A Long Perspective

Author: Francine Walls

  • Francine in Paris -Day 11++

    Bus #69.

    After the Palm Sunday service, we started to look for Bus #69 which is the scenic route to Pere Lechaise, the 30 acre cemetery with some quick but mostly dead folks.  The quick ones were at Jim Morrison’s tomb tying elastic bands in the security fence along with metro tickets that said things like, “I know you!!”  A crowd was there to meditate on the 27 year rock star who died in Paris in 1971.  The neighboring tomb holders wanted Jim to rock  somewhere else when the tomb renewal came up, but Jim’s family decided to keep him there.

    Tip:  If you come to Parus, bus #69 is a lovely way to orient yourself to the city for the price of a metro ticket or two.  It makes a big loop around the city.  We only knew this because of Deanna’s friends, Michael and Kerrie-Beth, who love Paris and gave us many wonderful ideas for our stay here.  The apartment that we rented here is owned by their friends.  All in all, their tips have enhanced our trip here in so many ways.  Thank you!

    After enjoying bus #69, we explored Pere Lechaise not only finding Jim Morrison but also Chopin’s grave, Abelard and Heloise’s elaborate tomb and, of course, the monument to Oscar Wilde.  (I love you, Oscar!). The tradition at Oscar’s grave is to kiss the gigantic stone Art Deco angel and leave your redlipstick kiss.  Well, that tradition was destroying the monument so the powers that be put up a plexiglass-glass barrier around it.  Did that stop folks?  No.  Now they kiss the plexi or climb up above the plexi to leave a kiss on the stone.  People used to write notes on the stone.  One I remember from an earlier visit was a note that said, “Oscar, you saved my life. Thank you.”

    Since it was cold and cloudy today, we needed a cozy place.  As we left the cemetery, we saw a modest cafe called”CDB” which turned out to have a tasty roast chicken and frites lunch for a reasonable price of 11.5 euros.  Deanna wrapped up the extra bread for our breakfast, and when we were warm and full we headed out the door.  Less than a block away was the Gambetta metro, and we were in our way home.  Amen and amen.

  • Francine in Paris – Day 11+

    Think chocolate eclairs so filled with soft chocolate and glazed with chocolate that it might as well be a soft chocolate bar.  Yum, browsing in any of the many patisseries around Paris can be a spiritual experience.  I won’t even mention the pain au chocolat we bought for breakfast.

    Palm Sunday at the American Church in Paris was a treat.  We were greeted at the church door with (first, a security guard) a man who gave us a piece of boxwood and a cross made of plant fiber.  The church is non-denominational.  It looks very Parisian built in the 19th century with lovely high, stained glass windows.  The organ is enormous and is center-stage with the organist sitting behind the altar and below the pipes. It is LOUD.  We sang “All glory laud and honor” led by the organ.  This was the associate pastor’s first Sunday in Paris, Timothy Vance from Bellevue, WA, naturally, so they had him preach.  Brave man, the place was packed.  The choir sang “Kyrie eleison” by Puccini.  The hand bell choir did Acclamation.  Big Wow.

    Deanna and I sat between two persons of interest. To my right was Margaret who is a member of the church and the wife of Zimbabwe’s representative to UNESCO which is one of the UN’s specialized agencies and housed nearby.  Since her husband works for Zimbabwe’s President Mugabe, I did not offer my opinion on their government.  Expletive deleted.  I did tell her that I had taught in Botswana, her neighbor.

    To Deanna’s left sat Dietrich a man who said he was born in Germany, has degrees in education and law and travels between Paris, London and New York as a lawyer and consultant.  He attends the American church once a month when he is in town.  He was sorry that we will miss the Easter service here next Sunday.  Actually, the pastor made a point of asking the congregation to attend the Easter service at either 9AM or 1:30 as the 11AM service would be crammed to over-flowing with the “Christmas and Easter Christians.”  (Who we love!, he added.)

    After the service, Dietrich introduced us to the senior pastor who, of course, has a son attending Lewis and Clark College and many other connections of the “small world ” variety.  Fun!

     

     

  • Francine in Paris – Day 11

    Le Dimache des Rameaux.  Palm Sunday in Paris.  We are off to the American Church on Quai d’Orsay not to be confused with the American Cathedral near the George V hotel.  (The Hotel Geoge V is so luxurious and posh that Deanna made a special trip just to photograph the flower arrangements.  She was immediately greeted politely by a woman asking to help her – namely help her out of the hotel.  The flowers are over the top, Deanna says!)

    Last Friday night, we met my British friends, Ken and Annie, at Cafe Verlaine in the Latin Quarter near the Pantheon on Descartes St.   In the cafe building both Paul Verlaine, the Symbolist poet, and Hemingway lived at various times.  Verlaine had a stormy love affair with Rimbaud and drank himself to an early grave with Absinth, that anise flavored spirit beloved by Picasso and so many other artists.

    When we arrived at Cafe Verlaine, Bridget, one of the owners and friends of Ken and Annie, opened the door, welcomed us and pointed us to K&A seated by the front windows.  The cafe is quite narrow and deep with a kitchen and large room for groups in the basement.  The decorations include photos of Verlaine, guitars, photos of famous visitors such as Paul Newman and quotes such as the following:  “If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life it will stay with you, for Paris is a moveable feast.”  Hemingway, natch.

    Well, feast is the right word.  The chef has been with them over 20 years and trained as a patisserie chef so the desserts are scrumptious.  My last two desserts there were creme brûlée and an Apple tarte with coffee ice-cream and creme fraiche.

    If you come here for dinner, flip to the next-to -the last page of the menu.  For 21 euros, you can select from a list an appetizer, main dish and dessert.  Best deal in town for a delicious meal.  The best parts of Cafe Verlaine though are the owners, Nicos (Greek) and Bridget (from Brittany) and their son (who considers himself Greek) and the waiters – a friendly, attentive bunch.  Plus, you never know who you will meet.

    We had just sat down when 8 British men came in the door.  They had no reservation, but one of them had been there before.  Ken,  a Brit from Peckhem in London, immediately talked with them.  They had just flown over from London to attend a French vs. English rugby match, and they were happy!  “If we can crush France in the first 20 minutes of the game, we’ll win!”  Then they went on to drink vast quantities of champagne, sing Swing Low Sweet Chariot and order a bottle of wine for OUR table.  (Rumor has it that the Brits did win the match the next day, but did they Paris Three 2010 155crush them in the first 20 minutes?)

    More later, must go to church.

     

     

  • Francine in Paris – Day 10

    Buskers on the Metro underground come in all kinds.  Some stand in the subterranean tunnels and serenade you as you pass hoping for your spare change.  Some play violins or clarinets with accompaniment from a sound system and iPhone.  My favorite was an ensemble of seven men playing accordions and guitarist and singing boisterous folk songs enthusiastically.  You could hear them from far off – enough time to dig out some coins for their basket.

    Buskers also come into the cars.  Sometimes elderly men come on and play their accordions.  One young man brought his electric violin and sound system.  He played two tunes then walked up and down the car holding out his cup for coins.  As the train pulled into the stop at La Motte, he’s ready to get out and run to the next car up and do it all again.  His violin was so new it still had the bar code on the back.  Hmmm, it there real money in this?  Other folks just get on and start haranguing everyone about politics or else they tell their story to one person at a time.  All in all, I find I carry my coins in an accessible pocket to make it easier to donate.

    Today, I visited Musee Marmottann.  Right now, there’s an exhibition called Art and the Child which has paintings depicting children from the 16th (?) century to the 19th century.  The Marmottan grew and changed focus as families donated their works of art e.g. a son of Monet donated his collection of his father’s paintings including “Impression, Sunrise,” which led to the naming of the artists as Impressionists.  BTW, when I asked the location of that particular painting, the guard said it was in Japan.  Right.  Also here is an entire room of paintingsParis Three 2010 005 by Berthe Morisot who painted primarily women and children in pastel hues.  Lovely.

     

  • Francine in Paris – Day 9

    Macarons.  Macarons.  Walking around Paris, many of the sweets shops feature these dainty circles in many flavors.  Even Martha Stewart has a recipe:  confectioner’s sugar, almonds, egg whites, salt and, yes, more sugar.  Then, you make the filling.  Deanna and I bought chocolate macaroons from a lovely shop, deNeuville, in the Marais on rue VIelle du Temple.  (Taste?  Think yummy chocolate bar.). The streets in the Marais are narrow with many old and beautiful buildings such as the two that house Musee Carnavalet, the museum of the history of Paris.

    My musings were interrupted by the gas repairman who came up the 78 steps to the 4th floor apt. to check the problem with the hot water heater.  For the first few days here there was both hot water and heat.  Then both went off.  Now, you have to go to the hot water heater and flip a switch when you want hot water or heat.  Then in less than an hour both go off.  The repairman spoke rapid French, but I caught the gist.  Namely, the water pressure is poor, so there is nothing to be done.  A friend of the owners came by yesterday with two of her friends, one of whom was a handy man who apparently diagnosed the issue correctly.  (So in the tiny kitchen, we had an American, a Pole, an Italian and a man from Belgium all communicating in French and English to varying degrees.)  Only Krystyna, a woman from Belgium with a Polish origin, was truly bi-lingual.   C’est la vie.  Pas de problem.

    Back to Musee Carnavelet.  This townhouse, Hotel Carnavalet, was built in 1548 then revamped in the mid-17th century by arcitect, Francois Mansart.  The museum also includes the mansion next door, Hotel Le Peletier de Saint-Farageau.  Altogether the history ranges from pre-history to the late 19th century.  Unfortunately, they rotate the open rooms, so today the area covering the French Revolution was closed.  Thus, I could not show Deanna the scale model of the guillotine.  Quel domage.

    Some of the rooms have been brought from other locations and reassembled here.  For example, the early 20th century ballroom of the Hotel de Wendel was reconstructed.  An immense mural covers the walls and the high ceiling which is of the Queen of Sheba (and her court) by the Catalan designer and painter, Jose Maria Sert y Badia.  How wonderful it would have been to dance there.  Magical.

    After the museum, we wandered down the street to a creperie for lunch; it is called Page 35.  The chef greeted us at the door dressed all in white with a tall chef’s hat.  He was so delighted to see us, we felt right at home.  The crepes here are either savory or sweet.  The savory ones are made with buckwheat flour.  Mine had four kinds of cheeses. Tasty.

    After lunch, we walked around the Marais shops and came to a large memorial garden with an opening in a wall made of ancient, black beams, half-timbered.  Deanna pointed out that the beams did not rot because they do not touch the soil but have a base that must have been rock now concrete. In this lovely quiet place is a plaque with the names of some of the 500 Jewish infants taken and murdered by the Nazi’s.  Their ages are in months.  You cannot go far in Paris without a reference to one of the great wars or other tragedies.

    Paris 2010 485