France, Day 6: The Louvre, the Trocadero, the Eiffel, les Invalides

3 May

Started the day with a visit to the Louvre. What a thing to say, “Started the day with a visit to the Louvre”. How good is that!! Some wonderful people on Trip Advisor had advised us to get there early, early, early and to take the Carrousel entrance, not the Pyramid one, which is where you get queues a mile long. So, take note: when you are in Paris and it is your day to feast your eyes on amazing artworks at this number two tourist attraction, enter via rue de Rivoli, at the Carrousel entrance. The result: a very, very short queue and we were in.

Oh, and this is something which totally blew me away – it only cost us €8 each. Can you believe that? Goodness, go to any tourism site in Australia and they want an arm and a leg, and here you have the Louvre, somewhere you could enter first thing in the morning, not come out until they close at night, and still feel you had only scratched the surface, and it costs €8. You can’t buy a sandwich at lunchtime for that in Perth. Okay, it’s gone up a little since then, but so has the price of a sandwich. Go figure.

Anyway, naturally everybody heads in the same direction first – but, oh, what a journey it is to get there, passing works of art of such beauty that you really could cry, passing Winged Victory, wanting to stop and just gaze at the staircases, the ceilings. I am writing this by reference to my journal which I wrote at the time and I think I’ll just reproduce here what I wrote then:

As you go up the stairs it becomes harder to breath – you enter a different realm. At times we had to just sit to try to take in the surroundings, and particularly the ceilings. At one point my eyes filled with tears just for the beauty of the place.

Because we got there so soon after opening, there was no huge crowd at the Mona Lisa and we were able to stand very close to her. There is SOMETHING, something very indefinable, about her. That is indeed the mystery, isn’t it? After all, so many other works of Da Vinci are much “nicer” or “better”, but she does hold in her face a mystery, and you are aware that you are looking at the most famous painting in the world, and to see it is really amazing.

There are so many other incredible artworks, some with beautiful, cheeky children. What stands out for me for the astonishing detail is the art of Italian painter Panini (and you thought it was just a sandwich!). His work is absolutely mind-blowing.

The painting which I was most affected by, though, was a large oil painting of a scene after Christ’s body has been taken down from the cross. He is being cradled very tenderly, and there is so much compassion and love in the arms holding him, but the aspect of this work that puts it far in front of anything for me is the two cherubs in the scene. One is holding Christ’s right hand, and the other is cradling his feet. They are pointing to the nail holes, and looking at each other as if to ask “Why?”, although that word is so insufficient in this case. I have never seen such anguish on faces ever, and you feel that if you touched their tears your fingers would come away wet. (As I write this, I can still feel that painting, five years down the track.)

Adore this!

And love this humour.

After, rather reluctantly, leaving the Louvre, we jumped on a Bus Rouge and went up to the Trocadero, the location on a hill looking across the river to the Eiffel Tower. There are - as you must expect in such a spot, and with such fabulous views and wonderful museums to visit – plenty of options for eating. We choose an outdoor table at Café Kleber and there, with a wonderful panorama in front of us, we lunched on the largest, most delicious servings of quiche that we had so far come across in Paris. The quiche was truly superb, as were the crunchy fresh chips which accompanied it. Oh, and of course, a pichet of rosé found its way to our table, as you must expect.

The two buildings, like arms, of the Trocadero perfectly frame the Eiffel and the Champ de Mars. (Don‘t worry, I’ll put a map link so you can check out this superb location.)

On a wall facing the museum on the right is a marvellous relief carving dedicated to French soldiers who fought in the Great War. It is huge, and it is really special in that they are being held and comforted by French soldiers –and perhaps Christ? – from the pages of history. It’s really beautiful.

While at the Trocadero we had a “moment”. As we were about to leave to walk down through the gardens and across the river to the Eiffel, we heard the sound of glorious voices massed in song. It was a choir from Madagascar, and here they were on the steps of this stunning site practising for an evening performance. Everybody around was entranced. They sounded heavenly, and it really did make the moment magical. To add to that, as we and the people around us were taking photographs of them, they – without missing a note – were taking photographs of their audience. What a blessing!

And what a view!

Feeling as though today was really living on another plane, we walked down past the beautiful water features, the delightful carousel, across the Seine and to the Eiffel. Ah, it is so much more somehow than you ever imagine. And so are the crowds. We wandered around, gazing up, up, up, and then strolled through the gardens abundant with spring blooms to the Place de Mars. The azaleas and roses were just amazing, and I think a real gardener would happily have passed the day there.

Looking forward

Looking back

Through rue de Grenelle we then went and came – all unplanned – to Les Invalides. Now, this is where Napoleon Bonaparte is interred, and this is the church with a Dome which is covered in 12 kilograms of gold. 12 kilos! Les Invalides was inviting, but the tour buses full of Spanish school kids weren’t, so after a quick walk around we decamped, as they say.

Remember, that's 12 kilos
of gold up there.

Talking of school kids, one thing which has really struck us here in Paris is the behaviour of groups of school students when they are on outings. We watch them, amazed, as they walk along the sidewalks in the usual two-by-two-holding-hands style, but they are not yelling and screaming, they always seem so well behaved! So nice to see. And the teachers – and there seems to be a lot less teachers per student than what we see here – are actually decently dressed. Apologies to any teachers I offend here, but sometimes I am disgusted when I see teachers on school outings here in Perth wearing track pants or old jeans, etc. And those teachers, even if there are two or three of them, are not doing the usual Aussie thing and hanging back at the end of the line just chatting away to each other or talking on their mobile phones; they are in amongst the children. Okay, they may also be smoking, but that’s a different matter entirely.

Just a lovely apartment building
on rue Grenelle

Well, today our feet got a real workout, and so we decided to head back to the right bank, pick up something to eat for dinner and have a quiet evening in with a long bath, a few drinks – and perhaps a quick late night dash around the corner to peek at the Louvre and the Eiffel flashing their lights and glory at us.

Tomorrow we continue walking Paris, taking in the totally gorgeous Petit Palais, catching a Batobus again, and having our eyes set alight on a Night Illuminations tour.  I do hope you'll join us.

Au revoir.

Post script:

If you get a moment, follow this link and visit The Louvre yourself – it’s a gorgeous
website and I think you will find yourself spending a few hours there.

And why not follow the route we took on this little outing on this map.

France, Day 5: Garnier Opera House, Handbags and a French Waiter

2 May

Today we continue our ambling around Paris, without any fixed schedule but just allowing the flow of the sidewalks and the sights and smells around us to guide our footsteps. 

 



Place Vendome

 

On leaving the hotel, instead of heading to the left, toward rue de Rivoli, we turn right, up to rue Saint-Honoré where we make a left and then continue on until we reach once more the understated elegance of Place Vendome.

 

 



Place Vendome looking toward the Ritz

 





So simple, so elegant



  



Don't think my Visa card is up to this

 

From here we again turn to the right, further away from the river, and stroll along rue de la Paix until we see, right there in front of us, the Garnier Opera House. To say it is impressive is just silly understatement; it is magnificent. 



Ta dah!

 Wondering whether the Phantom is watching us from some hidden eerie, we walk around the building, wanting to see it from every side. Sweeping staircases, superb carvings – it’s really almost too much to take in. Even the scaffolding, which seems to be ever-present in Paris, does nothing to dull the effect of this place. This building is so different to the Gothic magnificence of the Louvre, so different to the rounded symmetrical Haussmann architecture which surrounds our hotel; this is plainly and simply OTT gorgeous! Oh, and I’ll swear that the Music of the Night wasn’t playing only in my head; I’ll swear that it was emanating from the very stones and windows of that stunning building.

 

 

The beautiful foyer.

 

And so we go inside. We purchase our tickets to wander more or less at will, and prepare ourselves – or think we have, silly us – to feast our eyes on bling extraordinaire.

 

 

Stunning doorway.

 

There are wonderful items contained with the museum of the Opera House, items such as beautiful sketches of performances, programmes, artwork, and – breathtaking –Anna Pavlova’s costume for Swan Lake. You look at that, so tiny and beautiful, and know that you are in a world apart.

 

 

 

But of course it’s not the museum we have come here to see, is it; it is the full-on gorgeousness that the very name, Garnier Opera, offers. And it doesn’t disappoint. If the French economy starts doing a Greek (or a Spain, an Italy, an Ireland) dive down toward the bottom of the pool, they could always sell off some of the zillion tonnes of gold on show in this building. The strange thing is, opulence is often just garish and quite offensive, but this isn’t; this is just stunning.

The staircase, with the magnificent lights on either side, the little seating areas, the salon where patrons would linger and make clever conversation during intermissions, they are all quite breathtaking. This is indeed a feast for the eyes. I really can’t do it justice or describe it in a way that could convey to you any concept of what it is really like, and so I will just add in some photographs and hope you enjoy looking at them.

 

 

 

 

 

 Have your eyes recovered?  Oh, really? Try these.

 

 

 

 

 

 

It’s amazing, isn’t it? Oh, I just loved that place. Unfortunately, there was a rehearsal happening at the time and so we weren’t able to go into the main theatre area, but that is a joy we can put off for another time.

 

More?

   

 We left the Garnier and walked down Avenue de l’Opera, and in this way we came to a Fragonard store. Slim, elegant, beautifully “finished” sales attendants made a fuss of my husband and, basically, ignored me. While I sampled various scents he stood there glowing while gorgeous young things on either side offered “Monsieur”this and that men’s fragrance, piling him with samples to take home. Left more or less to my own devices, I selected a charming little lingerie bag as a gift for a cousin back home, but no perfume. You need to know that when you shop in small shops in Paris – even patisseries – the wrapping of the item is most important. This little piece of frivolity, this small lace bit of nothing, was lovingly ensconced first in layer after layer of tissue. It was then carefully wrapped in the sort of beautiful wrapping paper which we reserve for those dearest to us. That then was topped off with a ribbon, and then that, and my man’s collection of freebies, placed in an elegant carry bag. Ah, I love this place!

 

 

And still more?

 

We cut through back to rue Saint-Honoré and – oh, joy of joys – came across a handbag shop to make handbag lovers cry for the beauty of the window display. Could I pass it by? Don’t be silly. We entered to find a store of nothing but beautiful, real leather handbags of every colour of the rainbow, and – here’s a bonus – all made in France. I could easily have just sat down and spent a few hours gazing at the goodies on offer. However, my eyes had been drawn to two particular handbags, one in powder blue and white, the other in bone and tan. The owner of the store – an immaculately suited Asian gentleman – noting the direction of my loving gazes, removed those bags from their shelves and took me to the rear of the shop where, in front of huge mirrors, he invited me to “try them on”to see if they suited. Now, perhaps I’m the odd one out here, but I had never been invited to “try on” a bag in front of a mirror in my whole life; it was a new experience. Checking from all angles, twirling in front of those mirrors, I simply fell more deeply in love. Yes, of course I have those two handbags, and they are still loved, and they still live in their feather soft muslin bags, and I delight in seeing other women’s eyes grow large with admiration and envy whenever I “wear” one of them.

Could you resist this?

 

Sunshine, laughter, new handbags, and with the images of the Garnier still there on the front page of the mind, this is one wonderful day.

 

 

We drop our purchases off in our hotel room, happy little campers indeed, and then it is time to acknowledge that our tummies are trying to tell us something. There is a little café around the corner on rue de Rivoli, and so we go there to pick up a couple of baguettes avec jambon et fromage and then cross the road to our lovely Jardin des Tuileries, where we find a seat under a shady tree and watch the children laughing and giggling on their donkey ride as we munch happily on our delicious, cheap and simple lunch.

 

Where better could you eat your lunch?

 

With hunger sated, we walked along by the river until we came to a spot where one of the red hop-on-hop-off buses stops. We noticed one of the buses swaying from side to side, making its way slowly along the street towards the stop, and so we decided to take advantage of its appearance.

We purchased a two day ticket, took our seats and happily did the whole 2.5 hour circuit. It’s probably really a 2 hour circuit, but our driver, who looking like a backing vocalist for Bob Marley, had to take time to smoke at least one cigarette at every stop.
 

 

On the coach we got chatting to a young girl from Brisbane who was visiting Paris by herself for four days. She was staying at the Mercure Hotel on the Champs Elysees, which one would think of as a great location for a single traveller. Not her, though. She said she felt really unsafe in Paris. Interesting, isn’t it, how people react so differently to places. We don’t feel particularly safe in our home city, but do feel safe in Paris. Okay, I’ll qualify that: we feel safe in central Paris. Those ugly, economically depressed suburbs are not places we would venture to, and so they form no part of our Paris.

 

 

Now, I honestly believe that hop-on-hop-off buses are fantastic. When your feet are sore but you don’t want to miss a thing, they are a great option. We make use of them wherever we go, and it allows us to decide, “Oh, yes, we must go there”, or “Nah, that just doesn’t do it for me”.


 

One place we saw on this circuit which just captivated us was the Trocadero, on the opposite side of the Seine to the Eiffel, offering the best views of that iconic tower to be had in Paris.

 

 

When the bus dropped us back near our hotel, we agreed that it was high time to treat ourselves and visit a patisserie. There is a wonderful one on rue Saint-Honoré, just around the corner from the Emeraude Louvre Montana, and so we headed there. Joining the queue of ladies waiting to be given their daily bread, we had time as we slowly edged forward to check out the delicacies on offer.

 

Had to pop in another one, just because.



Now, I know that Acland Street in St Kilda has some great cake shops, but what you find in Paris – and elsewhere in France – is on a different level entirely. These are works of art, and selecting was difficult. It is also really noticeable that these cakes are not the huge, giant sized things which we see in cake shops here, which leave you with nothing but an enormous sense of guilt and a need to loosen your belt. No, these Parisienne lovelies are small and perfect. We chose our cakes, and headed back to our hotel room to relax with a good book, a delicious cake and a cup of coffee (remember, always go for a hotel where you can make yourself a cuppa in your room – so important!).

 

For dinner this evening we decided to try a different restaurant. We walked along rue Saint-Honoré until we found one that looked inviting. It was a simple little bistro and obviously quite popular with the locals as most of the conversation which flowed around us was in French, not English, Italian or German. On checking the menu, my man spotted an item called Andouillette Saucisse. Well, he thought, sausages might be the way to go. When the waiter took our order he peered over the top of his glasses at my husband and, with raised eyebrows and a look of doubt on his face, asked, “Do you know?” What an interesting question. I mean, just simply, “Do you know?” Obviously, we didn’t know but we were not going to admit that, so my husband smiled, nodded his head, and said, “Oiu, je sais”.



Okay, one last one.

Hm, hands up anybody who has been to France and, not knowing, has ordered this particular very-popular-with-locals dish? Well, the first thing you notice when your meal is placed on the table in front of you is the smell. You really want to get up and leave right then and there. This smell is B-A-D. I have read websites that refer to it as “the smell of death”, and some that call the Andouillette Saucisse “the sausage of death”. I was so glad that I had gone for a nice piece of veal with a creamy Normandy sauce and, of course, the obligatory frittes. My man, nevertheless, was determined to not be put off by the smell. He was, however, put off by the taste. It was disgusting. He offered me a bite. I took a tiny nip. I was put off, for life. Not wanting to give the waiter too much satisfaction, he bravely made it through half of his meal. What a man!



We have since discovered what goes into these particular sausages. Some are made the traditional way, with the skin actually being from a pig’s colon. The filling in the sausage is variously described as tripe, intestines, chittlings – but most often intestines. So, here we have a bunch of intestines, and other more solid looking bits that you really don’t even want to think about, all neatly, and tightly, encased in a pig’s colon. Now, doesn’t that sound delicious to you? I have since discovered that there are many, many French people who almost throw up just at the memory of Andouillette, and I have come across two other men – my brother, and my dentist – who having unknowingly ordered this French speciality. Their minds are cruel enough to hold the memory of the experience front and centre. Urgh!!!!

Our waiter, no doubt extremely pleased that my husband hadn’t really known, hadn’t quite finished with us, however. As is the habit here in Australia, and no doubt many other places in the world, when we ordered our dessert we also ordered our coffee. We definitely did not know that this is considered a huge faux pas by some French people. Obviously we did not want our coffee with our dessert, but we were just getting the ordering of it out of the way. The top half of our waiter’s torso pulled back so that his body was slanting away, obviously trying to seek refuge from these ignorant foreigners, and, peering once more over his glasses, he asked, “And when would you like that served? Would you like it with your dessert, after your dessert, or perhaps you would like it at breakfast time?” Well, what does one say – or do – in such a situation? Was he being incredibly rude, or was he being a smart-mouth? Who knows, and who really cares. I prefer to think of it as being a smart-mouth, the sort of thing you expect on a 30 minute sit-com set in New York, and so I refused to take offence. We assured him that after dessert would be fine, and he trotted away as happily as his repertoire allowed.



Ah, tomorrow!

Ah, what a fantastic day, just wonderful. Catch you tomorrow, when we’re off to the Louvre – aaahhh – the Eiffel Tower, Les Invalides and the Trocadero. See you then. 

 

France, Day 4: Giverny

1 May

I remember so clearly the day that I went along with my sister to the Art Gallery of WA to see the Monet exhibition. The exhibition was beautifully presented, and the famous Water Lilies were placed in the perfect position for viewing. My sister and I sat on a bench, tears in our eyes as we gazed at that particular painting, so exquisite is it. You would swear that the canvas itself is embedded with gentle, soft lights. Monet was indeed a master.

How, then, could I visit Paris and not spend time at his beloved property in Giverny? It would be impossible, of course. And so it was that, on day four of our time in Paris, we boarded a bus for the short drive to that special place. When we set off from Paris the sky was blue, the sun was shining, the day was gorgeous. Then, however, as with that first night of our holiday, there was a sudden rain storm. I’m talking torrential. Our coach driver – and just about every other motorist on the auto route at that time – pulled over to the hard shoulder because the rain was so heavy that visibility was absolutely zero. The noise of the rain on the roof of the vehicle was incredible, like a train tearing through a tunnel. But then, just as if somebody had reached across to a master control panel and flicked the “off” switch, the rain stopped, the sun came back out, and the only problem then with visibility was that incredible glare from the wet road in the bright sunlight. Crazy!

 

Giverny - could anything be more beautiful.

You may be wondering, of course, why we got a coach and didn’t make our own way via train. Well, this was our first trip to France and the idea of a coach trip with a little bit of commentary along the way, suited us perfectly. Oh, and remember that I was still hobbling around a bit, and so I was a tad dubious about getting up and down stairs at railway stations. The coach was comfortable, and being so high up as you are in those tourist buses you are afforded a great view of the countryside you pass through. Okay? Just thought I should get that issue out of the way.



Or more peaceful.

 

Anyway, we passed housing estates and houses, passed the river, and the river again, and the river again – that’s the thing with rivers, isn’t it, they pop up again and again, never keeping to a straight line, bohemian non-conformists that they are. Through little villages, whose names I didn’t note and can’t now remember, we went, and then came to THE PLACE.  Honestly, it was so exciting I almost didn’t want to pass through the gates. You know how it is, you worry that perhaps the reality may not live up to your expectations, or – even worse – that it will and you don’t think you will be able to bear the beauty of it.

 

Or



simply



more right?

I have to tell you, it more than lived up to our expectations. Ah, if you get to France do not, and I really mean, do not pass up the opportunity to spend time wandering around those gardens. The Japanese bridge is there, just as he painted it. You feel as though you are yourself in a painting. So what if the bridge is packed shoulder to shoulder with tourists, all having their photographs taken there with the wisteria and the willows and the waterlilies? So what, indeed. This is magical stuff.

 

 

 

 

 

 

The gardens have been maintained expertly, and obviously with much love, in just the way that Claude Monet himself designed them, and it is a privilege and an honour to stroll around them, delighting over the colours, the textures, the absolute glorious abundance of it all. You want to photograph everything, yet at the same time  you want to photograph nothing but just to breathe in the beauty of the place.

The family home is truly charming, nothing beige and tasteful but something which you just know rang with lots of laughter, a home in the real sense of the word, a place where silence was never considered golden. It has colour, it has life, it has – oh, what is that expression, folks – a certain joie de vivre. I loved it and could just imagine sitting in that fantastic kitchen eating great food, drinking copious quantities of good cheap quaffing wine, and stroking the cat while conversation flowed all around and through me.

Even the gift shop is a delightful place to visit, I assure you, and so my credit card got a bit of a battering, but it was  well and truly worth it. I look at the drink coasters that I purchased there and I can still feel the magic of that day. Had we suddenly been told that we had to fly home to Perth that night I would have said, “It is enough".

I know you want more Giverny, so here you are:

 

C'est tout.