I am not particularly knowledgeable about the dancers, but here is the list from the Opera de Paris website. My performance was November 14 at 14H30.

http://www.operadeparis.fr/cns11/liv...ason=354663924

Monday I spend the morning at home. The cleaning lady comes and I try to stay out of her way. A man is supposed to come to repair the washing machine but he has not arrived by the time I leave, and the cleaning lady is forced to stay and wait for him. My other broken things have mostly resolved themselves. I have decided I can live without my leather jacket until I get back home. Sue lent me her iPod charger before she flew home. And the apartment owner talked me through resetting the cable TV, which is now working perfectly.

I stop at the Réveil de Bastille for rocket, mushroom, and parmesan salad and coq au vin. Then I head over to the Collège de France. The guy at the security checkpoint waves me through without checking my bag. I have arrived.

Today’s course is the one on the history and archeology of Gaul. The hall is filled fifteen minutes before the class begins. There are two guest lecturers. The first speaks about the ways in which archeological research in the area near the Atlantic is different from research in the area of the Mediterranean due to differences in sedimentation, tides, estuaries, and river flood plains. I begin to lose my concentration. But I perk up for the second speaker, a young woman describing the field that I believe constitutes her dissertation research: archéoconchyliologie.

No, I had never met an archeoconchyliologist before either. This is the study of the shells found at archeological sites. In the case of the Gallo-Roman villas, the shells are the remnants of seafood eaten by the inhabitants: principally oysters and mussels. Different species are found in the Mediterranean and the Atlantic. By studying the shells found at inland locations, researchers can learn about trade routes. And by studying the marks left by the tools used to open the oysters, one can learn about the different techniques used for different oysters, or maybe the techniques used in different locations. We see maps illustrating the types of oysters found in different parts of ancient Gaul.

As the lecturer finishes, a few people head for the doors before the discussion. The course’s professor comments that they are rushing to the oyster bar. He then asks the lecturer whether she has any favorite oyster recipes. This is how they do archeology in France.

I go to the café around the corner for supper. This is the Amuse Gueule, at 10 boulevard Morland. The woman I met last night is sitting on the terrace with a friend. The only other person there when I arrive is the chef, a nineteen year old kid who studied cooking in school from the age of twelve. The little dog is running in and out and when a man comes in, the dog greets him enthusiastically. This turns out to be the father of the proprietress, who comes around for supper every night. She holds the dog up for him to examine and tells me her father is a doctor. For dogs or for humans, I ask. For humans, but little dogs are not that different from babies, he tells me. It seems to be a matter of size.

Latin jazz is playing. The proprietress wonders why it is so quiet tonight; there are usually about twenty people. The neighbors from the building all stop by most nights for a drink. She lives above the café and is there all day from 7 AM until midnight. People come in for coffee. Workers from the neighborhood come in for lunch. And friends and neighbors come by for drinks after work before dinner. “We’re quite the little family,” she says.

I order a salade de gésiers that is crispy, chewy and tasty. The proprietress asks whether I think the gizzards are overcooked, since she had some herself and thought they were. Then I get scallops. Maybe I am inspired by the presentation on archéoconchyliologie.

Since it is a quiet night, she has time to chat, and she tells me about her life. Seven million stories in the naked city. She has lived in Israel, New York, London. She has had this café for less than a year, and spent several months fixing it up before opening for business. We stay and talk for quite a while before I return to my apartment.

Tuesday I take the bus to the seventh arrondissement for lunch at Café Constant, 139 rue Saint-Dominique. I had a wonderful lunch here a year ago that I counted among the best of that trip and am hoping to repeat it. This is a neighborhood café run by a chef who has several more upscale restaurants on the same street. There is a formule at lunch for sixteen euros for two courses.

No reservations are taken here so I make sure to arrive early. But the room does not fill up while I am there. As I wait for my meal, I see a man come in with the daily fish delivery. One of the waiters says to him, “Encore des crevettes? Superbe!” I briefly consider changing my order to shrimp. But I start with terrine de volaille de Bresse with trompette mushrooms, and then tourte au chevreuil (venison pie) with foie gras and civet sauce. It is delicious.

After lunch I walk along rue Saint-Dominique for a few blocks and do some shopping in the small food shops. I buy some bread and cheese and realize this will be the last Pyrénées brebis (sheeps’ milk cheese) I will be getting. I will really miss good cheese when I get home.

I have tickets tonight to a concert of contemporary chamber music at the Amphithéâtre at the Opéra Bastille. This is a smaller theater in the basement of the large opera house. The concert is part of the Festival d’Automne, a program of cultural events at venues throughout Paris. Tickets are only fifteen euros.

Before the concert there is an interview with composer Wolfgang Rihm, who speaks only German. The interviewer is translating into French, but it is hard to hear him. A member of the audience points out that everything said in German is very loud, and everything in French is very soft. After that, the translator tries to speak more loudly but it is very hard to follow. Talking about contemporary music is no less abstruse in English, however, so it doesn’t bother me too much. I figure I wouldn’t understand it in any event. I catch something about Baudelaire, and then I am lost.

The concert consists of a single work for string quartet and male vocal quartet. According to the program, the piece was composed in October, 2009, which doesn’t leave a lot of time for rehearsal. The performance of the very close harmonies and synchronization is exquisite. This is the second concert I am attending this week with an excellent countertenor.

The concert is short, and I decide to stop at the Amuse Gueule before going home to bed. There is a large table of friends sharing dinner and wine with the proprietress. It is a warm and welcoming place, and I imagine a life in which one would have such a place as a foundation of community. It sounds nice to me. But I am an outsider, and although the table says a warm collective “Bonne soirée” as I leave, I wonder whether I would ever be sitting at such a table instead of just observing it.

Nikki, this is wonderful.

We do cross each other's paths; we just returned from lunch at Café Constant. (And we were at Au Vieux Chêne the other evening, which I think you will be mentioning again?)

Your reference to Théâtre des Champs-Elysées (which we just passed by on the number 80 bus) puts in mind a book I read a couple of years ago: <i>The Rites of Spring: The Great War and the Birth of the Modern Age</i> by Modris Eksteins. It is a sociological examination of the years before, during, and after the war of 1914-18. He writes vividly of the opening of Stravinsky's <i>Le Sacre du Printemps</i> in May 1913. I think you would like that book and I recommend it to you.

AA

Still enjoying your TR immensely, Nikki.

Anselm, are you still in Paris?

We are still in Paris, yk, until the 14th. And our daughter is flying over tomorrow night to join us for the balance of our visit.

Nikki, I just re-read what I posted earlier this afternoon. I really should have described that book as a cultural history. I blame my error on the wine at Café Constant.

Wine at Cafe Constant! Oh, how I wish I were there

Wednesday morning the doorbell rings. Two neighbors are at the door with an architect to inspect the balcony for painting and repairs. I am told that the mayor’s office requires buildings to be maintained. Evidently it is a good thing I haven’t been leaning on the railing on the balcony because it is filled with cracks and needs to be replaced. One of the neighbors tells me she has lived in this building for over sixty years, since she was two years old.

I have lunch in the fifth arrondissement at Restaurant Itinéraires, 5 rue de Pontoise. I have made a reservation for lunch because I really want to try this restaurant based on reports I have read, and there are no reservations available for dinner in the next two days before I leave Paris. This is probably my best meal of the trip. There is a two course formule for twenty euros. I order pheasant carpaccio with three oysters on top, then a slice of rolled veal breast stuffed with something absolutely delicious.

I take a photo of my food for the first time this trip. I feel comfortable doing so because there is a photographer set up in the corner of the restaurant taking pictures of dishes the chef brings her to photograph. Mine doesn’t come out so well; I assume hers are better.

After lunch I walk along the Seine and take pictures of the river, the quays, the bouquinistes, and Notre Dame in the wonderful changing light as clouds and sun fight for ascendancy. I browse at the bouquinistes and my eye is drawn to a volume of the same paperback edition of Proust as the volume I began in 1969 and completed last spring. The one from 1969 was volume one of the set of seven, and the one I buy in Paris is volume six. What are the chances I will read it? But volume one has become a familiar sight, sitting on my bookshelf for forty years, chiding me silently for my procrastination. This new one can take over that role. I see my purchase as a token of optimism.

As I wait at a bus stop, an older gentleman comes up to me and asks whether I speak French and then whether I know why the Quai de Montebello is called by that name. I say I do not. He tells me it is named after the Duc de Montebello, who was born in Lectoure, in the Gers. I tell him I am familiar with the Gers region. He is pleased that I have traveled within France. He tells me that France is the most interesting country with the most varied geography. Who am I to disagree? He keeps talking while I wait and is still talking as I get onto my bus.

I do not remember why that quai is named after that duke, but I will remember the proud and loquacious Frenchman who gives me the history and geography lesson.

I get off the bus in front of the Musée d’Orsay and walk across the Seine on the Pont Royal to wait for my connecting bus. In that short space I encounter three separate people stooping to the ground and coming up with gold-colored rings in front of me. I ignore them all, but the third one is persistent and I am sitting at the bus stop and so can not just walk past her. I finally tell her to go away and she mutters something incomprehensible in my direction. She does not have to go far, however. Just a few yards down the quai, I see her talking to a woman carrying a shopping bag. And then the woman with the bag walks in my direction, looking at her new gold ring. Did she pay the con artist for it? I do not ask.

I have dinner tonight at A La Biche Au Bois, 45 avenue Ledru-Rollin, at the intersection with rue de Lyon in the twelfth arrondissement. I called for a reservation and they could squeeze me in only at 7:00. It is small and very popular, so reservations are essential. The 26 euro menu includes an appetizer, main course, cheese course, and dessert. This is a great bargain.

The waiter asks whether I am Parisian (yeah, right) and I tell him I live near Boston. “Ah, the Celtics.” “You’re a fan?” “I am a fan of Larry Bird!” I ask whether he has visited the US. Only New York, he tells me. According to him, there are only three real cities: Paris, New York, and London. I understand this point of view. Of course neither of us has visited them all. He asks me why I speak French. Several people have asked me this. I have no reason to give; I learned it in school and I enjoy it enough to work on keeping it up. It is evidently unusual to find tourists from non-francophone countries who speak French. The days when French was the international common language have passed, but I am stuck somewhere in that era.

I order a starter of roquefort pastry, then wild duck with a wonderful potato and celery purée. The waiter brings out an enormous cheese plate and helps me select four different cheeses. The meal finishes with an apple tart.

As I am finishing, two women from San Diego are seated next to me. They are here on a recommendation from a cousin who travels regularly to Paris and comes to this restaurant several times on each visit. But they are near the end of a week in Paris and are disappointed in the food they have found. This is the only place they have visited that is not very expensive. And for the price they have been paying, one of them says the food is much better in Las Vegas. I will probably never find out whether I agree. But I doubt it very much.

A correction of my posting on the cameras between point-and-shoot and DSLRs: I meant to refer to the Canon PowerShot SX20 IS which has a bigger zoom than the S90.

Nikki, this is such an enjoyable report. It's now official that my ideal Paris vacation would include traveling with you and Anselm. Your love of the French language (thanks for letting us know about the College de France lectures), culture and restaurants dovetails with mine so well. Of course, Anselm and his wife are known for their gourmet cooking out of a suitcase, and staying in wonderful apartments. Any chance that either of you will be in Paris again at the end of May? That's our week (sadly, only one week) this year, and I would love to meet you both. In the meantime, I'll continue to enjoy reading your report - and wish Anselm and Magriet (sp?) a wonderful holiday. EJ

I'm continuing to enjoy your report, Nikki, and I'm definitely intrigued by the lectures at the College de France. Probably not in January, since I'll be there with a bunch of non-Francophones, but for another trip, I hope.

Marcy, and anyone else interested in the College de France, you might want to take a look at their website. You can download podcasts of many of the courses for free at: http://www.college-de-france.fr/defa..._pod/index.htm

There is also audio and video for some of the courses available to view on line at:

http://www.college-de-france.fr/defa...E2=0&fulltext=

Nikki- thanks for the link to the cast list- I should have thought of looking it up myself. Fantastic though, like Fifi said.

Anselm- have a wonderful time in Paris!

Thursday is my last day in Paris. It is also the first really sunny day in two weeks. I head to the Bastille market, which is much less crowded and therefore more enjoyable than it was the Sunday I visited.

I attend a free lunchtime concert at the Opéra Bastille studio. This is a small auditorium up the grand outdoor staircase but off to the side of the main building. While waiting in the lobby, I notice a set of locked cabinets with names of composers on them. Is this one of the places that they keep musical scores? I want to riffle through them as I used to at the late, lamented Patelson’s music store across the street from Carnegie Hall.

There is a table set up in the lobby where you can buy sandwiches and drinks, and some people are using the opportunity for a picnic lunch in the lobby.

The program consists of two string quartets by Prokofiev and Shostakovich. I love this. I reflect on the variety of cultural experiences available in Paris. In my two weeks here, I have attended some events that were free, such as this one and the courses at the Collège de France; some events that were inexpensive, such as the concert presented through the Festival d’Automne; and some that were more expensive, such as the opera at the Théâtre des Champs-Elysées. Even the events for which I had paid relatively substantial sums offered less expensive alternatives. The Comédie Française has tickets for as little as 11 euros, and top price tickets are 37 euros. The least expensive tickets at the ballet are as little as 6 euros. (I don’t recommend the cheapest seats at the Palais Garnier, however.)

After the concert I stand on the (perpetually) long line for the ladies’ room. There is no line for the men’s room, on the other side of the lobby. Standing behind me on line is a man who is at least six feet four inches tall. I resist the urge to point him in the right direction, and none of the very polite French ladies on line with me say anything either. As I leave the rest room and the gentleman behind me leaves also, I catch the eye of the woman coming in and we exchange a puzzled glance, but the man seems perfectly at ease.

I note that I should not worry so much about appropriate behavior in Paris. Nothing I do is likely to be as odd as some of the things I see around me.

Emerging into the sunny Place de la Bastille, I walk toward the Place des Vosges, doing a little shopping and photographing along the way. I buy some jewelry at Tam Tam dans la Ville, 3 rue du Pas de la Mule, and then I stop at the tiny storefront at Inge Lex, 7 rue du Pas de la Mule, where the proprietress makes beaded jewelry on a board on her lap. When she is seated and working, there is just about room for two other people in this shop. I pick out some earrings for my mother here.

I stop in at the bakery Gerard Mulot, 6 rue du Pas de la Mule, and bring my purchases to the Place des Vosges. As I am sitting there on a bench, a woman approaches me and asks in English whether I would take her picture eating a baguette in Paris. Of course I would. We sit and have our lunch together on the bench. She lives in California and is spending a month in a rented apartment in the Marais but has never been in Paris before.

She tells me the story of her travels. This is very different from her usual trips, which have involved stays in indigenous villages in developing nations. She tells me about the time when she was much younger that she walked into a village somewhere in West Africa and spent a month staying in the home of a man and his three wives. She turned down the offer to become number four. She has been bicycling in Mongolia and has traveled to places I have never heard of. But she felt since she was getting older it was time to try a more comfortable travel style in an easier place, and her fantasy was to eat a baguette in Paris. Now she has a photo to commemorate the experience. Seven million stories in the naked city.

Just discovered this today and am enthralled but don't have time to read it all at once. Have gotten to Wednesday. Loved your photos and am looking forward to the rest. Didn't know about the online courses-DH will love this!

Nikki, This has been a wonderful report as always.

Suzanne

I spend the rest of the afternoon organizing and packing. Then I go out for dinner at Au Vieux Chêne, at 7 rue du Dahomey, in the eleventh arrondissement. http://www.vieuxchene.fr/. I love this place. It is closed Saturday and Sunday. According to the website, it was a gathering place for Italian anarchists exiled in France. Later it was owned by a woodworker and named after the wood with which he worked. The neighborhood is traditionally the area for furniture making, and this was a bistrot for the workers.

Now the restaurant is an utterly unpretentious spot with wonderful, creative market cuisine. There is a two course menu for 28 euros; three courses for 35 euros. At lunch there is a 13.50 two course menu, and I would love to try that.

There is only one waiter. He manages all the tables. When anyone orders the excellent looking platter of charcuterie, he takes the meats out and slices them and arranges them on a board before serving them. He comes and goes with bottles of wine and seems to be doing far too many jobs with no sign of having too much to do. I can see into the kitchen and watch the chef prepare the dishes. He rings a bell when each is ready, and the waiter comes to the kitchen to retrieve them.

For a starter I order lamb’s lettuce with marinated duck breast, pear in wine, mild blue cheese and shavings of foie gras confit. Then I continue with rabbit on a large mound of mixed wild mushrooms and a sauce made from foie gras and port. Both dishes are wonderful. This is a terrific last meal in France. I wish I could spread out all this marvelous dining over a year rather than trying to cram it into two weeks. But sadly there are no restaurants anything like this anywhere near me

"seven million stories in the naked city."

Nikki: Your report is so charming and so full of your humanity and your wonderful humor and your delicious stories, not to speak of your adventures and dining jaunts!!
You're becoming my hero(ine) and I wish I had done trips such as this one of yours when I was younger.
I think I was too timid and shy, though I did once spend several days alone in Paris, I never had such great adventures.
Keep it up! with many thanks.

Taconic traveler, as the cafe lady around the corner said to me, "Best compliment ever!" Thank you.