Spring break for me has traditionally meant catching up on home and garden chores. I’ve never thought of this week off from teaching as actual vacation vacation time. But for the last three years circumstances propelled a break in tradition. Mexico City two years ago, South Africa last year, and this year Paris and Italy. Daryl spent winter quarter at the Institute Henri Pointcare (IHP) where he was involved in a special session in his field. After a nearly three month separation I’d be reuniting with him in Paris for the final week of his sabbatical. Italy got into the plans because my book group came up with this crazy idea to meet up at the home of one of our friends in the countryside outside Florence. We dutifully selected Galileo’s Daughter to discuss while in the part of the world where Galileo had come up with his invaluable contributions to our civilization.
I fully understood that this Paris trip was going to be different to my previous visits to Paris which were always in the summer when I was in full vacation mode, and expected total enjoyment in the city of lights (or is love?). This trip in late March meant finding pleasure in winter activities. I packed woolen base layers, warm sweaters, and my down jacket anticipating cold, grey, drizzly days.
I was looking forward to the brief experience of “living” like a local in Paris. Our apartment was at the border of the 5th and 13th arrondissements, on Rue Glacier, a great location to be based for a week (or three months as was Daryl’s luck). The universities and IHP were nearby. So was the Latin Quarter and my favorite street in Paris, Rue Mouffetard. Daryl and I had plans to get together with various sets of friends just about every day that week. We also had tickets to see Don Giovanni at Opera Bastille as well as for the Moscow Ballet Company’s “Swan Lake”. In my free time I’d go to a few art museums and I also had to make time to read Galileo’s Daughter for our book group meeting the following week in Italy.
But Paris had other plans for me. The weather turned out to be bizarrely warm – I mean summer warm - the entire time I was there. My clothes and shoes were entirely inappropriate. But, oh, I was in ecstasy. The streets buzzed with students and tourists, and the cafes were crowded and full of atmosphere. Spring time beauty – trees coming alive with green shoots and fragrant blossoms, golden daffodils, and pretty white narcissi added their spell. So, I ended up spending a lot of time out in the glorious sunshine, wandering through various neighborhoods, absorbing the charms of this fabulous city. It's fascinating to find yourself in 19th century broad Haussmann boulevards with their four storey buildings, then suddenly you're in medieval parts with cobbled, pedestrianized lanes and centuries old buildings. And all the time 21st century Paris hovers over you.
On my first day, after a lunch of soft, ripe Roquefort, a green salad, and crusty baguette washed down with bubbly Vouvray (a selection Daryl made after careful research), at our rather cute apartment, we took a leisurely walk around the left bank. We strolled down to Rue Mouffetard, and the first thing I saw was a Starbucks Café. Jesus, did that irritate me! But this atmospheric, cobbled street with its gourmet chocolate boutiques, boulangeries, fromageries, and wine stores quickly restored my euphoria.
We entered the Latin Quarter which was mellower than I’d ever seen it. From Blvd. St. Michell we strolled along the Seine, then crossed the bridge to Notre Dames, and hopped over to the Ile St. Louis. I recalled my first time on this island, back in the early ‘90’s when I met a fantastic friend while dining alone at a restaurant. We walked past the overhyped Bertholli’s and debated whether to get a gelato. We decided to save our indulgence for a café stop. Minutes later we found the perfect cafe to rest our now weary feet. It was right near the bridge linking the Seine’s two islands.
I had a kir and Daryl had a rosé. The sultry evening, still bright (sunset was after 8:00), stunning views of the Seine and Notre Dames, and the satisfying feelings of the two us being together again after close to three months, made this moment one to treasure. The great cafés of Paris. A reason unto itself to be here.
Days later we had another beautiful café moment up near Sacre Couer. After climbing up steep streets to Sacre Couer and enjoying superb views of the city, we worked up quite a thirst. We walked down to Butte Montmarte, an area of cobbled lanes lined by ancient buildings and small cafes. We found the perfect café terrace for a drink, right across from the famous La Bonne Franquette, a restaurant frequented by the famous early 20th century artists. Daryl and I enjoyed a kir in this charming setting of old Paris.
On the topic of café moments I should definitely mention my delightful afternoon on Rue Mouffetard. It was the day before I left for Italy to meet up with my book group. I was only half way through Galileo’s Daughter , so I planned to do nothing but read the book that afternoon. The glorious weather made it obscene to be indoors in our apartment. So I did the civilized thing of sitting at an outdoor café on my favorite street in Paris reading my book, while nursing a rosé. Even though I was completely swept into the world of rennaissance Italy and Galileo’s dilemma of having to disagree with the Catholic Church, I was aware of the pleasant atmosphere on Rue Mouffetard. People were out and about, shopping at the various specialty stores. The street was colorful with the outdoor displays of merchandize. I was so glad for the excuse to participate in this atmosphere.
On the cultural front we had good and bad experiences. Don Giovanni, at the Opera Bastille, was a modern take on the story. We weren’t enthralled with this interpretation. The opera was set outside a tall office building in La Defense and the actors were dressed in contemporary clothes. Don Giovanni was portrayed as a homosexual, evident when he kissed Leoperello. We both thoroughly enjoyed the singing and acting, and in the end that is all that’s important to me. I also enjoyed the venue, a rather modern building on this sacred spot in this ancient city. From inside the views of Paris at dusk were terrific. I was surprised to see people dressed in casual clothes. Though it has to be said the French have a way of looking elegant even in scruffy jeans. I guess this “dress down” attitude is a reflection of Francois Mitterand’s goal of opera for the people, as opposed to the past when the main opera venue used to be the Opera Garnier, frequented only by the upper classes.
Swan Lake performed by the Moscow Ballet Company was a disappointment. The venue was a small theatre near the Galleries Lafayette. We got off the metro and found ourselves trapped in this gigantic department store. After going up and down sets of escalators we eventually found the street and shot over to the theatre. We found the performance ok, not great, but passable. However, the big disappointment was the absence of a live orchestra. We’d seen an outstanding performance of Swan Lake by the St Petersburg Ballet Co. years ago in Santa Barbara. We’d also seen a superb Swan Lake in Oxford, England. So we had pretty high expectations, but, oh well, c’est la vie.
I ended up going to only one art museum, the Museé D’Orsay. Since I’d visited all the famous museums on previous trips, I had no real regrets there. We spent a blissful Sunday afternoon immersed in French Impressionism. It was especially enjoyable because we took Rick Steve's guided tour of the museum. (I have his very informative Paris guide in my kindle.) Not only do I love all the art at the D’Orsay, I also love the layout and the building itself. Daryl enjoyed the van Goghs. My favorite were the Degas paintings.
The most enjoyable aspect of my week in Paris was meeting up with friends who we rarely see. I have so much to say about this that I’m going to do a whole separate blog about it.
Stay tuned for Part 2!
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