...on a jet plane...

Leaving London today, back to my little life and reality...to two furry little dogs who need baths, and piles of laundry to be done, and bills to be paid, and a fridge to be filled with grocery shopping. But there are also friends to see and laugh with, pizzas to be eaten, my own big bed to sleep in, and my own car to toodle around in. And soon, in a few weeks, a job that I miss to return to...along with friendly and helpful co-workers, and patients who remind me why I go to work in the first place.

So until the next stamp in my passport, I hope this blog doesn't stay quiet for too long.

West End Girl

Today was lovely although a bit bittersweet, with the knowledge that I'm leaving London tomorrow as a cloud over my head. I walked down Cromwell Road to the Victoria and Albert Museum, or the V & A. I had been thinking of checking out the Natural History Museum, which is right next door, but was a little deterred by the hoards of very small children entering it. Nevertheless, I'm glad I bypassed it for the V & A. I actually broke my usual museum-going convention and spent an entire two hours in it, that's how much I loved it. The museum is affectionately known as "Britain's attic," which is a very fitting nickname. That is, if you happen to keep thousands of priceless treasures in your attic collected from 1500 to today. And if your attic is big enough to store hundreds of pieces of furniture, paintings, costumes, jewelry, glassworks, metalworks, ceramics, and any other oddbits you may have saved. Oh and lots of sculptures and photographs and tiny models of buildings. But you get the point. I toured the British history rooms, arranged chronologically, which gave a fascinating viewpoint into the ever-changing styles and fashions and art over the past 500 years. For a Sunday, it was surprisingly uncrowded, although I guess the hoardes of people were there to visit the current exhibits. But you have to pay for those.

After my time-traveling through British history, I wandered down Cromwell Road to Brompton and popped in Harrods, where I browsed and tried on jewelry that I pretended I could afford. Finally on the way back to the hotel I stopped into a little Indian restaurant for my best meal yet...papadums, onion bahjee, saag paneer...and oh the mixed pickle! To die for. The experience was made complete by the plethora of overly attentive young Indian waiters and the warm washcloth at the end of the meal. Why do I have to leave tomorrow!?

LDN

It's really winter here in London, even my Wisconsin blood isn't comfortable at sidewalk cafes anymore, despite a hat and scarf. While there are a few things London should take note on from Paris, the outside sidewalk heater ranks up there pretty high.

I seemed to have picked a pretty convenient hotel, since the nearest tube stop has three lines running through, making it very easy to get anywhere and I rarely even have to change lines. Today I rode the Circle line to Embankment and walked a few blocks to the National Gallery, at Trafalgar Square (for those of you following along at home in your London A to Z, and yes, you must pronounce it "zed"). I've been to the National Gallery a few other times, although not on my last two trips here, so it was definitely time to go again. Actually, I almost made it last time but I had walked all over the city and by the time I got there I was so darned tired that I simply sat on the steps, took a few shots of Nelson's Column, and left. So today I popped back in to visit some old friends; Jane, the Arnolfinis, Whistlejacket, to name a few. I have some of those prints at home, and do adore them, but they become so starkly disappointing when standing in front of the real thing. I can't explain what it is about certain paintings, but I even become one of those strange bench-sitting, painting-gazing people in front of The Execution of Lady Jane Grey...yes, again with the Tudor history obsession, I know. But I dare you to stand in front of the life-size painting, and not have your breath taken by the shimmer of her silk dress, not see her hands move uncertainly towards the block, not hear the rustle of her dress as she kneels in the hay or the weeping of her ladies in waiting. Then go visit Whistlejacket, the life-size portrait of the racehorse by George Stubbs, and try to figure out if it's fear or arrogance in his liquid brown eyes. And of course go to the Sainsburys wing to visit the Arnolfini marriage portrait, if only because you developed a weird obsession with it during a college art class. And along the way of this weird little tour of my favorite paintings, you may catch sight of some of your favorites, like Van Gogh's sunflowers, or some of Monet's Waterlilies, or Renoir's Umbrellas. Be sure to notice the painting of Lake Keitele, just looking at it will make you feel the chilly morning air.

Anyway, enough waxing artistic for you. After my visit at the National Gallery (yes, still only one hour long...) I had lunch at a wonderful Italian restaurant on the Strand (mussels! red wine!) and enjoyed a black taxi ride home through Kensington. I admit, I had been thinking of going to see Mary Poppins in Leicester Square this afternoon, but did you see how long the queue was for tickets at the TKTS booth?! And did you notice that it had just started icily raining?!

London Rain

Brrr...yesterday was clear and cold in London, but no rain. But I couldn't think of a song called "London is Chilly," so apologies for the misleading post title.

I went to the Courtauld Institute and Galleries yesterday, and I highly recommend it on my list of Things You Must do While in London. Oh, you haven't seen that list yet? Hmm. Perhaps I'll post a summary at the end of this trip. Especially recommended for Elly, because there was an ice-skating rink AND Van Gogh paintings! And for Faye as well, because there were Picassos too. Oh, and some Rubens, for Steph. The Courtauld is quite a gem of a museum, because it's just the right size. And we all know that I love little museums, for my limited arty-attention span and because I can actually see the whole thing and not get stressed out that I might have missed something really important. The galleries are part of the art institute, so each painting has a very helpful explanation with it, so touring it is like a mini art class. Except maybe even better, because I didn't leave halfway through it to go eat Indian food on the lawn with Stephanie. Ah...college. But I digress. Back to the descriptions of the paintings...for example, next to a dreamlike Rousseau painting of a tollgate, the card explained that Rousseau worked as a tollkeeper for many years. Ah! But of course. It's the little things like that. I like to know what I'm looking at and why.

After the museum I walked up the Strand to Covent Garden market, browsed there a bit, was serenaded by some opera singers, then wandered about Leicester Square and all it's touristy theatrey insanity. I popped into my favorite sandwich shop, Pret a Manger, grabbed some lunch, and headed back to the hotel for a nap. I don't know why, but the English sandwiches are the best ever.

Note the Christmas decorations in Covent Garden. Also note the absence of inflatable Santas or light-up deer. Nearly tasteful enough to put me in the Christmas spirit.

It's cold again today but clear and dry, so I'm deciding between the National Gallery and the V & A museums, or catching a theatre matinee....

Un-Thanksgiving

I had the best Thanksgiving EVER! There weren't any paper turkeys, pilgrim salt and pepper shakers, or schmaltzy Hallmark specials on TV, so it was awesome. Sure, there wasn't a turkey feast or a huge gathering of friends and family, but those things are completely replicable at any time of the year, and are usually better on a non-holiday anyway.

Yesterday was another sunny clear day here in London, so I headed out in the morning to visit the Tower Bridge. It happens to be in most guide books on the "Top Ten" lists of places to visit, and while that distinction usually makes me think twice before visiting something just because I'm "supposed" to, I decided that if I'm going to become a Londonista, I must see it all. The view of the city over the Thames was worth it.


Later in the evening I took advantage of the British Museum's late Thursday opening times, and took the tube up to Bloomsbury. I love late openings at museums. I know I've mentioned this before...but they're quieter, no school or tour groups, and there's a different atmosphere altogether. I only had a few hours there, and some galleries were closed after 6pm, so I went through all the Egyptian halls. I saw some mummies, artifacts from ancient Egyptian life, and of course the Rosetta stone. The Egyptian sculpture rooms were breathtaking. The scale of the sculptures, coupled with the setting of immense rooms and soaring ceilings, makes an impression. I think that what I love about museums is often simply the reverence that the items are displayed with, the visual and sometimes visceral reminder that you are very small, and the world is very big, and more than you can comprehend has happened before you came along and even more will happen after you. It's humbling but oddly comforting.


Next to the Egyptian rooms are the Assyrian rooms, which were nearly empty, and for some reason, almost chilly. The friezes and sculptures were beautiful and moving. It was also almost poignant and sad, as I realized that the site of this ancient culture is now the site of an endless bloody war.

So now it's morning, and the sky is clear and the sun is out, and I must go in search of a "full English" in order to properly start my day. Hope you all had a happy Turkey Day!

Walking in London: Day Two

I'm going to be extra cheesy and try to title each post with a different song about London. Points if you can name who sings the song.


Today was fabulous London weather. It started out clearish, with the occasional threatening black cloud by hints of blue sky and fluffy clouds. So I decided to do the outdoorsy stuff on my itinerary first, because in London as in Seattle, you just never know with the weather. So champagne-hangover be damned, I headed off first to Hyde Park. I love Hyde Park, possibly because I spent two weeks living in a high-rise hotel on Park Lane last winter. Or maybe because I got to go horseback riding through it last fall. Or maybe because it's the former hunting grounds of Henry the VIII and I'm obsessed with all things Tudor. Regardless, it's a lovely park. I stopped in at Kensington Palace, because I haven't been there before, and I believe that every trip to England must include a castle or a stately palace. Because it's England. Most of Kensington Palace is an homage to Princess Diana, because she lived there for a bit. Some of her dresses were on display which was kind of cool but almost kind of creepy in a way. Because they're all displayed in a lighted glass case on headless mannequins... But I loved the state apartments, of King George, Queen Mary, and Queen Victoria. And I loved it because it was nearly empty. I wandered up the King's staircase completely alone, and stood solitary in Queen Victoria's bedroom. And if you stand really still and just take it all in, it's the closest to time-traveling that I've experienced.


After the palace, I walked down Kensington High Street and hopped on the tube over to the City, where I crossed the Thames on the Millenium pedestrian bridge. I overheard a smarty-pants explainanator American tourist telling his bored wife that the bridge is some kind of engineering marvel because it's a suspension bridge, but the suspension cables are all underneath it. So I thought I'd sound all smarty-pants and tell you that too.


I ended up near the Tate Modern and Shakespeare's Globe theater, but decided to find some lunch before taking either in. I nearly went to a new hip restaurant noted in my guide book called Leon's, but it wasn't open for business yet. "Oh well, I really wanted fish and chips anyway..." I said to the friendly hostess who turned me away. "Oh! Then you must go to Borough Market!" she replied, and gave me directions. "It's a ten-minute walk, but it's worth it." I found the market, and it was an old covered market full of vegetable stands, flower sellers, butchers, and sandwich shops. And of course...a chippy. Advertising "proper fish and chips," I knew I couldn't go wrong. And it was worth it.


After stuffing myself full of vinegar-soaked fried pieces of heaven, I headed back to the Tate Modern. I went in to use the loo, because that's what I do at free museums. Then I went to catch the Tate to Tate Boat, but since I was early for the next boat, I wandered about in the gift shop at the Globe. Possibly a 25 pound mistake, but oh well. I'm on vacation. My boat ride was nearly marred by a group of 40 high school students boarding at the same time, but I managed to tune them out and enjoy the ride. Although I did overhear this little gem:

Teen #1 (as Teen #2 snaps photos): God, we're acting like a bunch of tourists!
Teen #2: I know! I'm surprised we aren't covered in sunscreen, we're such tourists.
Teen #1: Steady on now, we're not Americans.

And it turns out the ticket-takers were so flummoxed by collecting student fares from the 40 unruly teenagers, that no one came round to sell me a ticket, and I got a free ride :)


The Tate boat dropped us off at the Tate Britain, one of my favorite museums. So I wandered about in there for a while, loved the Hockney on Turner collection, revisited the Tudor portraits, and regretted my decision not to pay the 11 pounds to see the Millais exhibit so I bought a bunch of postcards instead.

Back on the tube again, a brief stop at Waitrose (British grocery store. Love it.), and after enjoying the best cheddar ploughman's sandwich and cheese and onion crisps, I think I'll have a dip in the hotel pool. Thirty minutes after, of course. Safety first, kids, even while on vacation.

London Calling: London Day One

So here I am across the pond, in the motherland, land of hope of glory, or just London to most of you. You didn't really expect me to stay put in Seattle for that long, did you? I am admitting to a full-fledged case of Adult Onset ADD, which may explain my insatiable wanderlust. Except that in my case my ADD only applies to traveling, because in most other aspects of my life I am still quite lazy.

Anyway, I landed in London yesterday after a smooth nine-hour direct flight from Seattle. Love direct flights. Love 'em. As S and J and I always assert, that falls under the category of "You know you're a grown-up when...you are not too cheap to pay the extra money to save yourself the PainInTheArse of transferring planes." However, I am too cheap to pay the 50 pound taxi fare from Heathrow to central London (and for those of you following along at home, the dollar to pound conversion is now two-to-one. Ouch.) So I bought an Oyster seven-day travelcard and hopped on the tube to my hotel. Fortunately, it was a direct shot to my tube stop, no changing, and only took about 35 minutes. From there, a five minute walk to my hotel. My hotel is lovely, "small" by BigAss American standards but just right for the rest of the world. Being the savvy traveler that I am, I promptly called the front desk and asked them to empty my mini-bar, then headed across the street to Sainsbury's and stocked up on snacks and beverages to fill up my fridge with.


By the way, have I mentioned that the British grocery store is one of my favorite places ever?! Well, it is. I am so happy to be reunited with my cheese and onion crisps, Hobnobs, Lilt drink, and Cadburys.

New York: Closed for Renovations.

Today an American girl and an English girl decided to tour New York City, starting with the Metropolitan Museum of Art. The conclusion is that either the Met generally sucks, or the American girl has been spoiled and jaded by recent visits to the Louvre and five other world-class museums in Paris, and both the American and the English girl were too influenced by experiences at the National Gallery, the Tate, the V & A, and the British Museum. In addition, the English girl compared her visits to the Gaudi museum(s) in Barcelona and the Van Gogh museum in Amsterdam. The guide book promised that the Met was in an international class with the Louvre, the British Museum, and the Uffizi. Sounds promising, right? Pffft.

After paying $20 each and navigating crowds, we finally found a friendly guard who explained that our sole reasons for visiting, the 19th Century European paintings room including Van Gogh, Monet, Van Eyck was completely closed for renovations. So was the Frank Lloyd Wright room and the Arts and Crafts room. So was the Islamic art collection (aka “we’re still bitter about the World Trade Center so we’ll pretend the Islamic world doesn’t exist here”).

“Are they any Van Gogh paintings here?” asked a deflated Elly.
“Yes!” said the guard excitedly. “We have one! Uhm, I think it’s not well-lit at the moment, however.” We groaned.
“But we have an excellent Greek and Roman collection!” she added hopefully.
“Hrmph. So does the British Museum. Is yours at least plundered?” I snarked under my breath.
“You should definitely see the Etruscan chariot…” continued the guard. She went on to explain the story of how the chariot was sold in pieces for scrap metal in Paris over 100 years ago, and bought by the Met and eventually restored and finally put together correctly (it took them 100 years to figure it out?) but now the original owners of the chariot in Italy wanted it back. “…So you should really see it while you’re here, before it might go back to Italy,” she sighed. “I really hope it stays here at the Met…I mean, who would go all the way to Italy to see Etruscan ruins?!”

On that note, we thanked her for her help, and hurried off to see the lonely little Van Gogh on a dark wall in a basement room.

Along the way, I noticed that the museum felt haphazardly organized. Each room or collection was labeled with the name of a wealthy benefactor, but with no explanatory signage describing the era, theme, or even type of artwork inside. Some rooms seemed to be organized by period (“Baroque”) while others were simply geographical (“Art of the Americans, Oceania, and the Near East”). The Greek and Roman ruins were all housed in big glass cases, according to arbitrary themes (“Horses in Greek Art”) or with vague titles, “Archaic art from Greece and Crete”). No other signage including relevant dates, sites of discovery, civilizations, or importance of artifacts was anywhere to be found. Archaeologists would be horrified.

There were some fake things lying around, like a tiny copy of Rodin’s The Thinker, with no labels. Some of the sculptures in the Greek and Roman hall were described as “Copy of…”

So, to sum it up, underwhelmed was an understatement. Definitely unimpressed by the Met. Call me a snob, or bitter and jaded, I don’t care. Did I mention the British Museum is also free?

However, the “closed for renovations” theme continued throughout the day. After the Met, we wandered up the street to see the Guggenheim. Not so sure that we wanted to go inside, especially after being traumatized by the Met, we at least wanted to see the outside of it and take some pictures. Which we did. We got some great shots of white sheeting and scaffolding with covered the entire building.

Somehow we found our way back downtown despite the fact that the main subway line that takes us to and from our apartment was completely closed for construction. And the entrance to the subway station at Columbus circle was completely covered in scaffolding and mostly closed for construction too.

We are so annoyed we’ve decided not to run the bloody marathon tomorrow. I think we’ll just go shopping instead.

Culture shock

After two leisurely weeks in Paris, landing in New York City is quite the shock to the system. If Paris is the cultured, elegant grande dame of cities, an homage to all that is beautiful and romantic, New York is the raucous, loud, punk kid of cities. Where is my gentle flowing Seine, the ancient reminders of times past and layers of history? All I hear are sirens and traffic, and all I can see are miles of concrete and high-rise buildings reaching towards the sky.

Elly will come in today, and hopefully her excitement and plans and fresh observations will be infectious.

Adieu, Paris

I woke up freakishly early today to help Whitney and her brother off to the airport, after we had stayed up probably a bit too late having a slumber party of sorts and basically catching up on the last 13 years...as well as gossiping about the people we used to know but don't care about enough to actually catch up with them in person, just behind their backs. You know how it is. Through a series of unfortunate incidents the siblings had missed their flight back to the states yesterday, so they came back into Paris to hang out with me and eat more falafel rather than risk their lives and belongings and precious hours of sleep camping out at the airport.

When I finally popped my head out my window later in the morning, the sun was shining and the sky was clear and blue and a single thought hit me: Boat ride! One must always see a city from the water in order to truly know and appreciate it. That's Bonnie Russo wisdom, and it's the truth. I had originally planned to take a boat ride down the Seine on one of my first days in Paris, in order to get a feel for it and a lay of the land, but I was distracted by the metro strike and the joys of walking through cobbled streets. However, today's boat ride seemed like the perfect way to bid farewell to Paris.


My tourist-avoiding strategy seemed to work...I got on the Batobus at the Hotel de Ville stop, one of the least busy ones, and I happened to be early enough (before noon) to beat the big crowds. For 12 euros you can buy a day pass which allows you to hop on and off the boat all day long at any of its eight stops, and the bonus is that it's the only boat service that doesn't have an annoying running commentary or guide. So I hopped on the boat, staked out a prime place on the outdoor deck railing, and pulled out my camera.


The boat ride was fantastic...so relaxing being on the water, in the sunshine, and with my back to all the other passengers it was just me, the water, and Paris. The photo opportunities were overwhelming, as Paris never stops being unabashedly elegant and graceful and stately. I got to see all the sights from the river that I had already toured on foot, a last glimpse of each lovely place.

So until we meet again, Paris, farewell.

Versailles

Eh, Versailles was okay. Wow, that makes me sound like a jaded snob huh? Let me explain...I'm really not like that!

It was really easy to get to...I just hopped on the metro to the nearest RER (commuter rail) station, where I bought a combination Versailles entry ticket and return train ticket. The journey only took about 35 minutes, then from the train station in Versailles it was only a five minute walk to the chateau. You can't miss it, it's rather large...

Instead of the breath-taking, harps-and-trumpets, blow-me-away first view...that's what I saw: acres of tour buses and renovation scaffolding. Hrmph. Once I entered the main gates, I was slightly horrified by the line of people waiting to buy tickets, and I congratulated myself on my foresight to buy my entry ticket at the train station so I was able to walk right in and avoid the queues. Because seriously, right after "Always have lactaid in your pocket" and "Keep your handbag zipped" is my third most important rule of travel, "Always avoid queues."

So I got my handy little audioguide ("En Anglais, s'il vous plait,") ostensibly to educate myself on the palace but also mostly to drown out the shouts and annoying American accents of the throngs of tourists, and toured the open rooms in the palace. The artwork was amazing, and when you could see past the groups of school kids and camcording tourists, the interiors paneled in vibrant marbles and gilt-edged carvings are really impressive. But I found myself hurrying through to find the exit to the gardens, for some fresh air and personal space. I got so tired of being bumped and jostled and trying to weave my way through the crowds that I just adopted a "Keep moving, stop for no one, use the big black handbag as a shield" policy. I usually love to linger in old palaces and historical places, trying to imagine what life was like for people who once lived there, trying to see the place as it must have seemed in its glory days. But that was near impossible being surrounded by the teaming masses.

The gardens were extensive and immaculately groomed, if a bit muddy from morning rains. But for some reason they'd covered all the statues and art work with green tarps, and I had to keep dodging out of the way of the golf carts and trams darting around to ferry lazy tourists from one end of the gardens to the other.

So, I'm sorry to be a bitter and jaded tourist-hating tourist. I kept comparing the experience to my trip to Hampton Court, south of London, last November. Granted, I admit to being far more fascinated and more well-read on English history, particularly the Tudor period, than French history. But Hampton Court was nearly empty, and I strolled through the castles and gardens quietly and lost in courtly intrique and political power plays of centuries past. They even had actors dressed in period costume, and I'm a sucker for that kind of thing.

Paris avec les amies

Whitney, Erin and I decided to meet up at the Jardin du Luxembourg, as Erin had heard there was an afternoon marionette show that she wanted to see. As it turns out, saying "Let's meet at the Jardin du Luxembourg," is sort of similar to saying, "Let's meet in Central Park. Ok, see you there!" So after several confused texts and phone calls,
"I'm near the big horse statue."
"Uhm, I don't see any horses. Lions?"
"Nope. Oh! There are some fountains over here."
"I see a fountain! And some little sail boats?"
"Boats?!"
We did find each other, and even found the puppet show but there were only a few seats left, and we couldn't bring ourselves to take the last seats away from some little French children who really wanted to see the show. So we wandered a bit, found some heavenly gelato at Amorino, then headed back to the metro to come over to my neighborhood. Paris is surprisingly sleepy on Sundays; the streets are fairly empty, and most shops are closed. However, most museums are still open, and Centre Pompidou is open late until 21h00, so we decided to check it out. Fortunately, we all agreed that we pretty much have a one-hour limit in most museums before our attention flags and we get restless...

The Centre Pompidou was really interesting, despite the fact that I generally don't have a huge interest in "modern art." I really don't get it. Like, three blank canvasses on a wall, proclaiming minimalist art? Seriously? And then there was even this...a room full of inflatable furniture.

I'm willing to be the first to accept my failings or lack of artistic sense, because I just don't get it. Of course, some of the pieces were really impressive, and did make me think a bit. My absolute favorite was at the very end of the museum...this bright red, super shiny, larger-than-life sized rhinoceros. There was something about it, I just wanted to touch it, and to bring it home with me.


After the museum we were all starving and since Erin had been craving falafel for months, I took them to the famous As du Falafel, and we stood on street inhaling our "heaven in a pita", hardly stopping to take a breath. They had this red spicy sauce, that was like crack, I couldn't get enough. I will definitely go back there before I leave Paris again.

After dying a happy little food death, we headed to the left bank, to St Germain-des-Pres. We had some time to kill before meeting a few other people, and found ourselves right in front of Les Deux Magots, one of Paris' most famous cafes...a favorite haunt of Hemingway, Picasso, Simone de Beauvior and Jean Sartre. And because "It was once famed for, and prided itself in, its reputation as the rendezvous of the literary and intellectual elite of the city," we of course had to grace the cafe with our presence. All the cafes here have these wonderful heaters on the outdoor seating, so Parisians can continue their favorite past-time of sitting in cafes and people-watching despite falling temperatures. Brilliant.

We ended our night at a tiny cozy bar in St Germain called Zero de Conduit (loosely translated to mean "bad behavior"). All the drinks are served in baby bottles, and they all have cute names based on Disney or cartoon characters. It was definitely a fun and unique experience. It was even more fun knowing that a bar like that would never fly in the US, I'm sure the moral majority would be up in arms proclaiming that it encouraged underaged drinking or somesuch nonsense.

Paris night life

I really do love traveling by myself, figuring out where to go, doing everything at my own pace, all that stuff. But the cool thing about having friends is that it makes going out at night a bit more fun, and definitely less loser-like.


I met my friend Whitney, along with her sister and her brother, at the Buddha Bar, near the Place de la Concorde on Saturday night. This place was really cool. Like the kind of cool place that would make me cool, just by being in it. We had fantastic outrageously overpriced drinks and desert, and did a pretty good job of acting like we were cool enough to be there. Except for the few times we whipped out our cameras and when Whitney broke a glass on her way out. But hey. Whitney's brother was meeting up with an online friend for the first time, and he was super nervous, so he threw back two beers and a shot before heading off to find her. We chuckled at his nervousness, and his concern over how he looked:
("Do I have hat head?"
"Yes, totally!"
He frowns.
"I mean, if that was the look you were going for...uhm...") and generally agreed it was kind of cute. Until it came time to pay the bill..."17 euros for a shot of vodka?" exclaimed Erin. "It's not so cute anymore when I get the bill for my brother's insecurities."

Paris Day Ten

The Musee d'Orangerie is a lovely little museum...just the right size. Monet's Water Lilies are displayed there, in two sky-lit oval rooms designed to replicated the feeling of being in his gardens at Giverny. A collection of Monet, Renoir, Picasso, Utrillo, some Modigliani and a few others is in the basement, but with plenty of natural light from new ceiling-level windows. I was able to see the whole museum in under an hour. Again, the perfect size...not too much, just right.

Also, can someone explain to me the purpose of taking a video camera to a museum? Is there anyone at home who wants to sit through someone's home-made hand-held shaky recording of famous paintings? Wouldn't it be easier to buy the book? Is it more authentic and interesting because there are other tourists wandering through the shot? Because I do not feel bad about walking in from of the video cameras. Like every chance that I get.

The museum is in the Jardins des Tuileries, so I wandered through the gardens for a while before attempting to go to Angelina, which is an English-style tea room reputed to serve the best hot chocolate in Paris. However, the line out the door and down the block deterred me, and I decided to renew my hunt for hot chocolate another day. Like a weekday. Like when there are no lines. Not too many photos today, as it was gray and overcast, and hard to manage a camera with one hand and my tissues in another hand. Still have this nasty cold, but thankfully I am my own best nurse and packed a lifetime supply of tylenol and benadryl.

Le Metro

IMG_3080.JPG
Originally uploaded by rosebuttons

I was so excited the first time I saw the art-deco style Metro sign, because it's so classically Parisian. Then I learned that there are 87 Metro signs that look like that. But that doesn't make it any less cool.

However, this Metro entrance near the Louvre is definitely unique, and very cool.

So that's all I have for you today. I'm fighting off a nasty sore throat/cold thingy...if I were at home in Seattle, it would definitely be a reason to call in sick with the universal, "I just fee like ass," excuse. But since I'm here on vacation I'm trying to deny that I feel bad at all. I simply blame my runny nose and cough on the slight chill in the air and my puffy watery eyes on the departure of a dear friend.

BUT another good friend is coming into Paris tomorrow, and she promises to take me out and we're going to stroll down the Champs Elysee at night, and go shopping, and take silly tourist pictures of each other. I need a distraction and a friendly face :)

This afternoon I bought myself a brown furry blanket to curl up with (I think I'm missing my little doggies), downloaded the latest Grey's Anatomy, and holed up in my apartment with a pain au chocolate and some orange juice.


Ilsa: What about us?
Rick: We'll always have Paris. We didn't have it, we lost it until you came to Casablanca. We got it back last night.

Paris Day Eight

While I had a general plan for my Paris jaunt today, it was all of the accidental discoveries that I made that really made my day. I set off first on the metro to find the Grande Mosquee de Paris...both because it's the oldest mosque in Paris (not sure there are a very many though?) and also because despite spending four months in an Islamic country, I never once entered a mosque...Islamic law and all. So I've always been intrigued to go inside one. I got off the metro and was a bit lost, so I turned a corner and saw a little park and wandered into it to find a bench so I could sit down and pull out my Paris Practique (best little map book ever!! It's invaluable, sort of like the London A-Z).

The park I wandered into turned out to be the Arenne de Lutece, and ancient Roman amphitheatre. Apparently they always knew it was supposed to be here, but no one could find until in the late 19th century they were excavating to build a road here and happened upon these ruins.

The mosque was beautiful, I love the brightly colored mosaics and the fountains.


I had lunch in the restaurant at the mosque, where I had delicious harira (Moroccan soup) and and eggplant salad, eating off a low copper table. Finished off with a cup of mint tea, of course.


On my way to my next stop, I noticed another park so I decided to take a short cut through there. Suddenly, peeping at me through the fence, was a little wallaby! I guess I had wandered into the Jardin des Plantes, which has a zoo in it.


Then I went to the Institut du Monde Arabe. The permanent collection of art from the Islamic world was a little disappointing...but I discovered the terrace on top of the building and caught some gorgeous views of the Seine and Notre Dame. The building itself was really cool, as it's covered in metal work which are actually thousands of apertures which open and close depending on the amount of light available to let in.


Finally, since I was in the neighborhood, I decided to walk past the Pantheon, where the remains of Victor Hugo, Rousseau, and others are intombed. It used to be a church but Napoleon turned it into a mausoleum, removing all religious symbolism and even covering all the windows. I didn't go inside, just walked around then headed back to the metro. After stopping for an afternoon snack of pain au chocolate, of course.

On my way back to my apartment, I happened to glance through an open door, just two doors down from my entrance. I found the cutest little alleyway full of boutiques and galleries. I've been here for a week, and never even noticed it before. A wonderful little surprise to end my day of surprises.

Paris Day Seven

IMG_2974.JPG
Originally uploaded by rosebuttons

Today started out sunny but turned out to be gray and overcast. Nevertheless, I still walked everywhere, although I had intentions of just hopping on the metro to get to the various locations on my agenda for today. However, once I'm out and walking, and I consult the map for the nearest metro stop, I invariably think, "Oh, if I walk just a few more blocks I can get to the next station and I won't have to transfer lines then." And then I walk a few more blocks and I think, "Well, sheesh, now I'm halfway hope, I may as well just keep walking..."

I may have finally mastered the Parisian art of scarf-tying. Not to pat myself on the back, but I wore my cute little pink scarf today and no less than five people stopped me to ask for directions, and then a cigarette, and then a light, and there was an amusing fellow who sat down next to me in a park and struck up a conversation...all in French. So either people were feeling unusually chatty today, or I like to think that my expertly tied scarf fooled them into thinking I was a native... :)


First I went to the Musee Picasso today, which I really liked. For some reason I sort of enjoy the museums that are focused on one artist...it seems more complete and I can concentrate more, not get overstimulated. I'm simple like that I guess. Most of Picasso's most famous works are spread in other museums throughout the world, but it was interesting to see so many others to get a different perspective on his work. The museum is in a grand old mansion, the Hotel Sale. Almost as much as I enjoy the museums, I love wandering through the palatial old homes they are usually in, imagining what it was like living there.


I had a lovely lunch at a cafe after wandering through the Place des Vosges, and lingered over my cafe au lait, then headed down the rue de Rivoli to the Museum of European Photography. I timed my visit perfectly to arrive after 5pm, when the museum is free on Wednesdays. I get so much more satisfaction from something when it's free! I'm just cheap like that I guess.

Finally, I wandered all the way home, bypassing multiple metro stops. It was starting to be rush hour, with everyone heading home from work, so I was getting a little bothered by the crowds. I went around the Centre Pompidou from the south this time, and discovered the sculpture fountain hidden back there that I hadn't seen yet despite all my walks past it.

Paris, day off

IMG_2969.JPG
Originally uploaded by rosebuttons

While sight-seeing and wandering and exploring are my favorite ways of spending my days, I must admit that it does get a bit tiring. It's sort of like a job, but the best job ev-AH. I wake up in the mornings, brew my coffee and nibble on my pain au chocolat, review my guide books and notes, consult the maps, and the metro map, then set off to see Paris. I come back home about 8 hours later, collapse on the couch, download my photos, then finally relax.

Last night I met up with un vieux ami and we stayed up till the wee hours of the Paris morning, drinking wine and catching up. So after a good lie-in this morning, I decided to take the day off. I didn't open a guide book, I didn't look at my maps. I just wandered through my neighborhood to a falafel place, L'As du Falafel, which got rave reviews in every single guide book, got some lunch, then I just napped and did some real-life things...I cleaned up my apartment, figured out how to use the washing machine, and went to Monoprix down the street to stock up on some things.

Mon dieux! Monoprix! Is awesome! It's a mini-department store, kind of a like a little Target, but of course way cooler, because it's French :) This time I was wise and brought my own shopping bags, because I learned last time, the hard way, that they'll only give you two little plastic bags. Not very handy for shlepping bottles of wine back to the apartment.

Tonight I'm contemplating an evening boat ride on the Seine to the Eiffel Tower to see it all lit up night....or I may just stay in and relax some more. And also, that crazy tiny French washing machine sounds like it's preparing for a space launch so perhaps I should stay here to monitor it...

So, I apologize to you, my dear armchair travelers, that I have no fabulous photos or exciting travel adventures to share with you. I leave you with this, the highlight of my day, my very excellent falafel lunch followed by a tarte framboise. Mmmm.

For Faye

"Hi Faye, I'm an adorable little quiche. An epinard et chevre quiche, to be exact. I am absolutely bursting with goat cheese goodness."

The nouances of language say so much about a culture. Like for example, the French say fromage for cheese, and chevre for goat cheese. Goat cheese is so special that it would be silly to call it fromage du chevre, it must elegantly have it's own name. But in English we have to call it goat cheese, as clumsy and unappetizing as that sounds.

I saw dead people

Maybe this makes me macabre, or dark, but I loved Pere Lachaise Cemetery. Sure, there were a few tourists, but I wandered for hours feeling completely isolated but surrounded by dead people. It was oddly comforting and peaceful, and a beautiful place. Like a little town all by itself, on a green and quiet hillside, full of sleeping families waiting for more loved ones to come home. The tombs and graves were all individual works of art, sculpture, and architecture. Some simply had inscriptions of the family names, and some had moving poems or messages.

First I visited the tomb of Abelard and Heloise, my number-one reason for visiting. If you don't know the romantic story of these star-crossed 12th-century lovers, go read it now. In short, Abelard was a philosopher who moved into the house of Canon Fulbert. He fell in love with Heloise, the Canon's niece, who was supposedly a great beauty and one of the most well-educated women of her time. However, she was 20 years younger than Abelard and her uncle forbade the relationship and they were forced to part. They secretly married, and she had his baby but had to give him up to her sister to raise. Their love scandalized their community and changed their lives. They lived the rest of their lives apart, never marrying anyone else, but their love survived in eloquent letters. Six hundred years later, upon learning of enduring love story, Josephine Bonaparte was so moved by it that she ordered both of their remains dug up and entombed together in Pere Lachaise. After wandering lost for a while, I finally found their final resting place, although it was covered in scaffolding for renovation. At both of their feet was a little dog, watching them, waiting for them to wake up. Something about the story and the tomb and the little stone dog moved me to tears...maybe it was the cemetery and all the dead people around me, too. So yeah, beneath my snarky cynical exterior I am a bit of a romantic.


After noisily blowing my nose and wiping my tears (thank God for enormous sunglasses) I set off to visit some more dead people...Oscar Wilde, Colette, Sarah Bernhardt, Edith Piaf, and Frederick Chopin were among my stops. I even saw some grave diggers and a funeral taking place...strange to be walking among so much history and stories but having real life keep going on in the same place.

And yes, I did visit Jim Morrison's grave. As Stephanie knows, some of his songs were an important part of the soundtrack of our college years. There was no one else there, which was nice, although I was a little disappointed I didn't to get a photo of the requisite dreadlocked white college kid at the grave site...

And on the way out, I even made a friend, because cemeteries are cool like that. Some random French guy asked me if he could show me around to his favorite grave sites (ah, romance, Paris-style!) but I had to say, "Merci, non," as I needed to get back home. But we did chat for a bit, and it was an interesting end to my day with dead people.

To you and with you, always my heart. -Me

Love is more poignant in French.