Paris without backache
Jul 7th, 2005, 10:34 AM
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Paris without backache
This Thursday morning, I set off for my second weekend flat-swop this summer, this time without the self-inflicted backache.
Today, of course, turned out to have its own real sorrows. As the train approached Paris, people with mobiles started talking with some urgency, and finally word went round that something terrible had happened in London.
The weather in Paris was as grey and cloudy as my mood, and checking the news websites as soon as I got to the flat didn't lift it (the BBC site was completely overwhelmed for a time). I sent a few emails to check, but, basically, I was stuck in the city of frivolity, with nothing to do but be frivolous. On the principle of KBO and nil carborundum (what these people want is for us to cower in our caves, so I have no intention of doing so), I did what I would have done.
After an indifferent lunch, during which the drizzle turned to rain and back again, I went to the Marché d'Aligre, only to find that the rain had stopped play completely, and there was now only heaps of detritus and a few adventurous (or desperate) souls joining the sparrows and pigeons picking over the leavings: melons cut open to show how good they were, and the last abandoned trays of nectarines, apricots, strawberries and avocadoes.
Back to the flat for some more messages (the estate where I live has an internet messageboard which was reassuringly busy), and some worries about my exchange partner: I can't remember if he's travelling to London from Paris after work or from elsewhere in Britain, but he's certainly going to have a difficult journey. He might remember from past visits to try the boat services - but if he's travelling late, it'll be a matter of fighting over taxis, even assuming they can get through the jams. But again, there was nothing useful I can do.
I walked through the Marais as I usually do. The Place des Vosges was quiet, and I sneaked a photo of a bored assistant smoking in one of the galleries. I became aware of a repeated car horn, which usually means a blockage or a demonstration of some sort: up a narrow sidestreet came a Rolls-Royce with wedding ribbons (with Mazel Tov woven into them), followed by a string of other decorated cars. At the corner, the Rolls turned, and in the back - no bride, no groom, no tense-looking father, nobody at all; and as it roared off one way, the other cars went straight on. I can only assume they wanted to get to the ceremony before the bride - or were they celebrating a reprieve for one or other party?
This time I bought my chocolates for the office early, at Cacao et Chocolat in the rue Vieille du Temple - and some macarons to take back to my book club meeting next week. At a clothes shop nearby, the window mannequins were made of layers of ribbed cardboard like the framework for an internal former. One of them was in the shape of a little dog, and what should turn up with its owner but an elegant terrier of about the same size and shape. But would it go window-licking to make that perfect photo? Of course not. And while I was crouching close to the ground in hopes, a passing Labrador came and sniffed all around me, but I stood up and moved away before he got any idea of cocking his leg.
Also nearby is the most amazing tile-shop, featuring solid stone washbasins (don't ask how much), and various thick floor tiles made of what look like real pebbles (or shells and sand, or nuts and bolts) enclosed in (presumably) acrylic.
Half an hour's people-watching over a pot of tea in a café, and I was ready to go back to the flat, noticing en route not only that all the placarding for Paris's Olympic candidature seems to have vanished from the metro already, but also that there were, unusually for Paris, public address warnings about unattended baggage. Otherwise, there's not much sign of increased concern or anxiety; and the radio news talks of calm in London (well, what else?).
I had to road-test the macarons when I got back, of course. They don't last long, do they?
Today, of course, turned out to have its own real sorrows. As the train approached Paris, people with mobiles started talking with some urgency, and finally word went round that something terrible had happened in London.
The weather in Paris was as grey and cloudy as my mood, and checking the news websites as soon as I got to the flat didn't lift it (the BBC site was completely overwhelmed for a time). I sent a few emails to check, but, basically, I was stuck in the city of frivolity, with nothing to do but be frivolous. On the principle of KBO and nil carborundum (what these people want is for us to cower in our caves, so I have no intention of doing so), I did what I would have done.
After an indifferent lunch, during which the drizzle turned to rain and back again, I went to the Marché d'Aligre, only to find that the rain had stopped play completely, and there was now only heaps of detritus and a few adventurous (or desperate) souls joining the sparrows and pigeons picking over the leavings: melons cut open to show how good they were, and the last abandoned trays of nectarines, apricots, strawberries and avocadoes.
Back to the flat for some more messages (the estate where I live has an internet messageboard which was reassuringly busy), and some worries about my exchange partner: I can't remember if he's travelling to London from Paris after work or from elsewhere in Britain, but he's certainly going to have a difficult journey. He might remember from past visits to try the boat services - but if he's travelling late, it'll be a matter of fighting over taxis, even assuming they can get through the jams. But again, there was nothing useful I can do.
I walked through the Marais as I usually do. The Place des Vosges was quiet, and I sneaked a photo of a bored assistant smoking in one of the galleries. I became aware of a repeated car horn, which usually means a blockage or a demonstration of some sort: up a narrow sidestreet came a Rolls-Royce with wedding ribbons (with Mazel Tov woven into them), followed by a string of other decorated cars. At the corner, the Rolls turned, and in the back - no bride, no groom, no tense-looking father, nobody at all; and as it roared off one way, the other cars went straight on. I can only assume they wanted to get to the ceremony before the bride - or were they celebrating a reprieve for one or other party?
This time I bought my chocolates for the office early, at Cacao et Chocolat in the rue Vieille du Temple - and some macarons to take back to my book club meeting next week. At a clothes shop nearby, the window mannequins were made of layers of ribbed cardboard like the framework for an internal former. One of them was in the shape of a little dog, and what should turn up with its owner but an elegant terrier of about the same size and shape. But would it go window-licking to make that perfect photo? Of course not. And while I was crouching close to the ground in hopes, a passing Labrador came and sniffed all around me, but I stood up and moved away before he got any idea of cocking his leg.
Also nearby is the most amazing tile-shop, featuring solid stone washbasins (don't ask how much), and various thick floor tiles made of what look like real pebbles (or shells and sand, or nuts and bolts) enclosed in (presumably) acrylic.
Half an hour's people-watching over a pot of tea in a café, and I was ready to go back to the flat, noticing en route not only that all the placarding for Paris's Olympic candidature seems to have vanished from the metro already, but also that there were, unusually for Paris, public address warnings about unattended baggage. Otherwise, there's not much sign of increased concern or anxiety; and the radio news talks of calm in London (well, what else?).
I had to road-test the macarons when I got back, of course. They don't last long, do they?
Jul 7th, 2005, 10:14 PM
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HiPL. I am traveling to PAris for the 1st time next month from US. Any tips on what NOT to miss or what I should not do while in Paris? Do I need to learn French. Will be spending 10 days there with my husband. Thanks for any help...
Jul 8th, 2005, 07:52 AM
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Thanks for the good wishes. I'm thinking about today's notes, but I've had a lazy day.
For trixinparis, try the 'Paris superthread' for all the many and varied contributions and suggestions Fodorites have made over the years:
http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34519236
For what to see and not to see, so much depends on what you like to see. I'd suggest you start by taking one of the bus tours to orient yourself - you can do it yourself using the ordinary service buses, but for a first-timer, a tourist bus with an English commentary makes more sense. Then use the metro, but don't forget this is also a walking city, and some of the most interesting things can be seen by mere chance while walking around. Some ideas might be:
- Sunday morning/afternoon around the place des Vosges, rue des Francs Bourgeois and the rest of the Marais
- get to Metro Trocadéro for 9 or 10pm to see the light display on the Eiffel Tower from outside the museum buildings
- on a Friday evening, see the rollerblade rally (you might need to ask your hotel to check out the route and suggest a good place to see it pass: www.pari-roller.com)
But that's my particular tastes. There are museums and views galore; and with 10 days, you would certainly have time to take a daytrip by train somewhere, Versailles, Vaux-le-Vicomte - these boards are full of suggestions.
As for learning French: well, it will certainly help to know how to say 'Bonjour', 'Merci', 'S'il vous plait', 'Pardon/excusez-moi' and 'Au revoir', and above all 'Parlez-vous anglais?'. The most mundane transactions, and no matter who with, are usually bracketed with various combinations of those expressions, just as they would (or should) be in English. As long as you're seen to have made that much of an effort, (even?) the French will forgive you for not being able to speak much more of the language. It would be useful to be able to recognise common phrases for public announcements and notices, especially around public transport, which a good phrasebook should have. See also www.ratp.fr (the Paris public transport authority).
For trixinparis, try the 'Paris superthread' for all the many and varied contributions and suggestions Fodorites have made over the years:
http://www.fodors.com/forums/threads...p;tid=34519236
For what to see and not to see, so much depends on what you like to see. I'd suggest you start by taking one of the bus tours to orient yourself - you can do it yourself using the ordinary service buses, but for a first-timer, a tourist bus with an English commentary makes more sense. Then use the metro, but don't forget this is also a walking city, and some of the most interesting things can be seen by mere chance while walking around. Some ideas might be:
- Sunday morning/afternoon around the place des Vosges, rue des Francs Bourgeois and the rest of the Marais
- get to Metro Trocadéro for 9 or 10pm to see the light display on the Eiffel Tower from outside the museum buildings
- on a Friday evening, see the rollerblade rally (you might need to ask your hotel to check out the route and suggest a good place to see it pass: www.pari-roller.com)
But that's my particular tastes. There are museums and views galore; and with 10 days, you would certainly have time to take a daytrip by train somewhere, Versailles, Vaux-le-Vicomte - these boards are full of suggestions.
As for learning French: well, it will certainly help to know how to say 'Bonjour', 'Merci', 'S'il vous plait', 'Pardon/excusez-moi' and 'Au revoir', and above all 'Parlez-vous anglais?'. The most mundane transactions, and no matter who with, are usually bracketed with various combinations of those expressions, just as they would (or should) be in English. As long as you're seen to have made that much of an effort, (even?) the French will forgive you for not being able to speak much more of the language. It would be useful to be able to recognise common phrases for public announcements and notices, especially around public transport, which a good phrasebook should have. See also www.ratp.fr (the Paris public transport authority).
Jul 8th, 2005, 09:21 AM
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Friday:
I woke late and the weather was grey, so I put off the idea of a day outside Paris (I'd been thinking about Auvers-sur-Oise) and after a leisurely breakfast went off to look at the Opéra Garnier. I didn't bother with a guided tour (the auditorium was closed for rehearsals anyway), but just took a ticket for the main foyers/staircase and library areas (€7). The décor is as gloriously preposterous as you would expect from that part of the 19th century, but if you imagine it filled with the gratin in their finest bustles and furbelows, it makes more sense: it is a 'see and be seen' place, where the audience intended itself to be as much a part of the show as anything on the stage. In the library there was an exhibition of colourful designs for opera and ballet by André Derain, which made an interesting contrast with their collection of ultra-realist late 19th century stage models.
After that I followed up a suggestion in a recent promotional flyer from 'Time Out' and went for a wander through the areas behind the Gare St Lazare and the place de Clichy, but it didn't seem particularly interesting. The quartier de l'Europe (where all the streets are named after major European cities) struck me as just the kind of featureless Hausmann-style regularity which makes a 100-yard walk feel like a route march through mud, and reminded me why I'd taken so against the western, "grand boulevard" side of Paris in the past. True, as the flyer said, the area around place de Clichy is a working, non-touristy place, with Indian restaurants rubbing shoulders with Japanese and Vietnamese, but if the ebb and flow of cultures across the world is your thing, then Belleville (or even better, London) is the place to see it.
So I stopped for lunch and a read of the newspaper I'd bought. No prizes for guessing the main story, but I was more shocked than I'd expected. Ten years ago I was working barely yards from where a young Irishman blew himself up on a bus, but it was still shocking to see these pictures of places I know and travel past so often. The paper's commentary was nothing but warm and sympathetic, and the public sentiments from politicians and so on entirely generous. In one picture of Chirac at Gleneagles I noticed that someone in the French Embassy had been alert enough to make sure he wore the little badge the British Legion is selling as a 'Thank you' fundraiser for this week's formal commemmorations of the end of WW2 (incidentally, I wonder what will happen about the big parade to the Palace that's due on Sunday).
On to the Hotel de Ville for the exhibition about Jewish life in the Marais, up to and after the deportations. These free exhibitions at the Hotel de Ville (there was a wonderful one about Piaf last year) are intended for the Parisians, so there are no linguistic concessions to foreigners; but it had some fascinating photos, documents and video interviews. It runs until 27 August.
In the metro:
- a man launching into the usual beggar's spiel, but without looking at anybody and in the same sort of mechanical tone and as divorced from the sense of the script as a flight attendant's safety announcements: he barely waited to see if anyone would respond before he was off again
- an eight-piece Ukrainian band in the most sonorous part of the interchange tunnels at République - buy a CD for only €23! (they were good, but not that good)
- elsewhere in the interchange tunnels, a large man washing his bare feet from a bottle of water: but no sign of footwear anywhere.
I woke late and the weather was grey, so I put off the idea of a day outside Paris (I'd been thinking about Auvers-sur-Oise) and after a leisurely breakfast went off to look at the Opéra Garnier. I didn't bother with a guided tour (the auditorium was closed for rehearsals anyway), but just took a ticket for the main foyers/staircase and library areas (€7). The décor is as gloriously preposterous as you would expect from that part of the 19th century, but if you imagine it filled with the gratin in their finest bustles and furbelows, it makes more sense: it is a 'see and be seen' place, where the audience intended itself to be as much a part of the show as anything on the stage. In the library there was an exhibition of colourful designs for opera and ballet by André Derain, which made an interesting contrast with their collection of ultra-realist late 19th century stage models.
After that I followed up a suggestion in a recent promotional flyer from 'Time Out' and went for a wander through the areas behind the Gare St Lazare and the place de Clichy, but it didn't seem particularly interesting. The quartier de l'Europe (where all the streets are named after major European cities) struck me as just the kind of featureless Hausmann-style regularity which makes a 100-yard walk feel like a route march through mud, and reminded me why I'd taken so against the western, "grand boulevard" side of Paris in the past. True, as the flyer said, the area around place de Clichy is a working, non-touristy place, with Indian restaurants rubbing shoulders with Japanese and Vietnamese, but if the ebb and flow of cultures across the world is your thing, then Belleville (or even better, London) is the place to see it.
So I stopped for lunch and a read of the newspaper I'd bought. No prizes for guessing the main story, but I was more shocked than I'd expected. Ten years ago I was working barely yards from where a young Irishman blew himself up on a bus, but it was still shocking to see these pictures of places I know and travel past so often. The paper's commentary was nothing but warm and sympathetic, and the public sentiments from politicians and so on entirely generous. In one picture of Chirac at Gleneagles I noticed that someone in the French Embassy had been alert enough to make sure he wore the little badge the British Legion is selling as a 'Thank you' fundraiser for this week's formal commemmorations of the end of WW2 (incidentally, I wonder what will happen about the big parade to the Palace that's due on Sunday).
On to the Hotel de Ville for the exhibition about Jewish life in the Marais, up to and after the deportations. These free exhibitions at the Hotel de Ville (there was a wonderful one about Piaf last year) are intended for the Parisians, so there are no linguistic concessions to foreigners; but it had some fascinating photos, documents and video interviews. It runs until 27 August.
In the metro:
- a man launching into the usual beggar's spiel, but without looking at anybody and in the same sort of mechanical tone and as divorced from the sense of the script as a flight attendant's safety announcements: he barely waited to see if anyone would respond before he was off again
- an eight-piece Ukrainian band in the most sonorous part of the interchange tunnels at République - buy a CD for only €23! (they were good, but not that good)
- elsewhere in the interchange tunnels, a large man washing his bare feet from a bottle of water: but no sign of footwear anywhere.
Jul 8th, 2005, 11:23 AM
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Hello PatrickLondon, thank you so much for sharing your time in Paris, I have really enjoyed this report. I am so glad your back is alright now, I was amazed how much you got around Paris and surrondings last time, I could not have done that with such an aching back.
Take care, and enjoy every moment, and again thanks for sharing Paris with us.
Take care, and enjoy every moment, and again thanks for sharing Paris with us.
Jul 9th, 2005, 08:30 AM
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Saturday:
Last night's plan for a return visit to the roller rally was a wash-out as it came on to rain. This morning seemed a bit brighter and despite a late start I went to the gare du Nord to take a train to Auvers-sur-Oise, but I hadn't allowed for the queues for the two (two!) ticket counters, nor the fact that the ticket machines take neither notes nor foreign credit cards. In the end I gave up and decided to go to the Muséé Rodin, since so many people here and elsewhere have spoken of the peaceful gardens (telling myself I'm lucky to have the choice of when and where to go, all things considered).
Changing metro lines at Place de Clichy, I noticed that the same line serves both the Musée Rodin and the St Denis Basilica. So I went to St Denis first - it's only 100 yards or so from the metro through a rather dull 80s commercial centre. Since the French history I was taught more or less started with the French Revolution, I hadn't quite realised quite how much the French emphasise continuity between the pre-mediaeval and the mediaeval - quite different to the way we're taught English history. It was interesting to see something of the French perspective of the time period we know as the 100 Years War and our own Wars of the Roses: not much sign of turbulence here. But I suppose this was the political message behind the concentration of royal corpses here after the Restoration. Although there are some lovely mediaeval things here (and touching too, in the reliquary for the two children of Louis XII, and the memorial poem to Marguerite de Valois), the serried ranks of recumbent statues started to look a bit too much like people laid out in a very grand hospital morgue, and I got a bit lost between the different Clovises, Charleses (Bald and otherwise) and Philippes (Bold and Fair).
So after a restorative omelette (the Café de France in the said commercial centre is perfectly OK), it was down the metro line to the Musée Rodin. Some very impressive stuff, but all the Camille Claudel material is currently in Quebec. The audio commentary was quite useful, but some of its more windbag attempts to tell us what to think could have been cut out. My word, he had a good conceit of himself. And on my side of the Channel, the point of the story of the Burghers of Calais is that they weren't, in the end, executed.
Just as it felt as though the spits and spots might turn into rain again, the weather changed its mind, and the forecast sunshine suddenly appeared, and the temperature soared in a matter of minutes. Quite a hot and crowded journey back, though everyone was diverted by a little girl of about six proudly showing off her pink sunglasses and her little attaché case, and generally laying down the law till she started to yawn and nod off.
Last night's plan for a return visit to the roller rally was a wash-out as it came on to rain. This morning seemed a bit brighter and despite a late start I went to the gare du Nord to take a train to Auvers-sur-Oise, but I hadn't allowed for the queues for the two (two!) ticket counters, nor the fact that the ticket machines take neither notes nor foreign credit cards. In the end I gave up and decided to go to the Muséé Rodin, since so many people here and elsewhere have spoken of the peaceful gardens (telling myself I'm lucky to have the choice of when and where to go, all things considered).
Changing metro lines at Place de Clichy, I noticed that the same line serves both the Musée Rodin and the St Denis Basilica. So I went to St Denis first - it's only 100 yards or so from the metro through a rather dull 80s commercial centre. Since the French history I was taught more or less started with the French Revolution, I hadn't quite realised quite how much the French emphasise continuity between the pre-mediaeval and the mediaeval - quite different to the way we're taught English history. It was interesting to see something of the French perspective of the time period we know as the 100 Years War and our own Wars of the Roses: not much sign of turbulence here. But I suppose this was the political message behind the concentration of royal corpses here after the Restoration. Although there are some lovely mediaeval things here (and touching too, in the reliquary for the two children of Louis XII, and the memorial poem to Marguerite de Valois), the serried ranks of recumbent statues started to look a bit too much like people laid out in a very grand hospital morgue, and I got a bit lost between the different Clovises, Charleses (Bald and otherwise) and Philippes (Bold and Fair).
So after a restorative omelette (the Café de France in the said commercial centre is perfectly OK), it was down the metro line to the Musée Rodin. Some very impressive stuff, but all the Camille Claudel material is currently in Quebec. The audio commentary was quite useful, but some of its more windbag attempts to tell us what to think could have been cut out. My word, he had a good conceit of himself. And on my side of the Channel, the point of the story of the Burghers of Calais is that they weren't, in the end, executed.
Just as it felt as though the spits and spots might turn into rain again, the weather changed its mind, and the forecast sunshine suddenly appeared, and the temperature soared in a matter of minutes. Quite a hot and crowded journey back, though everyone was diverted by a little girl of about six proudly showing off her pink sunglasses and her little attaché case, and generally laying down the law till she started to yawn and nod off.
Jul 10th, 2005, 02:17 PM
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Sunday: Another day of mixed sun and clouds, so a morning visit to the Musée Marmottan, where the Monets may be great but the manuscript illuminations were a glorious surprise. Lunch and a stroll around the Place des Vosges to hear the buskers, and then back to London. On the Gare du Nord metro platform, there were four soldiers, two with sub machine guns. But when I arrived in London, the only sign of increased security was a rather ostentatious display of (civilian and unarmed) immigration and customs officers (including one lady in an Islamic headscarf), who were simply lined up to observe the crowds pouring through. The tube ride home was entirely as normal - you wouldn't think anything had happened at all.
I came home with five metro tickets left from my second carnet (for Thursday-Sunday, not bad going).
I came home with five metro tickets left from my second carnet (for Thursday-Sunday, not bad going).
