot for vagabonds, and I don't really begrudge those who try to put their wits to use to fill their bellies. I got to know the street culture of Washington, D.C. way back when I was a bike courier, and I tend also to think of all the hungry artists--first and foremost, Henry Miller--who have written so sharply of trying to scrape up the next meal. Hemingway claimed to have gotten many a dinner out of the fat pigeons of Le Jardin du Luxembourg, waiting for the moment when the gendarme went off for his glass of wine and then sneaking up on his victim to wring its neck (whether true or not, the story has made it into our guidebook). But neither Hemingway nor Miller, it goes without saying, would have spurned a nice meal at Les Olivades, given the chance.
~
We also signed up for membership in the American Library of Paris. We got some videos for Nicholas (including Disney's Hunchback of Notre Dame, of course), and a couple for ourselves as well, and Suz was able to get some books she needs for her teaching.
posted by Steve Shoemaker at 2:15 AM
0 Comments:
Post a Comment
<< Home