Panda à Paris

Bixi vs. Vélib

2011-09-22T05:51:00.000-07:00

There isn't really any competition, but it has little to do with the bike-sharing system and everything to do with the host city. While Montréal seems French in so many ways, it's actually a closeted Dutch city, where biking has become so popular and so mundane that driving almost plays second fiddle. Lots of people use Bixi to get around, but even more appear to have their own bikes and to ride them everywhere. The following video is characteristic - or possible an under-sampling - of the biking scene in the city.

I took this video at 8 AM from our private terrace at L'Auberge de la Fontaine, in the Plateau Mont Royal neighborhood. (The stress of planning and executing a wedding melted away as soon as we arrived at this hotel, the perfect honeymoon home-away-from-home.) After biking the entire length of this bikes-only, protected path later in the day (see map below), Maggie and I only confirmed what we first suspected when I made this video in the morning: we need to move to Montreal.

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Manifestations Place du Palais Royal

2011-03-08T15:42:00.000-08:00

We saw our share of demonstrations, street art, and public theater in Paris. But only once did I see politically-motivated Aquascript (TM).

On the occasion of la Journée Mondiale de l'Eau (World Water Day), April 12, 2010, basic-needs NGO Solidarité International sponsored an art installation that used carefully timed droplets of water to depict bombs and form words saying things like, "I am the leading cause of death, more than . . ." and the same thing in French. I didn't get shots of all the words, but I did get a few of the bombs and a skull-and-crossbones. Sorry it's all backwards - I caught this while still mounted on a Vélib' on my way to the library.

Pretty nifty, eh? You can see a video if the set-up and full execution of the installation at Aquascript's website (see above).

The Place du Palais Royal's placement across from an entrance to the Louvre makes it one of the most central, most visible public spaces in the city. As such, there are new demonstrations, art installations, and events almost every week. It's a spot that's worth passing by often, and once you're there, plan on making like this Aquascript installation - just go with the flow.

Souvenirs III

2011-03-03T18:46:00.000-08:00

Our next sentimental purchase was more ornamental than practical. We'd seen dry goods canisters at restaurants, museums, and in friends' kitchens, but never realized the amazing diversity of styles and shapes until we started visiting antique stores (more on that in another post). Eventually we stumbled upon this set of Art Deco canisters from the 1930s.

They're ceramic and quite heavy, so we had the antiques dealer ship them to us. Good thing he did the packaging, since another box we shipped (with books and miscellaneous stuff) eventually showed up in Somerville looking like it'd gotten in a fight with a customs official:

We're grateful our canisters arrived in perfect condition, but slightly sad since we realized that it's probably not safe to actually use them to store tea, coffee, flour, and spices (as the stenciled words on each instruct). We figured out that these canisters were probably decorated with all manner of lead paint and other toxic substances, so despite our ambition that most of our souvenirs would be useful, these particular pieces will have to remain purely decorative.

Well, almost purely decorative. Even if they don't hold tea, coffee, flour, or spices, they still contain a tasty melange of memories - the very definition of a souvenir.

Souvenirs II

2011-03-02T17:46:00.000-08:00

While in Paris, we did our part in supporting the local economy - but as locals, not as tourists. We bought an air mattress, a few mugs, lots and lots of cheese, and a few other items that probably wouldn't qualify as "souvenirs." Towards the end of our stay, we started thinking about the material legacy that Paris would leave in our lives. Sure, there were the 10,000+ photos we'd taken, and I guess this blog counts as somewhat "material" (or at least "documentary"). But come on - we live in a material world, and we are material girls, so it was high time we picked up a few things to inspire bouts of nostalgia once we'd returned to our regularly scheduled American life.

We started simple: a set of "Prince and Princess" plates we'd first seen at Le Bon Marché in the winter, then rediscovered at another store in May.

Each small, plastic plate (clearly intended for children) depicts a prince or princess offering suggestions for proper table etiquette, always in the first person so as to lead by example:

I carry my food to my mouth.
I don't eat chicken with my fingers.
I don't put my knife in my mouth.
I don't talk with my mouth full.
My hands rest on the table.
I only leave the table when the meal is finished.

Besides pointing to some interesting cultural differences in manners, the plates are brightly colored (the photo doesn't do them justice) and never fail to stimulate conversation. Plus, they're dishwasher-safe!

Prince and Princess plates: find them at a novelty shop on the Ile-St.-Louis near you, and collect all 12!

Last Lunch in Paris

2011-03-01T06:34:00.000-08:00

In the middle of our marathon last day in Paris, we practiced the skill we most appreciated acquiring over our nine months in France: dropping everything to enjoy a leisurely lunch.

One last time, we visited Le Baratin, the celebrated gastro-pub conveniently located a block-and-a-half from our apartment. I'd been for lunch with my mom and Cathy; Maggie and I had been to dinner there once (Mo and Héloise's treat!); but Maggie and I had somehow failed to hit up Le Baratin for their super-economical lunchtime menu.

The whole restaurant is tiny, but we sat in the tiniest section, up a few stairs from the bar and next to a food-and-art library that we could have spent the next nine months working through.

To eat, a few staples of Le Baratin, starting with whitefish and a simple green salad.

Maggie's first course was artichoke au jus. I had some delicious braised oxtail over chickpea-carrot stew. For dessert, we shared the by-now-familiar strawberry soup and a slice of strong cheese.

When asked what we miss most about Paris, we tend to talk a lot about the food culture. It's not too hard to see why. That Le Baratin takes such care in arranging wine bottles above a bookshelf full of reference works that reinforce the professionalism of even the tiniest of out-of-the-way, hole-in-the-wall restaurants - well, that says it all.

First Foreign Correspondent

2010-10-17T14:54:00.000-07:00

We may have left Paris, but we still get updates from time to time thanks to our eyes and ears on the ground, Héloise. She recently emailed this shot of the fallout from Nuit Blanche, which Boston clearly needs to get going.

Yes, that's an old school Citroën delivery van sitting in a fountain at the Parc de Belleville. It's surrounded by streetlights, and it's about to be overrun by Tilal, who's breaching the fountain defenses. Thanks, Héloise, for reminding us of all that there is to miss about Paris - public art, parks, and thoughtful friends.

Concert #3

2010-09-11T16:00:00.000-07:00

Soon after we first arrived in Paris, the "sweet" sounds of my clarinet reverberated through the courtyard as I tried to get back in the habit of practicing daily. To my knowledge, no neighbor ever complained - but I did get lots of invitations to play with people the neighbors knew. Héloise, for instance, connected me with her pharmacist, Catherine, who was looking for a clarinetist with whom she could play through a collection Yiddish folk music. We got together a half-dozen times over the course of the year and ultimately decided to repay Héloise's social networking prowess with an informal concert for her, her kids, and Catherine's parents. It turned out that the concert took place during Dimi's visit, so she attended as well.

As was my habit, I recorded the concert - but unfortunately I botched the recording, such that only one and a half tracks exist. Here they are:

<a href="http://louisepstein.bandcamp.com/track/piste-1">Piste 1 by Paris Chamber Players</a>

<a href="http://louisepstein.bandcamp.com/track/piste-2">Piste 2 by Paris Chamber Players</a>

Luckily, Dimi took charge of the Flip Video camera during the concert, and there are lots of clips to give you a better sense of what (and how) we played. Also there's lots of footage of the kids, who were (as always) unbearably adorable, even when they got a little tired of the whole concert thing.

This is just me warming up, but I include it because, at the end, Catherine says either "He is very handsome" or "He is very good." Either way, it's all good.

Mehdi and Nahel watch attentively while Héloise prepares her iPhone for recording. Tilal dances like no one's watching, and Catherine's parents listen respectfully.

A rare, full track. We could have rehearsed more, but that would have taken all the spontaneity out of the concert. After the hesitant beginning, we make it through the whole thing unscathed and rather spiritedly.

I love the way Catherine celebrates at the end of this one.

Dimi got all meta, filming Mehdi filming us.

Nahel gives new meaning to "interpretive lap dance."

More meta filmmaking. An almost complete "track."

Drama! Tilal knocks all my music off the music stand, then cries about it.

After struggling to find the pages I needed to continue, all is resolved and we pick up where we left off.

The kids were getting bored, thus all the ambient noise and the sterner-than-usual looks from Catherine's parents. Dimi also apparently discovered a new camera angle.

The finale of our Yiddish repertoire was a canon without a satisfactory end, but we made do anyway.

Encore! An Irish folk song. I don't know why, but whatever.

The end! (This post is dedicated to Catherine, who's waited way too long to hear herself play, and to my grandfather, who eats this stuff up.)

Musée National Eugène Delacroix

2010-09-05T14:24:00.000-07:00

After the disappointment of having to pay for a museum on what should have been a typical First Free Sunday (see also: Château de Vincennes), we sought vindication in the form of another museum visit, this time to the Musée National Eugène Delacroix.

Occupying the former apartment and atelier of the über-Romantic painter, the (smallish) museum showcases many of the famous artist's lesser-known works, as well as a number of sketches and personal items collected during Delacroix's voyage to North Africa. The only major works on hand was an early draft of The Death of Sardanapalus, and completely missing were any references to a work we'd learned about through the "Jeunes ont la parole" program - The Women of Algiers (in their Apartment) - or my personal favorite work in the entire Louvre - Liberty Leading the People.

We were in and out in under an hour, but that shouldn't diminish the importance of the museum's collection. If you love any of the works above, the Musée National Eugène Delacroix offers many equally delightful gems. And even if you find the museum itself disappointing, at the very least the garden separating apartment from atelier provides a fantastic refuge for the weary First Free Sunday aficionado.

Skype and Family

2010-08-18T13:19:00.000-07:00

One forehead wrinkle for each question

I'm in Israel right now! It's all thanks to Birthright Israel Foundation, which pays to send hundreds of Jewish youths to the motherland every year. In 11 days, my tour will take me to most of the major historical, religious, cultural, and political sites in the country. This stint on the other side of the pond has brought back some of the challenges that we faced during our first weeks in France. What will I eat? Will I make friends? How will I communicate with loved ones back home?

With France already under my belt, I can answer all of these questions with ease. I will eat everything anyone puts in front of me. I will make some friends, but not too many (especially since I'll have Robert with me). And I will communicate via Skype, the free internet-phone and video-conferencing software that everyone should know about.

There's not too much to explain - you download the software, set up an account, find your peeps online, and press "call." Skype is how we were able to check in with people back home throughout the year, including at Thanksgiving, when we said hi to my entire extended family.

I don't have a phone in Israel, so if I want to call home, it'll have to be with Skype. And that's fine by me.

Souvenirs I

2010-08-14T09:46:00.000-07:00

It's not the prettiest thing we brought back from France, nor is it one that we'll keep for all that long. But in terms of utility, it ranks up there with cocoa from La Bonbonnière and pullovers from Galeries Lafayette:

Yup, it's a poop bag. We only saw two poop bag dispensers in 9 months, and both were in rich suburbs of Paris. The bag above (and the other 10 that we took as "souvenirs") comes from Sceaux, where we visited the lovely park and said goodbye to Damien. It reads, "A small, daily gesture . . . a big gesture for the environment and for other people. Thank you."

The other bags we saw - but didn't take (stupid, stupid, stupid) - were in Versailles.

I want to criticize Paris for not offering poop-bag dispensers, but I know they don't have the spare cash that Versailles and Sceaux have. So here's a cost-effective idea: after having already coordinated bike-sharing, and now car-sharing, would it really be so difficult for the City of Paris to promote poop-bag sharing? People with extra, appropriately-sized plastic bags could bring them to drop-off points, where dog owners could pick them up, and use them to pick up after their dogs. Simple! Safe! Socialism! Petition your arrondissement council today!

A Taste of Home

2010-08-10T10:56:00.000-07:00

Straddling two cultures, leaving one kind of culture shock for another, sometimes the best way to feel at home is to eat like you did at home. While we were in Paris, this meant home-made bagels and tacos, granola bars, banana cakes, mac'n'cheese, baked French toast, and especially cookies. Back in Somerville, this means reproducing some of our favorite dishes from the past year, and making as many French-flavored recipes as possible.

We started with a palate cleanser we enjoyed at Hidden Kitchen, adapted to suit our tastes:

That's farmers market-fresh strawberries and mint from our own garden over home-made strawberry sorbet over limoncello jello. We served it as a dessert, and will definitely make it again - maybe adapting it differently to be peach sorbet over raspberry liqueur jello, or kiwi sorbet over orange vodka jello . . .

Our next flurry of cooking and baking took inspiration from one of our favorite Parisian food bloggers, Clothilde Dusoulier. Her blog and eponymous cookbook, Chocolate and Zucchini, provide English-language recipes that cover a wide range of French cuisine, both traditional and modern.

Here are some of the things we made:

"Papillote de bar aux asperges" - "Papillote" is the technique of cooking something wrapped up in wax paper; we substituted turnips for bar fish.

"Chicken and cashew mini-quiches" - so many substitutions in this one, they don't deserve their name. Basically it's flour, milk, and egg, with whatever else you want to throw in, cooked in muffin tins. Perfect for an appetizer or brunch, and crust-less, so not terribly time-intensive.

"Zucchini carpaccio with raspberry vinegar" - didn't have raspberry vinegar so we had to improvise a little, but it tasted as pretty as it looks.

"Bulgur-stuffed round zucchini" - again, lots of substitutions, but you get the idea. Adjectives we'd use to describe this dish include "filling," "healthy," "seasonal," and "Halloween-y."

Not pictured: super tasty gougères (cheese puffs) that we've now made a few times, all thanks to Chocolate and Zucchini.

One of the souvenirs we picked up months before leaving Paris was a cookbook called Rilletes à la folie. Rillettes are usually meat-based salads, kind of like tuna fish, but made with goose and duck and pork. We were almost never without rillettes in our fridge, since they're perfect for a snack, a picnic dish, an apéro or something to go along with a meal. The cookbook we found provides recipes not only for the meat-based rillettes, but also for veggie and dessert options.

Craving rillettes a few weeks after we moved back, we started out trying to make a strawberry-lavender-cheese version, but realized we didn't have the right cheese, and turned it into a sorbet instead. Influenced by Dimi's spice-inspired approach to food, we topped the sorbet with espresso sugar-encrusted banana and served the ensemble in shot glasses, for something different.

Turns out that it's hard to miss Paris too much when the scent of French cooking fills your apartment a few nights a week. Come on over, we'll treat you to something fabulous!

Photo Challenge #7

2010-08-04T11:34:00.000-07:00

We can't send you Parisian prizes anymore, but we can still test your knowledge of the city. And to make it interesting, if you guess right, we'll send you the address of one of the most interesting views of the city.

All you have to do is tell us 1) the name of the square and 2) what recent film features this square prominently*.

*This is exactly the kind of trivia you'd get on a walking tour with us - and knowing that probably makes you grateful you didn't visit!

Farewell to Damien

2010-08-01T10:09:00.000-07:00

Our plan for our last few days in Paris went like this: say goodbye to friends, check out a few new places, and tire out Panda so she sleeps on the plane and doesn't relapse into separation anxiety. (Final grades for each component of this plan: A, A, and F, respectively.) In an attempt to kill three birds with one RER ride, on Monday, May 31, we headed about 15 minutes south of Paris and met Damien at the Parc de Sceaux.

Damien lives in Antony, so the Parc de Sceaux is "his" park just like the Parc des Buttes Chaumont is "our" park. It's always fun hanging out with Damien, but it was especially nice also having a guide to what turned out to be a much larger space than we expected. Originally the grounds of the Château de Sceaux constructed by Jean-Baptiste Colbert (great-great-great-great-great-great-grandfather of Stephen), the park includes a rose garden, a number of grand canals with fountains, a reconstructed château that houses the Île-de-France museum, fancy outbuildings, playgrounds, a sports complex, and lots of shaded paths.

Despite all this baroque beauty, we will always remember the Parc de Sceaux for the exciting discovery we made there: the park has not one, but TWO - count them - TWO off-leash dog areas.

This is clearly only possible because it's outside of Paris, and because the community of Sceaux is the 44th wealthiest in France. Paris can't even conceive of dedicating greenspace to dogs, even though it'd go a long way towards getting people to use leashes and ramasser. The off-leash areas were especially amazing because they were in wooded areas, rather than within gravel or dirt enclosures, so they seemed remarkably and sustainably clean. Needless to say, Panda was jumping for joy. Literally.

At the end of the day, we were sad to have to say goodbye to Damien, but happy to have discovered the Parc de Sceaux. We'll have to include a special appendix in our "Year in the Herbe" coffee-table book for superior and dog-friendly greenspaces outside the city.

Sans-Papiers Under Pressure

2010-07-30T07:26:00.000-07:00

Expats tend to get a big kick out of comparing the US and France, pointing out as many differences as possible (and we're no exceptions). But sometimes it's the similarities that are most jarring.

All the debate and tension over Arizona's new immigration law reminds me of something I saw right after my pilgrimage to Lully's grave. Leaving the Notre-Dame-des-Victoires church through a side door, I unexpectedly found myself in the courtyard of the Mairie of the 2nd arrondissement. There, I was confronted with a stark reminder of the stories behind immigration, and the often tragic implications of deportation: Carole Achache's exhibition "Cent papiers" may have only run from April 19 to May 6, but its message was timeless.

To illustrate the complexity of the sans-papiers situation, Achache photographed the hands of immigrants alongside the reams of documentation they need to complete in order to become legal - thus the "cent papiers" (100 papers) pun that gives the exhibition its title.

Beneath the photographs, we read the following captions:

"Her father was arrested in the métro station at Gare d'Austerlitz. He's been imprisoned in a detention center for five days. She's three years old. (top left)

Fled a country in civil war with her eight-year-old daughter. Legalized entry and political exile refused. (top right)

He has lived in France since 1989. He works and pays taxes. He has never been granted legal status. He came for his son, who will soon be 18. (bottom left)

There, she worked starting at age ten. She lost two fingers doing that work. Here, she continues to be exploited even though she's still a minor." (bottom right)

There were 48 of these pictures with captions, and the ensemble quietly radiated both strength and desperation.

The text below the pictures reads:

"All human beings are born free and equal in dignity and in rights, except the others. They came to France because they wanted to live normally. They were hungry, or they fled wars. Others came to be with a spouse. They arrived in the country of Voltaire. They came to work, and to pay taxes.

Are they pests? Are there two kinds of humans? The first kind to which we belong by randomly being born into a certain nationality, giving us all the rights normally accorded to human beings? And the second kind, foreigners, whom, we decide, do not merit certain rights?

Who are we to judge others, condemning them for having become sans-papiers?"

I appreciated Achache's photographs and her text. But I would have done something slightly different to point out the inherently fallacious nature of the entire sans-papier/illegal immigration issue. I would have included pictures of sans-papiers who are at little-to-no-risk of being arrested and deported. And the first photograph I would have shown?

Yeah, that's right. Remember when I lost my passport? And then got a new one? Once I had a new passport, even with my old passport in my possession, the titre de séjour I had worked so hard to acquire became obsolete. That meant that from April 21 through June 2, I was in the country illegally. And we knew tons of other Americans who were every bit as much sans-papiers as the people Achache photographed. At least the French are somewhat self-conscious about the basic issue at hand, given Sarkozy's attempt to launch a debate on national identity before the recent regional elections. In the US, we're a little more shy to admit that it's about race and class, not whether you have papers or entered the country "legally." As the controversial new law in Arizona brings this uncomfortable truth to the fore, we need more Carole Achaches to teach us about dignity, respect, and listening before judging.

Hidden Kitchen

2010-07-29T09:02:00.000-07:00

After a restaurant has been gushed over in the New York Times, on various foodie blogs, and by a random friend-of-a-friend who happens to be in Paris and comes over for dinner, it's perfectly reasonable to want to go to there with every fiber of your being. This was the case with Hidden Kitchen, which isn't really a restaurant at all - it's a private supper club run by two twenty-something Americans in Paris. Thanks to all the buzz, its existence isn't so hidden anymore. But the address has been kept a careful secret, and it's so hard to get reservations that Hidden Kitchen has remained mysterious and tantalizing. Somehow we managed to score three spots for Saturday, May 22 (one extra for Dimi), and the 10-course tasting menu did not disappoint.

That front door grille is all we can show you of the exterior of the apartment building in which you'd find Hidden Kitchen. Isn't it pretty? What we can tell you is that the supper club is located in the 1st arrondissement, and that we were stunned to learn that such a centrally-located apartment could fit such a long dining table in its salon.

Upon arrival, Laura (one half of the HK team) handed us champagne flutes, each with a single, submerged lychee infusing the apéritif with the flavor of fresh fruit. We chatted with the other diners - 16 in all, most American, a few Italian, a few French. Then, it was time to sit down for our amuse-bouche.

Braden, the chef, came out to introduce each course, and luckily I took notes as this one wasn't on the printed menu (which you'll see below). We started with this black pepper cracker topped with green apple and watercress, served beside chilled watercress and nutmeg soup. This resembled one of our amuse-bouches at Le Cinq back in February, and portended great things for the rest of the meal.

Next, spring vegetables, poached quail egg and Green Goddess dressing, presented niftily in a rye butter cookie over a spicy fava bean base. We were also served our first wine pairing, a 2008 Domaine de Villargeau, Coteaux du Giennois. If you notice the picture quality degrading gradually through the end of the post, it's because of rapidly fading exterior light, and rapidly increasing intoxication on my part. I'm such a lightweight. Professional pictures of all these dishes can be found here.

This homemade semoulina linguini with radish leaf pesto, pickled white asparagus, and ricotta salata unleashed a fiery debate on the best way to make your own pasta. The Italians had a few things to say about that. But no one debated the excellent taste and presentation of this dish. We were impressed that - in what turned out to be a tiny kitchen, and with only one server helping - they were able to prepare and plate a dish like this such that it arrived hot. Wine pairing: 2007 Domaine de la Pépière, Muscadet Sèvre et Maine.

Behold the beauty of this salmon with hibiscus bay leaf sauce and fingerling potatoes. Too bad the low light prevents us from appreciating the rich color of the sauce, and the way it complemented the salmon's pink hues. Wine pairing: 2010 Château de Roquefort, Côtes de Provence.

For a palate cleanser between the "entrées" and the "plats," we were offered lime sorbet over bourbon jello (!!) with a sprig of mint. They call this the "Mint Julep Cleanser,"and you can find the recipe on Hidden Kitchen's blog.

Braised artichokes with chicken liver mousse ravioli, fennel sautéed in a white wine sauce, and preserved lemon coulis - how many elements can you incorporate in one dish? We love our raviolis, though, so we certainly weren't complaining. Wine pairing: 2009 Domaine Chaume-Arnaud, Marselan.

Meat-time: Cumin encrusted flank steak with skillet polenta and smoked eggplant. Another interesting plating, the meat was perfectly cooked (read: on the rare side of medium-rare), and who doesn't like smoked eggplant? (Actually, I would be shocked if anyone has even heard of smoked eggplant.) That garnish on top is deep-fried eggplant skin - very clever, not to mention striking. Wine pairing: 2008 Clos de l'Anhel, Corbières.

If this were a regular meal and not a tasting menu, the white bean, dill, and beet salad seen here would be a side to the flank steak, but we're glad we got to appreciate it on its own. Braden used bucca soison, a distant cousin of Lima beans, and roasted them in garlic and thyme.

Finally, we made it to dessert. This strawberry shiso sorbet with a puff pastry and rhubarb was the perfect, super sweet complement to a remarkably light meal (considering the number of courses). Wine pairing: 2008 Château Pierre-Bise, Carbenet d'Anjou.

And of course no French meal would be complete without coffee - which in this case arrived with a distinctly American twist: glazed doughnuts.

Towards the end of the meal, Braden and Laura let loose their French bulldog, Tati (named for the discount clothing store), whose presence only underscored the curious nature of the evening - we were served dinner in someone's home, at a big table with a bunch of brand new friends...

. . . which isn't to say there weren't a few formal notes to the evening. At the beginning, we were provided with simple but elegant menus as a souvenir of the evening. And at the end, along with coffee and doughnuts came a request for a "donation" to cover the cost of the meal. Hey, whatever it takes to keep this thing going.

Over the course of the evening, we figured out the reason why the only thing Hidden Kitchen has been able to keep secret is its address: there's no hiding the satisfaction and enthusiasm of people who have just eaten one of the best meals of their lives.

A Morning with Leslie and Ilona

2010-07-26T08:03:00.000-07:00

Back in the day during Dimi's visit, we managed to get together with one of Dimi's best friends, Leslie, who happened to be on an art tour in France with her friend, Ilona. You've already heard about our out-of-this-world lunch at Fish La Boissonnerie, but before lunch was even the hint of a rumble in our bellies, we started our day by visiting the Musée de l'Orangerie.

Located at the far end of the Tuileries from the Louvre, the Musée de l'Orangerie (as its name suggests) originally sheltered the Emperor's orange grove, starting in 1852. By 1870, apparently disdainful of the health benefits of oranges the Third Republic used the building as storage, a test-taking facility, a barracks, a venue for sports and music and political rallies and industrial trade shows and dog shows and flower shows, not to mention a paintings exhibition hall. Finally, in 1921, the building was given to the Beaux-Arts administration, who turned it into a modern art museum.

The building's transformation into an art museum took place with a particular work in mind: Claude Monet had just donated his epic Nymphéas (Waterlillies) series to his country, and asked only that a space be designed to accommodate the uniquely proportioned paintings. Housed in two specially-designed elliptical-shaped rooms that feature skylights covered in diaphanous materials to facilitate the gentle dispersion of natural light, Nymphéas was and remains the main event of the Musée de l'Orangerie. It's easy to see why.

Besides Nymphéas, the museum's permanent collection (donated by the widow of the influential modern art collector Paul Guillaume) includes pieces by Renoir, Manet, Cézanne, Sisley, Derain, Matisse, Picasso, Soutine, Utrillo, and Modigliani. There are quite a few portraits, and it is all extremely good stuff.

(You will get so many brownie points if you can name the artists and piece titles of these four paintings. Mo, good luck.)

The collection supplements what you'll find in the Musée d'Orsay and the Centre Pompidou, and for the lover of fin-de-siècle and early-twentieth-century art, the Musée de l'Orangerie is a must-see.

The museum is also a must-see for the lover of Paris city walls, as a fragment of the 16th-century enceinte that protected west end of the Louvre-and-Tuileries complex was unearthed during recent renovations and left visible for museum-goers.

So cool!

Vélib' is Everywhere

2010-07-10T17:51:00.000-07:00

Just when you thought you'd seen everything, Vélib' now has bikes in the Seine. Kind of.

On our bateau mouche, no one else seemed particularly taken aback by Vélib's presence, so I looked like a total weirdo jumping up to snap a few pictures as the boat sped by.

Maybe JCDecaux's next troubled business venture can be a boat-sharing program on the Seine. I'd sign up.

Express Yourself

2010-07-05T08:21:00.000-07:00

Remember that photo challenge from way back featuring the head of Karl Marx? It represented the tip of the iceberg in terms of the hottest street art trend in Paris: stenciled texts and images on the pavement and on walls.

Often it's about spreading ambiguous slogans, like these two found on the Rue du Faubourg du Temple just after the May 1st festivities. If you have any idea what they mean, let me know.

There's no ambiguity in the following stencil portraits. On the left, a psychadelically framed Salvador Dali is captioned as saying, "The word 'graffiti' must remain a shitty word, an insult to the spiritually constipated." In the center - well, did they really need to identify Beethoven? I mean, come on! And on the right, Konny Steding is a street artist who seems to specialize in stencil.

Finally, stencil art can get political, re-purposeful, and philosophical. Gaza was a hot topic long before Israeli commandos zip-lined onto Turkish boats in June. This color wheel covers a sewer grate, and the tag on the right reads, "Sometimes I tell myself that in creating man, God overestimated his abilities, just a little."

This is all well and good, but I'm still convinced that the best street art is that which aspires to sincere expression, rather than "art." We stumbled across this exemplar in our very own courtyard.

Street stencil artists, rejoice. The future is in good hands.

Flying the Colors

2010-07-04T10:36:00.000-07:00

There's no reason why we can't be both patriotic and Francophilic (that's not a disease, just in case you were wondering). So here's our attempt at an abstract American flag photo collage.

I never was very good at collage. It would have been so much easier to just save this post for today. Oh well - Happy 4th of July!

Parc Montsouris

2010-07-03T16:37:00.000-07:00

If we wrote a coffee table book called "A Year in the Herbe: 365 Parisian Parks," would you buy it? Because the more we walk around the city, the more impressed we are by the gads of green spaces the city manages to tuck away in every neighborhood, and we feel that Paris deserves recognition for something other than food, art, architecture, history, and other boring stuff.

Take the Parc Montsouris in the 14th arrondissement, for example. It boasts a lake, a guignol, a bandstand, pony rides, gorgeous landscaping, and lots of grass on which to lounge.

In all this, of course, the Parc Montsouris is not so different from the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, "our" park. The two were commissioned around the same time by Emperor Napoleon III and Baron Haussman, and were intended as the north and south anchors of the city's park system (the Bois de Vincennes in the east and the Bois de Boulogne in the west are the other two). One thing the Parc des Buttes Chaumont doesn't have, though: the RER B splitting it in two, or any station within the park.

But hey, who's keeping track?

Farewell Picnic Fare

2010-07-01T12:13:00.000-07:00

With three days left before our departure, we wanted to throw one more picnic for anyone who couldn't make it to the farewell pot we'd had in the courtyard. Unfortunately the weather did not cooperate, and at the last minute we had to move our picnic indoors. But no matter - everyone who came still had a great time, and (most importantly) we ate really well. The picnic gave us one last excuse to share some of our favorite cheese and sliced meats with our friends.

It was while shopping for another picnic - with Becky and Gladis - that Maggie discovered rosette saucisson (front and center), a dry, "rose"-shaped sausage that can be sliced thin and that goes perfect on a baguette even without condiments. When I went to the charcuterie to pick some up for our indoor farewell picnic, I was asked whether I wanted regular rosette or rosette à l'ancienne (front left). Indecisive, I took both, thinking it'd be fun to do a taste test. It was. On the right, there's some basic sliced ham, perfect with melon but delicious without, too. This charcuterie was all well and good, but paled in comparison to the cheeses we served.

From left to right, a long blanc, which is a soft goat cheese; tête de moine, a hard cheese that's shaved into a flower shape; and cantal, a raw milk cheese from the Massif Central region. This collection represents much of what we learned about designing a cheese plate during our year in France: balance cheeses that are hard and soft, that come from goats, cows, and sheeps; whose origins are in different regions; and that come in diverse shapes and colors. Clearly we did a much better job diversifying our cheese plate than we did with our charcuterie plate.

We're particularly excited to have learned about tête de moine (thanks to Mark, Jeanice, and Amelia!), which even the other customers at the fromagerie (cheese store) didn't know about when I requested it. The cheese comes in a large wheel, and to shave it, you need a wood base with a spike that holds the cheese while it's being turned, and then a sharp knife and good technique to produce the flower. When we return to France, we're investing in a tête de moine shaver and becoming really, really good friends with our local cheesemonger.

Bateau Mouche

2010-06-30T08:34:00.000-07:00

It's one of the classic tourist experiences in Paris:

You climb onto a long, flat boat that cruises up and down the Seine. During the cruise, a guide - and sometimes a recording - points out the incredible concentration of sights along the banks, translating each sentence into at least four langauges. During the hour-long cruise, you "see" most of what lures people to Paris: the Eiffel Tower, Notre Dame, the Louvre, the Musée d'Orsay, Place de la Concorde, the Palais de Justice, the Île-St.-Louis, the Hôtel de Ville, the Palais Chaillot at the Trocadero, the Grand Palais - just about the only thing you don't see is Montmartre.

On her jet-lagged and slightly disorienting first day in Paris, Dimi bravely stayed awake during a bateau mouche ride that we'd been saving just for her. Having already seen all the above sights from multiple angles on multiple occasions, Maggie and I weren't too impressed by the water-level views, but it was a good introduction to the city for Dimi. And there was one more redeeming factor: the bridges.

Yeah, it's bridge trivia time: the Pont des Arts (left) links the Institut de France (home of the Académie Française) with the central courtyard of the Louvre, which was called the "Palais des Arts" under Napoleon. The original bridge, constructed between 1802 and 1804, was the first metal bridge in Paris. Luckily an inspection revealed structural deficiencies in 1977, resulting in the bridge's "temporary" closing and preventing disaster when, two years later, a barge rammed it and 60 meters of the bridge collapsed into the river. An exact replica of the original bridge reopened in 1984, and is now covered in tiny locks that symbolize love or some such nonsense.

The Pont Neuf (center), literally "New Bridge," is the oldest bridge in Paris (figures, right?). Joining the left and right banks via the tip of the Île-de-la-Cité, the Pont Neuf was constructed by Henry IV between 1578-99 and had the distinction of being the first Parisian bridge not covered by houses. Rumor has it that the hundreds of sculpted faces lining the bridge (click on the picture for a close-up) were meant to mock Henry IV's enemies at the court; some common criminals were thrown in just to confuse things properly.

Finally, the Pont d'Alma (right) is best known today as the bridge right next to the eponymous tunnel where Princess Diana died in 1997. Before that, its landmark was the Zouave, the only remaining statue of four originals meant to commemorate France's victory in the Crimean war, which ended around the beginning of the bridge's initial construction in 1854-6. The Zouave has traditionally been used to measure the Seine's water levels, and in 1910 the water came up to his neck. Crazy! Oh, bridges, you fascinate me.

Of the 32 bridges crossing the Seine within the city of Paris, we floated under 22 during our cruise with Vedettes du Pont Neuf. And as much as I love some good bridge trivia, the real highlights of the tour were the parts of the bridges we never get to see - the undersides. Every bridge regaled us with different structural supports, construction materials, and patterns.

Based on our bateau mouche experience, Maggie and I agreed that the next time we come to Paris, we're living on a houseboat moored to the banks of the Seine. We'll support ourselves by selling a coffee table book called "Under the Bridge." Place your order now, supplies will be limited!

Musée Nissim de Camondo

2010-06-29T09:47:00.000-07:00

To my map of Parisian Jewish geography I should probably add the Musée Nissim de Camondo. Unlike the other sites on that map, nothing about this extensive collection of 18th-century décor suggests any overt connection to Judaism or Jewish history. But the connection is there nonetheless, in the lives of the collection's founder and his family. Moïse de Camondo was born in Turkey, the scion of a wealthy Jewish family who owned one of the Ottoman Empire's largest bank. He immigrated to France at the age of 9 with his father and uncle, eventually taking over the family bank before retiring to pursue his real passion. Between 1911 and 1914, Moïse constructed a mansion on the family plot bordering the Parc Monceau; the mansion was specifically designed to accommodate his immense collection of French 18th-century furniture, objets d'art, rugs, books, dining services, light fixtures, and more.

In his will, he left his mansion and its contents to the French state, with the provision that it be opened to the public as a museum. Curated by the Musée des Arts Décoratifs, the museum (€7/€5) offers free audioguides with hours and hours of commentary on the provenance of various pieces, the techniques that went into their design and fabrication, and the ways in which Moïse's collection played a part in his everyday life.

As you can see, the museum is full of beautiful colors, textures, patterns, and shapes. There's an entire room full of porcelain dining-ware; another room whose octagonal shape accommodates an entire set of wall-panels taken from an old hôtel particulier slated for demolition; and tons of amazing ébonisterie, or artisan woodwork.

Throughout the museum, visitors are reminded of the delicate balance pursued by Moïse in his collecting: while immersing himself in the aesthetics of 18th-century France, he never abandoned the creature comforts of the early 20th century. The building's façade (see below) may suggest textbook Classical architecture, but many interior touches suggest the influence of Art Nouveau. And in the most practical areas of the house - bathrooms, servants' quarters, and the kitchens - no expense was spared in creating state-of-the-art facilities.

Conspicuously absent in the museum are any references to Moïse's heritage or faith, and I would argue that this fact makes the museum just as important to understanding the Jewish legacy in Paris as the Museum of the History of Judaism or Paris' Holocaust Museum. Moïse de Camondo provides a textbook example of identity-effacing assimilation, exactly what the French have promoted for more than a century. Not only did Moïse become a pillar of the French economy, but he gave generously to the state, both in blood and treasure (his first son, for whom the museum is named, lost his life fighting for France in the First World War). His generous giving infused his daughter with confidence at the onset of the German occupation of France in World War Two - surely her family would be safe from deportation. But as visitors learn from a plaque as they enter the museum's courtyard, Moïse's daughter Béatrice, son-in-law Léon, granddaughter Fanny and grandson Bertrand were all arrested in December, 1942, and held at Drancy before being deported to Auschwitz, where they were killed.

The Musée Nissim de Camondo serves as a quiet reminder of the contributions that naturalized Jews made to their adopted country. But by no means should you feel like going there will be a downer. You won't be able to stop "ooh"-ing and "ahh"-ing over the building and its contents. Happily, the museum proves to be a cheaper and more effective introduction to 18th-century design than the Château de Versailles, whose fame attracts crowds that interfere with attempts to appreciate materials, artistry, and history.

With the Parc Monceau out back and the Musée Cernuschi right around the corner, it's easy to devote an entire day to this gorgeous corner of the 8th arrondissement. If you manage to absorb even a smidgen of Moïse de Camondo's generosity and refinement, it'll be a day well spent.

L'Arnacoeur

2010-06-28T14:08:00.000-07:00

Here's a piece of vocabulary we learned the hard way: un arnaqueur is a swindler, a con man, a scam artist. L'Arnacoeur, the title of a recent French film, plays on this meaning to coin a term for a professional heartbreaker, someone who is paid to cause relationships to fall apart.

Maggie and I only made it to the movies four times in nine months, and this was our first fully-in-French foray (Inglourious Basterds doesn't count, even though the significant French-language portions of the film weren't subtitled.) Apparently our French comprehension was up to snuff because we thoroughly enjoyed it, and can't wait to get the few jokes we missed when it comes out on Netflix in the states. As l'arnacoeur, Romain Duris more than compensates for the film's predictable rom-com plot line with his dead-pan delivery and unbearably cute scruffiness. And the antics of François Damiens were knee-slappingly hilarious.

Here's the teaser plot, courtesy of allocine.fr, a great resource for finding what's playing in a French movie theater near you: "Is your daughter going out with a creep? Is your sister stuck in a dramatic and destructive relationship? Today's there's a radical solution to these problems, and his name is Alex. His role: professional break-up artist. His method: seduction. His mission: transform any boy- or girlfriend into an ex. Alex has one rule: he only breaks up couples in which the woman is unhappy. So why would he agree to break up an ecstatic couple of thirty-somethings who are set to marry in a week?"

Why, indeed. If you're in Paris, go see it, and if not, look for it out on DVD after August 24. L'Arnacoeur is seriously funny.

Homage

2010-06-27T19:29:00.000-07:00

In our day-to-day lives, Notre Dame de Paris didn't have much of a presence. But as the central monument of the entire country - did you know that all distances in France are measured from Notre Dame? - no visitor escaped being brought there. Consequently we've amassed quite a collection of shots of the place, and it's high time we posted a few.

Putting the "Agog" in Synagogue

2010-06-26T08:04:00.000-07:00

Places of worship in Paris include such architectural gems as Notre Dame de Paris; Sacré Coeur; La Madeleine; St. Chapelle; St. Eustache; St. Germain des Prés; St. Martin-des-Champs, St. Augustin, St. Alexandre-Nevsky, the American Church; get the idea? This is what happens when Catholic and Royal power is concentrated in a single city for 1,000+ years, and when ostentation is prized over efficiency. The synagogues of Paris show exactly the opposite, namely what happens when Jewish communities remain small, relatively poor, and intentionally discreet.

Case in point: the synagogue at 75 Rue Julien Lacroix in the 20th arrondissement, on the path from our apartment to Panda's nightly pee spot.

There are two ways you know this is a synagogue: first, the two tablets over the entrance (left); second, the presence of security guards during holiday services. Like other synagogues in Belleville (there are quite a few), this one serves the Orthodox Sephardic community, many of whose members immigrated to Paris from North Africa over the last half-century.

Another example of a nearly-invisible synagogue is one you can find in a well-traveled place, specifically the Place des Vosges.

It looks just like every other part of the Place des Vosges, which was built as a new royal residence by Henry IV in the late 16th century and which prompted the French aristocracy to move en masse to majestic hôtels particuliers in the Marais, many of which are now state-run museums. I went inside this "Temple des Vosges" when choosing a synagogue for the High Holidays and it's quite beautiful inside. Too bad they don't really encourage visitors.

Compare the Temple des Vosges with the following two synagogues, the first located on the Boulevard de Belleville in the 20th arrondissement just a few blocks from the Rue Julien Lacroix synagogue; the second located on the Rue Pavée, just a few blocks from Temple des Vosges in the 4th arrondissement.

Here are two synagogues that aren't afraid to advertise. Michkenot Yaacov, I know nothing about. The Synagogue de la Rue Pavée is famous-ish for having been designed by your favorite Art Nouveau architect and mine, Hector Guimard, who was also responsible for the Métro entrances we posted about recently. Unfortunately, this synagogue is not open for tours, but at least it's possible to get a good shot of its exterior.

I can't say as much for one of the next two synagogues we attempted to photograph.

On the left you see the Communauté Liberale Juive, located on Rue Moufle in the 11th arrondissement. (This is where Adam, Rachel, and I went for Simchat Torah services.) By now you've probably noticed the fences in front of most Parisian synagogues. This is the only evidence of anti-Semitism I've ever seen in France, and it's more evidence of the fear of anti-Semitism than the thing itself. Better safe than sorry, I guess.

To finish up, the synagogue on the right belongs to an affluent community in the 16th arrondissement (affluent and 16th are basically synonymous) and is mostly remarkable for its heavy, pseudo-Art Déco architecture that seems to cry out, "The power of the Star of David compels you! Enter!" Other Parisian synagogues could take a hint from this one - unless, that is, they prefer to remain the humble, self-effacing step-siblings of all those magnificent churches.

Last Research Adventure

2010-06-24T12:43:00.000-07:00

With two weeks to go before our departure, I had pretty much written off any more research. I felt like I had a solid amount of material and thought that I had exhausted most of the relevant leads that had come up during the year. I thought wrong. When I was least expecting it, a research opportunity came up that I couldn't ignore, and so it was back to the archives for Louis.

Behold the headquarters of the Société d'Auteurs, Compositeurs, et Editeurs de Musique (SACEM) - basically the organization responsible for collecting royalties from the performances of works by its members. The group is over a century old, and played a role in the finances of the composers I'm studying. (Today, they still hand out royalties, but less to art music composers and more to pop stars like Carla Bruni, Charlotte Gainsbourg, and Camille.) After meeting with the head of SACEM's archives and learning that most archival materials weren't on site, I didn't have much hope for gaining access to them. But lo and behold, the guy I met arranged for stuff to be sent to SACEM headquarters, and when I got the call, I briefly forgot about my last two weeks of relaxation, put down my wine glass, and went back to research.

I hoped to find some useful info on composers' income from royalties, but the documents to which I was given access had more to do with the lines of succession for each composer. Ravel's proved to be a particularly interesting case. When he died in 1937, he was fairly wealthy, thanks to the runaway success of Boléro (1928). As he had no children, his brother Edouard inherited the rights to his royalties. When Edouard passed away in 1960, he left the rights to the nurse who had cared for him during his last years. She got sued by Edouard's nephew and niece, died, and won the lawsuit (in that order). Her widow - a hairdresser from (oddly enough) the same town Ravel was born in - inherited her rights, and passed it on to his second wife, who's still living, and who shares the rights with her daughter and with a Dutch bank. Got it? Me neither.

Visiting SACEM wasn't as productive as I had hoped, but I established a good contact who may ultimately give me greater access to the financial records that could make my dissertation way more interesting. And I got to enjoy a nifty, post-war building whose location (in Neuilly, on the Seine) and design (see below) reflect the affluence of an institution that's raking in the dough - in part thanks to Ravel's Boléro.

Guest Post: Dimi

2010-06-23T09:41:00.000-07:00

We invited all our guests to contribute guest posts to this blog, but so far only a few intrepid souls have taken advantage of our offer. Dimi chose to compose an epistolary post, and we've taken the liberty of selecting pictures to accompany her observations.

Here are notes I thought of and sent to Trina and Carole when I got back. If you want to use them, or not, you may, or not. ~d

Here's the first installment of the travelogue:

On a sociotal level, my comparative observation is that Parisians are austere in dress and manner, yet happy. Americans are not ashamed to talk incessantly and wear cheap, ill-fitting clothing, and lack peace.

Just sayin'

Second Installment:

Non-verbal communication IS a form of communication and , as I observed this week, can be the most effective.

American shrinks will tell you that you have to talk and TAAALK it out! B.S. to that narrow thought.

The French, according to what I saw and heard, do just fine with a simple hand motion or eye contact and move on. And they use physical materials, such as paint, sculpture, fabric, and architecture expressively.

And few words, carefully chosen.
~d

(Remember this?)

Installment Three:

The French give new meaning to Beige!

My misguided mission had been to eliminate beige from the planet.
Now I've seen how breathtakingly the French artisans, commoners, and kings have texturized and qualitized the (non)color to nearly knock you over with its beigeful beauty.
~d

Toto, We're not in Paris Anymore

2010-06-18T12:33:00.000-07:00

We've been a little slow in posting this past week because we've been traveling around, hitting up Maggie's family reunion, spending time with her mom and sister, and attending her 5-year college reunion. As if returning to Somerville after 9 months in Paris weren't culture shock enough, Maggie's family reunion took place on her aunt's farm in Western Minnesota, not too far from Fargo. We went from one kind of immersion to another, camping in a horse pasture, going for a lake cruise, and eating non-stop BBQ. One of our favorite moments of the weekend really drove home the distance we've traveled - geographically and culturally - from Paris.

That's me and Bill, heading out for a walk around the "block" (3 miles long). And to think, just a month ago we were taking pictures of street art and the music library inside the Opera Garnier . . .

Secrets of the Second Arrondissement

2010-06-15T15:52:00.000-07:00

This one's for the musicologists.

Next to the Mairie (town hall) of the 2nd arrondissement, you'll find a fairly unobtrusive, run-of-the-mill Baroque church called Notre-Dame-des-Victoires.

It's not the most interesting of churches, even for enthusiasts. Constructed between 1629 and 1737 by Augustinian monks, the church offers fairly standard Baroque architecture, excepting the transept's spherical roof. And the only non-architectural feature deemed worthy of mention in the Wikipedia article on the church are the thousands of ex voto offerings plastered to its walls - basically a bunch of plaques expressing gratitude for the fulfillment of some prayer.

But a stroll through the aisles reveals that the church has another claim to fame.

Uncharacteristically, one of the aisle arches is squared off by a wood piece (seen above), from which protrudes a bust.

The bust looked familiar enough to me that I made an effort to read the Latin text etched in stone on the underside of the wood piece.

My Latin isn't so good, but the only two words I needed to see were "mors" and "Lullius" to know that this plaque - and the bust above it - mark the grave of Giovanni-Baptista Lulli, aka Jean-Baptiste Lully, aka the man generally credited with inventing French opera. (If anyone can fully translate this epitaph, I'd be grateful.)

Lully (1632-87) came to France from Florence in the mid-17th century and soon became Louis XIV's unofficial "Minister of Music." He conducted the King's orchestra, composed and performed in ballets, collaborated with Molière, and became the second director of the Paris Opéra. Lully died when, after striking his foot with the massive staff then used to keep time during musical performances, he contracted gangrene and refused amputation. Nice.

I'm probably biased, but I feel like there should be more of a to-do around Lully's grave. After all, there are maps of the Paris graves of other celebrities (Jim Morrison owes a lot to Lully, right?). On the other hand, I liked finding this unassuming, nearly unmarked monument on my own. Hopefully this post won't spoil what currently seems like one of many well-kept secrets of the Second Arrondissement.

Watch Out, Paris

2010-06-14T20:14:00.000-07:00

With a week and a half to go before our departure, Maggie finally took a leap of faith and climbed up on a Vélib'.

For a long time, she had been hesitant to ride, in part because Vélib' bikes are heavy and slightly awkward, but more because Parisian traffic can be frighteningly intense. I never worried about either of these things, mostly because I don't have Maggie's common sense and preservation instincts.

Ultimately, Maggie rode one Vélib' to a movie theater nearby, and another one back to our apartment, all without incident. When we go back to Paris, maybe she'll feel more comfortable with the bike and with Parisian traffic. And then . . .

. . . Oh, the places she'll go!

PDA

2010-06-13T20:06:00.000-07:00

Paris, as everyone knows, is the city of love. In every corner, a romantic surprise awaits those observant enough to notice. And by "a romantic surprise" I don't mean sighting the Eiffel Tower through medieval buildings, or people-watching at a quaint café that has its own resident accordionist, or sharing a decadent, aphrodisiac-rich dessert at a hole-in-the-wall restaurant. No, by "a romantic surprise," I mean PDA (public displays of affection), in which amorous Parisians surprise you with the intensity of their romantic urges.

Exhibit A: The Classic Mid-Afternoon Park Bench Make-out Session. We saw this during many a walk with Panda at the Parc des Buttes Chaumont. Most of the time we were too bashful to document the phenomenom. But thanks to the powers of a telephoto lens, we can share our slightly sketchy (but mostly anthropological) voyeurism with you!

Exibit B: The Steamy Lip-lock with Handsy Embrace in a Very Crowded Public Place. We saw these two while making our way down the Champs-Elysées during Nature Capitale. (Bonus: The reason we took this picture had nothing to do with the PDA people and everything to do with the guy carrying a cat on his shoulders, just behind them.) The street-side hook-up is less common than the park bench version, but it makes up for its lower frequency with higher visibility. We're not saying people don't have a right to greet each other with kisses - after all, "bises" are an important part of French culture - it's just that when things go beyond cheek-kisses, we start noticing. (Also noticed during our walk down the Champs-Elysées: a mother suspending her young daughter over a drain while the daughter urinated. This took place right across the street from Ladurée.)

Of course, the PDA depicted above is tame compared with what Maggie saw under a tree in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont a week before we left. Even if we had taken pictures of what those people were doing, we wouldn't post them - this is a family blog!

Shorts-Sighted

2010-06-13T11:52:00.000-07:00

Once upon a time, we thought shorts were a no-no in Paris. We read in guide books that only tourists wear shorts in this oh-so-fashion conscious city, and for a long time, our personal experience reflected this rule. But soon after another American-in-Paris blogger reinforced Paris' no-shorts policy, we visited Nature Capitale and noticed exceptions. Lots of them.

First, there is an epidemic of man-capris in Paris, which comes as no great surprise.

We know these aren't the same thing as shorts, but once you start wearing capris, it's a slippery slope down . . .

And just in case you thought this was the work of rogue Frenchmen, flaunting their pasty legs in the face of fashionability, think again. The Champs-Elysées boasts some of the most coveted window-display real estate in Paris, and even there, shorts are beginning to appear.

Normally we'd be excited about this liberalization of men's wear, since the unspoken ban on shorts has always seemed unfair. But as we said, it's a slippery slope from capris down, and we saw evidence of the unsightliness that often accompanies shorts-wearing.

Short shorts remind us that as France transitions into a shorts-wearing nation, it must set a new standard for warm weather clothing. I recommend we call it "comfortable chic." Emphasis (as always) on the chic - sorry, short shorts fans.

Last Fish Dish

2010-06-11T14:24:00.000-07:00

It's a quandary we deal with every time we go out to eat: try something new, or go back to a restaurant we know and love? In our last few weeks in Paris, we favored the familiar, making a point to revisit three of our most beloved restaurants. We returned to Fish la Boissonnerie one last time with several initiates in tow: Dimi, Ilona, and Leslie.

Fish la Boissonnerie, a wine bar in the St.-Germain-des-Prés area of the 6th arrondissement, is a restaurant we've mentioned a few times before. The owners, an American and a Kiwi, also own a sandwich place across the street (Cosi) and a cave (wine store) around the corner. As you can see above and directly below, the distinctive Art Nouveau façade inspires a funky and comfortable interior décor. This isn't a restaurant for an intimate tête-à-tête; it's more of a warm, boisterous place to enjoy excellent food and wine at reasonable prices.

Our most recent Fish experience took place around lunch (three courses at 25 euros; dinner runs three courses for 35 euros, which is also mind-bogglingly reasonable, especially given how chic and touristy the surrounding neighborhood is). Unfortunately we didn't remember to take a picture of the menu, so we can't provide the names of any of our dishes, but we can at least point out some highlights. Know that everything you see below tasted just as good as it looks.

Left: spring onion over a ham-and-risotto salad. Middle: Prosciutto on toast. Right: Awesome purple grass-looking material over fish over risotto.

Left: That's a poached egg on a fish filet! Right: AWESOME duck breast with potato purée, and most impressive of all, the plate with that streak of jus acting as a landing strip for the duck. Brilliant.

Dessert: Chocolate tart with homemade ice cream and crème brûlée (Maggie's favorite).

We'd be remiss if we didn't bow down before the all-you-can-eat baskets of incredible, brick-oven flatbread, which comes from Cosi right across the street. Also, how clever is that little fish design on the wine glass? Pretty clever.

During future trips to Paris, when presented with that old restaurant quandary, Fish la Boissonnerie might be the one place we always choose over trying something new. It's that good.

Fish la Boissonnerie

69, rue de Seine

75006 Paris

01 43 54 34 69

Motorcycles Are Everywhere

2010-06-10T12:50:00.000-07:00

The streets of Paris are overrun with motorcycles, scooters, electric bikes, and all other manner of powered deux roues (two-wheeled vehicles). After months of riding an unusually heavy, manually-operated bike in the midst of loud revving, noxious exhaust, and an utter disregard for the rules of the road, I've come to detest motorcycles. (Stateside, there's an ad campaign that tries to encourage motorcycle awareness among car drivers with the slogan "Motorcycles are Everywhere!!" but I always interpret it as reminding people of just how evil motorcycles are.)

That's one of the reasons why we haven't made an effort to document motorcycles in the same way that we did fire trucks and public sanitation vehicles. Which isn't to say we ignored them completely. Here are two of my favorite motorcycle pictures, from our photo archives:

A Night at the Museums Part II

2010-06-07T20:07:00.000-07:00

Sorry to leave you hanging on that last post. I promise, it's worth the wait.

Our final stop of the evening was the nef (nave) of the Grand Palais. Like the Petit Palais, the Pont Alexandre III, and several other Parisian landmarks, the Grand Palais was constructed to host the 1900 World's Fair. It's an immense building, different parts of which host various temporary exhibitions. (The nef has also been known to host basketball matches, according to Damien.) Normally, tourists can only visit the nef under the auspices of an exhibition, but we got to see the vast empty space for the architectural pièce-de-résistance that it is.

With its fabulous Art Nouveau-influenced ironwork, its awe-inspiring proportions, and the fancy colored light projected everywhere, we would have been satisfied just seeing the place. But as befits an event as noble and epic as the Nuit des Musées, a surprise awaited us: the perfume maker Francis Kurkdjian had designed an art installation that floated thousands of light-refracting bubbles through the nef's voluminous interior.

We found ourselves in a surreal universe of sheer joy, where all was sparkling, luminescent, weightless. And yet again, this wasn't enough, for Kurkdjian's bubbles carried scents that contributed to a sense of euphoria in everyone present. From various corners of the hall, the magic bubble machines broadcast waves of pine, citrus, lily-of-the-valley (perhaps in honor of May 1st?), and other olfactory delights to the eager and receptive noses of anyone not suffering from allergies.

The installation inspired wonder in its audience, transforming jaded, tired adults into giggling, re-energized children. If that was one of the goals of "La Nuit des Musées" as a whole, then I say: Mission accomplished.

A Night at the Museums

2010-06-06T15:12:00.000-07:00

Say nearly all museums in Paris were exceptionally open for free between 6pm and 1am on a balmy Saturday night in mid-May. What might our reaction be?

If you guessed "unbounded excitement followed by super-hardcore running around," you guessed right! For on the recent "Nuit des Musées," we combined our love of free museums with our preference for unusual sight-seeing experiences, ones that made us feel more like residents and less like tourists.

After starting off the evening right - with an epic apéro chez Adam and Rachel - we set off for the Jardin des Plantes and the complex of museums that surround it. Bizarrely, the complex is known as the "Muséum national d'histoire naturelle" (rather than musée - anyone know why?). Within the "Museum of Natural History" group, we wanted to visit the museums of Paleontology and Comparative Anatomy, of Mineralogy and Geology, and the Grande Galerie de l'Evolution, but only the last was open. For once, we waited in a long line (30+ minutes). Luckily the hordes of French children waiting with their parents kept us plenty entertained. And then, when we finally entered the building, we immediately forgot the line.

If you think these pictures are overwhelming, then you probably shouldn't visit the Grande Galerie. This is one of those museums where you could spend an hour moving 15 feet, and not just because of the crowds. On the other hand, if you get a kick out of life-sized models of animals and/or late-19th-century, World's Fair-style architecture, if you like accumulating a museum experience over several visits, or if you like watching little kids have the time of their lives, then boy oh boy is the Grande Galerie for you! And for us. We made an excellent first choice for our Grand Night at the Museums.

Next stop: a museum chosen not for the interest of its content, but for the unusual nature of an event they were hosting. The Musée de l'Assistance Publique - Hôpitaux de Paris doesn't normally have a lot going for it - they charge 4 euros for three rooms of displays on the history of the public hospital system of Paris. Maybe if we were public health geeks we could get into it, but they focused too much on administrative changes and technological advancements, and not enough on some of the super old buildings that house the hospitals. In its favor, employees of the Assistance Publique - Hôpitaux de Paris (APHP) were performing chamber music live during our visit. Against its favor, the employees were not all that talented, and this is what we had to look at while they played:

In case the picture is unclear, this is a model of a hospital room souped up with all the latest technology, and a ballerina taking a break between performances. Performances of what, we don't know, because we didn't stick around to find out. The "museum" - even the "live" parts - just couldn't capture our interest.

The whole reason we showed up had nothing to do with technology or administration, and everything to do with something the hospitals excelled in circa 1830: serve soup to the poor. That's right! For La Nuit des Musées, the Musée de l'Assistance blah blah blah pulled a recipe deep from its archives and produced vats of a characteristic bouillon, which (uncharacteristically for a 19th-century reenactment) was served to us by a fancy-looking chef.

As dusk brought a cool spring air to the beautifully appointed courtyard of this former hôtel particulier, a bowl of rich beef bouillon was just the thing we needed to warm us up and energize us for our next and final stop, the highlight of the evening, the

To be continued . . .

Bringing Home the Baguette

2010-06-04T03:31:00.000-07:00

In France, the act of buying a baguette is highly ritualized, and over 9 months in Paris we had many opportunities to both observe and participate in the experience. Before leaving, we documented our understanding of the process of purchasing bread, and we humbly submit our performance of this important phenomena for your consumption and critique.

Step 1: Be patient.

Step 1 Commentary: With a different boulangerie to be found every 736 ft. (unscientific estimate) on the rue de Belleville, at first we had trouble understanding why anyone would bother waiting in line. We ultimately came to two conclusions: 1) Some boulangeries are better than others, attracting larger crowds. 2) Even at inferior boulangeries, lines form because people don't stagger their visits throughout the day. Which isn't to say that lines only form early in the morning and in the afternoon after work lets out - you'll also find lines at lunchtime, around snacktime, and at pretty much every other time of the day. Come to think of it, despite the large numbers of boulangeries in Paris, maybe the city is just too dense; maybe there are simply too many people per boulangerie to avoid lines. It really makes you respect people who live/d under Communism.

Step 2: Choose wisely

Step 2 Commentary: Economists and psychologists have determined that too much choice can seriously handicap your ability to choose wisely. Boulangeries are perfect examples of this dilemma. If you don't know what you want by the time you get to the register, you risk looking stupid, or worse, not getting anything at all. Remember the Soup Nazi from Seinfeld? Many of those who work at the best-regarded boulangeries seem to share his mania for prompt, polite, and plainly pronounced orders. If you have your choice in mind well in advance, you'll leave the boulangerie a happier person. Of course, this doesn't change the fact that you have to know what things are called in order to choose them. Learning all the names of all the products in the boulangerie requires months and months (at the very least) of embarrassment and faulty orders. Call it a character building exercise, we're pretty sure that's how the boulangères see it.

Step 3: Order. Very carefully.

Step 3 Commentary: So you've waited in line and chosen carefully, but all of your patience and planning could be for naught if you botch the order. Maggie has opted for a tradition nature (tradi nature in street lingo), which is a shorter, skinnier, denser version of the baguette. As she arrives at the moment of truth, she hesitates briefly as she considers the consequences of failure - but then she nails the landing, correctly assigning the feminine gender, smoothly and clearly pronouncing a few difficult "r" syllables, and otherwise exuding confidence so that the boulangère doesn't sense her fear and pounce. Congratulations, Maggie! You did it!

Step 4: Enjoy immediately.

Step 4 Commentary: Normally, you'd think that the boulangerie buying experience ends when you walk out the door, but not so. Approximately 87.34% of boulangerie patrons who buy bread (rather than a pastry) execute one final ritual between the boulangerie and their residence: they consume the end of the baguette or baguette-substitute (such as a tradi nature). We would need to conduct more research to determine whether the majority of people rip off the end with their fingers before eating it, or bite directly, as Louis has chosen to do. Furthermore, the exact logic of this ritual remains unclear. Must the boulangerie patron taste the baguette as a connoisseur tastes wine - to confirm its quality before sharing it with friends and family? Or is it merely a question of the freshness and possible warmth of the baguette presenting an irresistible temptation to the purchaser? One final possibility: having just undergone a stressful experience, the customer translates pent-up fear into aggression, taking out the angst of the boulangerie experience on the unsuspecting baguette. We're happy to entertain other hypotheses as well.

There you have it: a bread-buying boulangerie experience from tepid start to violent finish. Next week on "Paris: The Urban Jungle is a Terrifying Place," we'll bring our award-winning, cutting-edge investigative journalism to bear on one of the greatest dangers of the city: French attempts at American-style fast food. Don't miss it!

PS

2010-06-02T18:00:00.000-07:00

Just in case the last post left any confusion - yes, we're back in the States. But that doesn't make Panda-à-Paris obsolete. Au contraire, we expect that continued posting will help ease our transition back into American culture. Here's one way to think about our situation: like Panda in this picture, we're still on a Paris high.

We hope you'll keep checking in as we work through a massive backlog of material, thus warding off Paris withdrawal while gently making our way back down to solid ground.

Paris, Paris, Paris, Que Je Te Quitte

2010-06-02T17:30:00.000-07:00

If there were a soundtrack to our nine months in Paris, the title track would have to be Camille's "Paris" off her début album, Le Sac des Filles (2002). (If you feel that the video's a disappointment, just scroll down and follow along with the lyrics while enjoying the irrepressible catchiness.)

In her sprightly, street music-inspired tune, we find lyrics that reflect all of our frustrations with daily life in the city - the endless months of winter and grisaille; the dirty sidewalks; the way even famous landmarks eventually seem normal (or worse, boring).

Finies les balades le long du canal les escaliers des cartes postales c'est fini, Paris c'est décidé, je me barre finis le ciel gris, les matins moroses, on dit qu'à Toulouse les briques sont roses oh là-bas, Paris, les briques sont roses	No more canal-side strolls No more stairs, or postcards It's over, Paris I've decided, I'm leaving No more gray skies, downer mornings People say that in Toulouse, the bricks are pink Oh over there, Paris, the bricks are pink
{Refrain:} Paris, tu paries, Paris, que je te quitte que je change de cap, de capitale Paris, tu paries, Paris, que je te quitte je te plaque sur tes trottoirs sales	Paris, you bet, Paris, that I would leave you that I'd change capitals Paris, you bet, Paris, that I would leave you that I'd dump you on your dirty sidewalks
je connais trop ta bouche, bouche de métro les bateaux mouche et la couleur de l'eau c'est fini Paris, je les connais trop ici je m'ennuie, même quand vient la nuit on dit que Séville s'éveille à minuit là-bas, Paris, la ville s'éveille à minuit	I know too well your métro entrances the Seine tourist boats and the color of your water It's over, Paris, I know it all too well Here I'm bored, even at nighttime People say that Seville awakens at midnight Over there, Paris, the city awakens at midnight
{Refrain, x2} à Toulouse il a plu, à Séville j'ai trop bu à Rio j'ai eu le mal du pays oh pari perdu, je retourne vivre à Paris	In Toulouse it rained, in Seville I drank too much in Rio I got homesick I lost my bet, I'm coming back to live in Paris

Just like Camille, we experienced high times and low times, enthusiasm and regrets. Sometimes we felt like we were "over" the city, and then the city would invariably pull one over on us, revealing another secret or moment of unmatched beauty.

In the end, we've come to the same conclusion as Camille: we may have left Paris, but we can already tell that Paris will never quite leave us.

Last Day

2010-06-01T13:35:00.000-07:00

We keep getting asked what we're doing with our last few days in Paris. Nothing special, we say. But we're keeping busy, for sure. Here's today's schedule:

8am: -Wake up, walk Panda.
9:30 - Louis cancels bank card so he can keep his account, free of charge.
9:45 - Depart for Bois de Boulogne, where an off-leash Panda will tire herself out in preparation for tomorrow's flight.
12:30pm - Return from Bois de Boulogne, where Panda not only tired herself out, but also rolled around in something gross and yellow.
12:35 - Panda gets an unscheduled shower.
1:30 - Last Paris Lunch at Le Baratin.
3:00 - Visit Livres & Papiers, 6, rue Vivienne, 2e arr., to purchase our last souvenir from this trip: an 1863 map of Paris with annotations by engineers working under Baron Haussmann
3:45 - Visit La Bonbonnière de la Trinité to buy another package of super super fine cocoa powder to feed my mom's addiction
4:30 - Back home, say goodbye to Héloise, Mehdi, Nahel, and Tilal before heading to the Parc des Buttes Chaumont for Panda's afternoon walk
5:00 - Finish packing, weigh all luggage, spot clean
8:00 - Dinner (read: finish all food remaining in the house) with Evan.
11:00? - Bedtime, knowing that we'll sleep fitfully in anticipation of the big move.

Striped shirts

2010-05-31T13:54:00.000-07:00

When I studied/lived in Paris in 2003, I noticed a trend among Parisians: striped shirts and vacations go hand in hand. But now striped shirts are everywhere, all the time. We took the following pictures during a 5 minute stretch on a weekday, just across the street from Galeries Lafayette.

(And just so you know, women aren't the only ones hip to the trend.)

There's only one possible explanation: Coco Chanel. We recently saw Audrey Tautou play the famous couturière in Coco Before Chanel, and suddenly we understood the recent craze for striped clothing.

Just as Coco took a design initially worn by sailors and popularized it among high society, Tautou-as-Coco

has reminded Parisians (and visitors to Paris) of the simplicity, timelessness, and cozy-chic of striped clothing. Will we return to the States with our own striped shirts? You'll find out soon enough!

Reward

2010-05-30T15:03:00.000-07:00

At the end of a long afternoon spent exploring large swaths of the 16th arrondissement, this was the icing on the cake:

It's the only remaining original "bouche de métro" (metro entrance) designed by Hector Guimard, the famed Art Nouveau architect!

There's so much detail to take in, I just had to approach slowly and take a picture every few feet. Finally, when I got up close to those brown-and-green interior panels, I weirded out all the people coming out of the métro while I waited, camera to the ready, for the perfect shot.

Well, maybe not perfect. But how ridiculous is this? We heart Art Nouveau. And strongly believe that whoever tore down or partially dismantled the other Guimard stations should be prosecuted, even posthumously.

You'll find this turn-of-the-century gem at Porte Dauphine, terminus of Ligne 2, 16th arrondissement. Recommended approach: start at the Arc de Triomphe and walk all the way down Avenue Foch. Just don't do it at night.

No Vacancies at Hotel Kaiserstein

2010-05-30T02:45:00.000-07:00

Someone asked us yesterday if we're going to have any more visitors before we leave. Sadly, the answer was no - Hotel Kaiserstein (Paris) is closed until further notice. On the bright side, we have gads of lovely memories of all the guests we hosted this year, and right now we'd like to revisit some of our favorites from each visit, if only briefly. (Click on each visitor's name for all the posts associated with their time here.)

Robert - making Rosh Hashanah and Yom Kippur dinners from scratch, and our visit to the Société Générale headquarters
Jacob - Nuit Blanche and funtimes at the Eiffel Tower with Sandi and Ethan

Phil and Josh - proof that couchsurfers are always friends of friends of friends
Sarah Fischer - long walks and the Centre Pompidou

(Picture taken with Sarah's camera)

Joy and Jake - they may have saved my life, and Christmas Eve at the Menilmontant church
Alyssa and Michelle - all-too-short sight-seeing extravaganza, including a romp through two department stores

Eden and JP - they brought the bitter cold with them from Minneapolis but together we found warmth in excellent cheese and excellent tea
Matt - proof that research and fun should be mutually inclusive; his Eiffel Tower Tips post is a must-read
Katie and Darryl - two Chinese New Year parades, and a great dinner at La Bouche
Talya and Ari - making hamantashen and hitting up Purim services

PS - Congrats to Talya and Ari on their recent engagement!!!

Rebecca and Moritz - playing a part in Moritz's proposal!!!
Becky and Gladis - picnic, museums, May Day, and SO MUCH DELICIOUS FOOD
Dimi - our last burst of speed sightseeing, including a bateau mouche ride, three former palaces/mansions become museums, our second best meal of the year, and much, much more . . . coming soon to a panda-à-paris blog near you!

Special mention: Joy and Cathy - Technically they didn't stay with us, but given that we spent anywhere from 8 to 12 hours a day with them throughout their visit, they qualify for "Hotel Kaiserstein Preferred Guest" status. Like Dimi, they ran us ragged with sightseeing and quality dining experiences - or was it the other way around?

21 guests in 8 months - not too shabby. Will Hotel Kaiserstein remain popular after moving back to its Somerville location? We doubt it, but we hope we're wrong!

Next Time Around

2010-05-29T13:04:00.000-07:00

With our departure only four days away, it's high time we embarked on some retrospection. There's no disputing that we had an amazing year, that we learned a lot, and that we're satisfied with our experience. Still, if we ever have the opportunity to do it all over again, there are a few things we'd do differently.

Subscribe to a French newspaper or news journal.
Watch more French TV.
Go to the movies more often.
Plan more trips during the winter, fewer during the spring.
Take more day trips around France.
Write down the schedules of local food boutiques (for a long time we always thought to go to the fromagerie on days when it was closed), try to buy food from them whenever possible, and budget the added cost (because it can get quite expensive if you shop there regularly).
Get year-long passes to the Louvre (which cost only 30 euros if you're under 30 and which let you bring one guest for free per pass) and the Centre Pompidou (only 27 euros, which is more than paid for by three visits - and exhibitions change every few months).
See what it's like to live outside of Paris, maybe even outside the metropolitan area.
Dedicate time to creating a children's book called "Panda à Paris" in which Panda has a series of adventures around the city. The plot line is still in the development stage, but we have a lot of faith in the premise.

The Shield

2010-05-28T23:20:00.000-07:00

If you ever find yourself at the Hôtel de Ville métro station, waiting for the Ligne 1 to take you in the direction of La Défense, you might notice this mosaic on the wall.

Ok, it's a coat of arms thingy, the medieval shield of some noble family. You take a picture of it, thinking it's kind of cool, and you move on. End of story.

Except then you start seeing the shield everywhere, in different materials, colors, historical styles, and designs.

You see it on the Vélib' stations, on the Mairie of the 2e arrondissement, and on an awesome Art Deco school in the 11th.

You see one-sail, two-sail, red-sail, blue-sail versions - used as a distinctive logo for elementary schools, and on the guardian's building at the entrance to the Parc des Buttes Chaumont that you took a dozen pictures of over the course of the year. (How did you not notice this before??)

This thing is literally everywhere, especially in its present-day iteration, a simple, curved, diamond-shaped sail on a crescent-shaped boat. You see this boat on all park signs, on the backs of public toilets, and on trash and recycling bins.

When you look it up on Wikipedia, you learn lots of interesting things. The boat symbol on the city's coat of arms dates from around 1190 but was made official in 1358 by King Charles V (who also completed and lived in the donjon at the Château de Vincennes). The boat looks good on the entrance gate to the Parc Monceau, and on the centerpiece of the Pont Alexandre III (an epic bridge).

In its pure form (best represented by the mosaic at the Hôtel de Ville métro station), a single-sail, white boat floats on water within a field of red. Above, yellow fleurs-de-lys suspended in a blue field represent French royal power, and specifically that of the Bourbon royal line. The blue and red in the coat-of-arms represent the Paris Commune, a revolutionary body that provided the same colors to the tricolor French flag we know today. But even uncolored it gets its point across, like when it's tacked onto an electricity meter, or yet another school in the 20th, or a "Theatres of Paris" cylindrical billboard.

The ship and the motto, "Fluctuat nec mergitur," or "It is beaten by the waves without being submerged," pay hommage both to the city's resilience in the face of millenia of attacks and to the power of the medieval shipping guilds. I wonder how those medieval dudes would have felt about having a symbol of their power sculpted in iron on a fence outside a park, or on yet another school.

Clearly, this city has some kind of complex. Or a very, very savvy and consistent marketing campaign aimed at subtly marking the city's influence on everyday life. Whatever they're doing, I'm hooked on finding more of these. At least until another of Paris's many open but overlooked secrets catches my eye . . .

Wagner Lived Here

2010-05-28T08:01:00.000-07:00

This post is dedicated to Frank, who believes strongly enough in Wagner's importance (in music history, in life) that he's got me thinking about it too.

Richard Wagner's operas have been argued over, adored, boycotted, banned, and embraced by Parisians ever since the Jockey Club first torpedoed an 1861 performance of Tannhäuser, Wagner's first in the city. But all's well that ends well, and today, for proof that Wagner is firmly entrenched in Parisian musical culture, we can look beyond programs for concert series and the Opéra, which are both obvious and superficial. More permanent evidence can be found in the "Wagner Lived Here" plaques that have sprung up around the city.

The plaque on the left tells us that Wagner lived in this building on Rue Jacob in the St.-Germain-des-Prés area of the 6th arrondissement from October 30, 1841, to April 7, 1842. He moved to Paris in 1839 - still waiting to come across the other plaque(s) to learn about where he lived. Another period missing is his 1849 visit, which occurred when he fled Dresden after participating in the revolutionary fervor that swept Europe around that time. The plaque on the right commemorates Wagner's residence between October, 1860 and July, 1861 in this building on the Rue d'Aumale (just around the corner from the salon that hosted my concert two weeks ago). During this stint, he oversaw preparations for the Parisian premiere of Tannhäuser - organized by the Princesse de Metternich and offered as a "command" performance of Emperor Napoleon III - which ultimately ended in scandal, failure, and Wagner's hasty departure from the city. The third time was the charm, apparently, as he never returned.

If you look closely enough at the plaques, you'll see that the first one was put up by "Les Amis de Richard Wagner," and the second by "Les Cercles Wagner de France." Talk about a rock star - Wagner has had multiple fan clubs in Paris. Do you think my various fan clubs will put plaques up at all of my Paris/Vincennes residences in 150 years?

Affaires Étrangères

2010-05-27T23:48:00.000-07:00

Metonymy is everywhere. When American news outlets report that the "White House" issued a press statement, you know what they mean - obviously the White House itself doesn't do stuff, the press means the people inside. In France, news organizations report on measures announced by "L'Elysée," the President's palace; by the "Hôtel Matignon," or Prime Minister's palace (everybody gets a palace!); and by the "Quai d'Orsay," which stands in for the Ministère des Affaires Étrangères (Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the equivalent of our State Department).

To commemorate the 60th anniversary of the speech that launched the European Union, the building that houses the Ministère des Affaires Étrangères was opened to the public during the weekend of May 8-9, and we went to see what all this "Quai d'Orsay" business was really about. Talk about a sumptuous setting for government work

Only the first floor state rooms were open to visitors, but that was enough. So much gold! So many chandeliers! Unfortunately there wasn't a whole lot on the history of the EU outside of Robert Schumann's 1960 speech. Rather, the exhibition chose specific accomplishments of EU funding and support to explain its purpose. There was something deliciously ironic in learning about the history of the euro during a major slide in its value ($1.23 as of today). Did this celebration of the foundation of the EU come at the very moment that will prove to be the beginning of the end for European monetary union, if not political union?

Overall, our impressions can be summarized by the following three, seemingly unrelated photos:

From left to right: 1) Sure, there's something a little bit ridiculous about this exposition - much like there's something ridiculous about this tricolor-ad-nauseum guard hut. It all smacked of patting yourself on the back for something that you maybe weren't entirely responsible for.

2) Then again, there's something beautiful about the sentiment - celebrating Europe, even if it's through a French historical lens. And you can't complain about the gorgeous setting, including little tiny details like chairs (you wonder whether the Foreign Affairs Minister sits in a chair like this one, or whether they have even better ones hidden away somewhere).

3) Finally, on your way out, you move past all the ridiculous pomp, the superficial beauty, and realize that ultimately, stuff is getting done. You notice that there's a contraption at the door for scraping your boots - and that someone installed a handle just above so you can balance while you're doing it. It may be old school - the streets don't turn to mud in the spring anymore - but it demonstrates a long history of pragmatism, as well as idealism. If something's dirty (whether it's your shoes or Europe's financial situation), you clean it up. Maybe Europe will be alright after all.

Putting Local Boulangeries to the Test

2010-05-27T08:29:00.000-07:00

We've been debating for months. Can we actually taste the differences in the bread that comes from the four boulangeries we regularly patronize? Or are we just biased in favor of some based on appearance, location, or service? Finally, we decided to put our opinions to a test. A blind taste test.

First, we need to introduce the contenders. There's the "yellow boulangerie," aka "Le Moulin de Pierre," which is the boulangerie closest to Métro Belleville on the rue de Belleville.

A clear frontrunner, this boulangerie always has a huge line snaking out the door, and looking at the splendid breads, pastries, and tarts they make, it's no wonder.

Up a block and just across the street, you'll find the "orange boulangerie" (maybe next we'll test for color-blindness, because in this picture it looks pink), aka "Au Moulin de Belleville." (In case you're wondering, moulin means mill. Like in Moulin Rouge.) This one ranked towards the bottom going into the test.

Staying on the rue de Belleville, you'll find the "green boulangerie" (it has no alias as far as we can tell), whose owner we profiled for our "Portraits of Belleville" series. Between the storefront and the unmatched service, we assumed this one would rank higher than the orange boulangerie.

Finally, on our way to and from the park every day, we pass the Banette-affiliated "red boulangerie" which also doesn't appear to have an official name. (Banette is a consortium of boulangeries, wheat producers and other parties interested in producing and selling bread. Banette-affiliated boulangeries seem to tread a line between a franchise and a baker's union.) Given its location in a swankier neighborhood than our own, the lines of waiting customers we almost always see, and our own experiences there, we anticipated a close competition between red and yellow boulangeries for the crown.

Maggie did the buying, while Dimi and I did the tasting. We were very scientific about it, as you can see.

In addition to taste, we judged a croissant and a baguette from each boulangerie on the basis of overall appearance and texture. You can see real differences in the exteriors and cross-sections of each item, and we took careful notes on every relevant aspect of our tasting experience.

In the end, the results were roughly what we expected: the yellow boulangerie (#3 above) took the prize for best croissant, while the red boulangerie (#1 above) won best baguette. The green and orange boulangeries just didn't compare.

Still, we'll continue to buy from all of our contestants, in part because the two winners are both closed on Wednesday, in part because sometimes we don't feel like standing in line, but mostly because all of these boulangeries are great by American standards. We will sorely miss them when we return.

Paris Hearts US?

2010-05-26T23:12:00.000-07:00

Based on our experiences this year, there's no anti-Americanism here. There's opposition to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, sure, as well as other complaints about the US government and US politicians. But we've never told anyone we're Americans and received a negative response. Maybe people are just being polite. But we're pretty sure the city's pro-Americanism runs deep.

Deep underground, that is. Consider the décor for the Cadet metro station.

Never mind that the 13-star flag hasn't been in use since 1795, and that the sentiment here has more to do with the links between the American and French revolutions than with current political or social amity. Whatever - we know this flag proves that Paris hearts the United States. Yet another reason why we heart Paris.

Best. Day. Ever.

2010-05-26T13:24:00.000-07:00

Let's just get it out of the way: Ravel is my favorite composer. Daphnis and Chloé might be the only piece of music that can make me swoon. In college, I did my junior-year independent work on Ravel's opera-ballet, L'Enfant et les Sortilèges, and my man Maurice (the myth, the legend) will likely play an outsized role in my dissertation. I love, looove, luurrrrve Ravel. All of this makes Ravel's house, "Le Belvédere," my Graceland.

The only problem is that unlike Elvis's abode, you can't get to Ravel's house using public transportation. That's why, despite multiple attempts at planning some combination of métro, train, bus, and hitchhiking, I only finally made it to Le Belvédere two weeks ago, thanks to Damien and his car.

Ravel purchased his home in Montfort-L'Amaury in 1921 after receiving an inheritance from his uncle. According to our guide, who doubles as the museum's curator and caretaker, Ravel chose this specific house for the majestic view from its porch.

Ravel chose wisely. And not just in terms of the view. He also filled the house with strange and wonderful things. Here, the curator describes a cabinet full of plateware.

<a href="http://louisepstein.bandcamp.com/track/tour-excerpt">Tour Excerpt by Paris Chamber Players</a>

Damien: And this silverware?
Curator: So the silverware - the spoons, the silver on the bottom there - were gifts of Ida Rubinstein, the dancer, for whom Ravel wrote Boléro.
Me: She was a great patron, too.
Curator: Yes, a great patron - she gave lots of money. And at one point she dated a Guinness - you know, the beer - so, lots of money there, too.

Furniture, dishes, toys, paintings, even wall stenciling - all bear witness to the lovable and inscrutable eccentricity that was Ravel's.

There's the escargot that flips over to become an ashtray . . .

. . . the miniature porcelain canapé presented as a gift by Germaine Tailleferre, and the foot-cushion under his desk . . .

. . . and an incredible quantity of other knick-knacks, many of them purposefully gaudy.

And that's just the stuff in his study. The rest of the house is equally wacky and delightful.

I wish I could spend a month just creating an inventory of all the items in all the rooms of Ravel's house - that's how weird and fantastic everything seems. I mean, the guy had a secret passageway built behind his sitting room. He was an early adopter of taking showers. He bought a woman-shaped bell made out of ceramic but painted to look like metal, so that when you ring it, expecting a satisfying peal of sound, you instead hear a dull thud. WTF!!!

As much as I loved the house and the accompanying garden, which also manifests Ravel's eclecticism, one part of our tour stands out as the obvious highlight of the day, and perhaps of this entire year.

I played Ravel's piano. Here's how it happened.

When we first walked in, the curator took one look at my camera and said, "You know, photography is forbidden." I replied, "Oh, I didn't realize that. I was just hoping that, since I'm writing a dissertation that's partly about Ravel, I might be able to take some pictures - you know, for research purposes." She said, "You know what? I'm tired of this being forbidden and that being forbidden. Take all the pictures you like. What else is that you have there?" She was looking at the book of Ravel's piano music I had brought with me. "It's Le Tombeau de Couperin. I was kind of hoping that I might be able to play it on his piano." (If I've learned anything in Paris, it's that it never hurts to ask, and you should never feel bad when your request is met with rejection.) She responded, "Of course! So what if the Mayor doesn't want anyone touching the piano - it's there to be played, isn't it?" Damien and I agreed wholeheartedly.

And so it was that I came to butcher Ravel on his very own piano. I started with the first part of the Prélude from Le Tombeau de Couperin.

<a href="http://louisepstein.bandcamp.com/track/ravel-tombeau-de-couperin-pr-lude-first-part">Ravel - Tombeau de Couperin - Prélude (first part) by Paris Chamber Players</a>

Giving up on a challenging movement I hadn't practiced in around 10 months, I apologized for playing so poorly, telling the curator I was "ashamed." But she told me I needn't be ashamed, saying "Well, Ravel couldn't play his own pieces either, so there you go."

Next, I played all the way through an easier movement, the Menuet, from the same piece.

<a href="http://louisepstein.bandcamp.com/track/2-ravel-tombeau-de-couperin-menuet">2 - Ravel - Tombeau de Couperin - Menuet by Paris Chamber Players</a>

At the end of this one, you can here the curator cackling, "Oh boy, he's happy now!" I sure was. And I can't wait to go back for more. Surely, that house is full of mysteries that remain unsolved. Ravel wouldn't have had it any other way.

Shout Out: A Taste of Garlic

2010-05-25T23:50:00.000-07:00

Back in late April, we were honored to be reviewed by another blogger, and it's high time we returned the favor. Keith Eckstein runs a website called "A Taste of Garlic," which is devoted to reviewing any and all English-language blogs dedicated to life in France. Considering the ambitious task he's set for himself (there are easily thousands of such blogs), Keith does a remarkably thorough job distilling the essence of each blog he showcases. In our case (click to read Keith's review), he quickly caught on to our obsession with fine French cuisine, our penchant for navel-gazing, our love of bike culture, and our Panda-centric, dog's-eye-view of the city.

Is this meta or what?

Thanks, Keith, for the kind words and for the wonderful publicity. When we're back in the States, we'll be checking in with you to get our English-language fix of French living!

Le Chapeau Melon

2010-05-25T13:22:00.000-07:00

With raving reviews from any number of food magazines, blogs, and guide books, we still don't know why it took us so long to make it to a restaurant located about 500 yards from our apartment. Worse, we pass it four times a day on our way to and from the park with Panda. Worst, its founder is one of the co-founders of a neighborhood favorite, Le Baratin. What is wrong with us???

So what's our excuse for avoiding Le Chapeau Melon? Certainly we can't blame the charming exterior and cozy interior, nor the wine bar/table d'hôte concept we love so much. (They carry only organic wines. Highly-regarded organic wines. Too bad we still know next-to-nothing about wine.)

Clearly we have no excuse. Especially since this place makes us look more attractive than any other restaurant we've been to this year. But I digress.

Here's how the menu works: Wednesdays and Sundays, you can order à la carte from a smallish but excellent menu. All other nights that the restaurant's open, they offer a fixed four-course meal for €32.50, with cheese and/or dessert another €6. One slightly weird thing is that they charge a €8.50 "corking fee" if you buy a bottle of wine with your meal. (On the other hand, if you patronize Le Chapeau Melon as a wine store rather than a restaurant, you're charged no such fee.) But they have some sub-€10 wines, so even if you're watching your wallet, the cost isn't prohibitive.

On to the food. The night we were there, the menu included green apple over hearts of salmon in a soy sauce and olive oil base; vitello tonnato, which is cold, thinly sliced veal under a mayonnaise and tuna sauce; cream of mussel and saffron; and cannette rouennaise with celery purée, carrots à l'orange, and sautéed asparagus. They certainly get points for quantity and diversity of protein, and for some creative pairings.

The salmon/green apple dish was fantastic. Sweet and savory competed for attention with every bite. Plus, just look at the presentation: this is dynamic, even architecturally inspired food. 10 points, Le Chapeau Melon.

Annnnd we're taking those 10 points away. Seriously, no amount of photo editing can mask the sheer ugliness of this presentation. Even the (possibly unintentional?) happy face formed by those capers and that olive oil only made the veal look like it might just be trying to eat us. Plus, while it didn't taste bad, we wonder whether vitello tonnato might be an acquired taste.

Ok, that's a little better. And clearly my food photography is to blame for at least part of the unsightliness of this food. But imagine the great leap in beauty that could be accomplished just be throwing a sprig of something green and fresh on top of that saffron-y, creamy concoction. Also, it was a little salty. But mussels are always awesome, and I sopped up the last of this soup like it was my job.

And the restaurant gets its 10 points back with the final dish. Just like the first dish, we have all kinds of colors, textures, and tastes. The celery purée was delightful (we can't wait to get back to our food processor so we can try this at home) and the carrot à l'orange showed just how clever the chef could be. Cannette rouennaise indicates that we were served young female duck that had been raised in Normandy (see also canard de rouen). Considering the rather small portion, it might have been nice to have something a little less fatty (that whole bottom layer was basically inedible), but the meat was cooked just right, and for once there was no sauce to mask the taste of meat - instead, we could choose whether to combine the duck with one (or several) of the vegetables for each bite.

So there you have it: mixed results that fly in the face of all that hype. Considering the price (and the fact that the menu doesn't include dessert - what were they thinking!!??) we'll probably go back to passing this place on our way to Kiwizine, which is right next door, and rightfully still our favorite restaurant in Belleville.

Fête de Départ/Nos Voisins Formidables

2010-05-24T13:41:00.000-07:00

Plus qu'un coucher de soleil sur la Seine, plus que le parfum des potagers dans le Parc des Buttes Chaumont, plus que tout autre aspect de la vie quotidienne à Paris, si une chose nous manquera lorsqu'on revient aux Etats-Unis, ce sera le chaleureux amitié de nos voisins, dont quelques sont devenus des plus proches amis.

Comme si nos voisins voulaient nous faire repenser notre décision à rentrer, hier après-midi ils nous ont fait une grande fête de départ. La fête, qui prenait la forme d'un pot géant (d'après les apéros géants qui agaçent tellement les gouvernements des villes françaises), convenait parfaitement à la symmetrie de notre séjour, Maggie et moi ayant fait la connaissance de nos voisins à un premier pot en septembre.

Comme vous voyez, il y avait beaucoup à manger, et les invités en ont apporté même plus après que cette photo a été prise. Une quiche, une tarte salée, des chips, du vin, du cidre, du coca, des cookies americains, de la bruschetta, des hors d'oeuvres, nous n'en avons pas arreté de manger pendant cinq heures. Nos voisins et amis sont arrivés et partis en vagues, et finalement le pot a compté vers une vigntaine de personnes, dont plusieurs que nous n'avions jamais rencontrées, et dont plusieurs autres que nous connaissons depuis le troisième jour de notre séjour.

Fantômette ne voulait pas laisser passer une opportunité de dire au revoir à Panda (son enemie mortelle), et non plus presque tous les enfants des batîments B et C.

Pour nous convaincre de revenir bientôt et souvent, nos voisins nous ont donné deux grands cadeaux: ils vont planter et cultiver un chêne à notre honneur, et pendant que nous attendons qu'il grandisse assez pour nous abriter quand il fait chaud, Maggie et moi dégusterons un panier plein de mets raffinés et friandises de Fauchon.

Ça va sans dire que ces cadeaux nous ont vivement touché et même éblouit tant que nous trouvions à peine les mots pour remercier tout le monde.

Et c'est pourquoi nous avons écrit ce post en français - pour mieux remercier nos voisins. En fin de compte, vous nous avez donné un cadeau plus précieux qu'on ne s'attendait: une année pleine de nouvelles expériences, de joie, de sympathie et de camaraderie. Vous serez tous les bienvenus chez nous, et nous espèrons vous revoir aussi bientôt que possible.

Field Day, or Sarkozy: The Butt of Every Joke

2010-05-24T05:50:00.000-07:00

This morning, we checked out the exposition Nature Capitale that has covered much of the Avenue des Champs-Elysées since Saturday night (the expo ends this afternoon). Normally the only thing growing on the so-called "Avenue of Elysian Fields" is the revenue of well-known luxury brands (Louis Vuitton, Cartier, Gucci). But for this exposition, France's Jeunes Agriculteurs (a unionized version of the FFA?) laid down fields of wheat, goldenrod, and lily of the valley; planted oak and pine trees; and herded in sheep and cattle.

We were among roughly 2 million visitors to this (unfortunately temporary) display of nature's bounty and celebration of the Journée Mondiale de la Biodiversité (International Biodiversity Day). Little did we know that out of all of those people, we would see two major French celebrities.

We know what you're thinking: "Oh my goodness! That's the mascot of La Vache Qui Rit!"

Yes, it is. But look again and you'll also see Carla Bruni-Sarkozy and Nicolas Sarkozy just behind Madame La Vache. They drew a big crowd while examining the livestock, meeting the farmers, and showing their support for French agriculture in general.

With the Arc de Triomphe as your back drop, how could this photo-op go wrong? And I was lucky enough to have a perfect view of the whole thing.

Think About It

2010-05-23T23:45:00.000-07:00

We've always been aware of the differences between French and American concepts of "personal space," but one particular example really drives the point home. Here's something that would never fly in American public transportation:

I'm curious whether anyone can provide an example of a public transportation seating arrangement in the States that puts people in such close, face-to-face contact. (Amtrak's facing seats with tables in between the people don't count. We're talking knee-to-knee tactile communication here.)

Sure, people on the NYC subway crowd into cars and end up doing an unintentional bump-and-grind, but they're standing, and have the option of facing away from each other. On the Paris métro, if you want to sit on something other than a strapontin (foldaway seat normally placed near the doors), you've gotta get up close and personal.

Not that that's always a bad thing . . .

Final Photo Challenge (#6)

2010-05-23T14:24:00.000-07:00

In order to win our last prize of the year, name the painting, the painter, the museum where you'll find this, and your Zodiac sign.

This time, comments will be hidden while we collect responses. You have until midnight Wednesday to submit your guess. Good luck!

Should We Stay Or Should We Go?

2010-05-23T02:24:00.000-07:00

One sign it may be time to leave Paris: in the Parc des Buttes Chaumont today, we saw a mom encouraging her child to poop on the grass next to some bushes. She did not heed the message of the signs placed all over the city.

This is much, much more disgusting than the several times we've witnessed parents educating their children in the joys and conveniences of public urination. Just gross.

On the other hand, we've had 5 days of gorgeous weather, which is helping us remember why we fell in love with Paris in the first place. There are things you do in fine weather that beat all the museums, tea rooms, and restaurants in Paris. Yesterday, for instance, we indulged in a cherished summertime ritual: savoring a cone of Berthillon glace on the banks of the Seine.

(The Paris) Life is good. Maybe we'll stick around after all.

Sneak Peeks

2010-05-22T13:43:00.000-07:00

Here are some stealth photos of the various libraries of the BnF, starting with the room in which I spent the most time this year, the salle de lecture (reading room) at the Département de la Musique:

Notice the solid 1960s construction. Lots of wood paneling, lots of right angles, lots of natural light (thanks to the ceiling, which is one big skylight), and absolutely no sound-proofing (although you can't see that in this picture). All in all, not a bad place to work, even if the wood does get a bit oppressive after a few hours of reading.

The Salle Ovale of the Richelieu complex serves as the reading room for the Institut National de l'Histoire d'Art-collections Jacques Doucet; as a reference room shared among the various departments housed at Richelieu; and as a microfilm reading room during construction on the Départements des Arts du Spectacle and des Manuscrits. What a mouthful. What a room!

Don't be fooled: the only open stacks here are on the ground floor. Everything along the sides is accessible exclusively by the staff.

Sorry for the terrible photography, but I felt super self-conscious taking these pictures. The room, though humongous, is deathly quiet, and the "click" of my camera shutter was by far the loudest sound around. On the other hand, it's not like there's a lot of beauty for a picture to impart - this reading room screams "monumental," "overwhelming," and "architectural masterpiece." The only thing that really aligns with the normal 19th-century interest in ornamentation is the list of international cities circling the central skylight, which unfortunately didn't come out in what you see above. Guess you'll have to go check it out for yourself.

Finally, here's the salle de lecture at the Bibliothèque-musée de l'opéra:

This room makes the Salle Ovale look like a total dump - and the difference is even starker when the windows aren't shuttered by plywood due to the renovation work being done on the west side of the Opéra. (You can see the plywood blocking a window behind the second chandelier above, or behind the only chandelier appearing in the picture below.)

Accordingly to a plaque on the wall of this reading room, the space originally hosted the offices of Charles Garnier (the architect for whom the Opéra is named). It's a pretty grandiose venue for plain old research, but I'm not complaining. Except I will complain (briefly) about the ridiculous levels of noise caused by the same construction that forced the windows to be covered after debris and lots of dust poured into the reading room. (I tried to record the sound, which was a cross between a buzz saw and a swarm of locusts, but my netbook's microphone records at really low quality. Sorry about that.)

For a few other sneak peaks, checking out my posts on the salles de lecture at the Arts du Spectacle department of the BnF and at the Archives Nationales. Danger! Mystery! Secrets revealed! RESEARCH!

Faux Pas Friday

2010-05-21T14:47:00.000-07:00

Only two more days to submit your three favorite Panda-à-Paris posts! Send your list to panda.a.paris[at]gmail.com!

We discovered a new anglophone-in-Paris blog recently called "paris (im)perfect" and I hope its author (Sion Dayson) won't mind if I blatantly rip off one of her regular segments: Faux Pas Friday.

Yesterday, I had a rehearsal with Dominique, the pianist with whom I gave a concert last week. (Maggie and her mom came along to listen.) We got to talking about the recording I made and he complained about the "flatness" of the sound quality. I wanted to reply that any flatness must have been due to the poor quality of his (and most other) computer speakers. Here's where things went wrong.

Quick vocab lesson. Enceinte is a noun with three meanings:

1. The various walls encircling the city of Paris over its history were known as enceintes.

2. Enceinte is one way of saying "pregnant." (This is an ad the French government published recently in an attempt to promote their vision of France's future, which only succeeded in infuriating women and the political left - there's a good analysis of the scandal here.)

3. A Google search for "enceintes" (plural) shows the meaning I was going for - speakers. Even with the S, it's pronounced the same as the other two. But just to be clear, as I said the word I gestured as if I were picking up two little computer speakers.

Except I didn't actually say "enceintes," not even after a moment's hesitation when I weighed it against the other option, which is spelled slightly different, but which is pronounced the same as the middle syllable as enceintes. Instead of enceintes, as I reached for the two "computer speakers" in front of me, I said "seins." Which means breasts.

Me, the idiot: "Si l'enregistrement semble plat, c'est à cause de tes ... seins;" "If the recording sounds flat, it's due to your ... breasts."

Happily, in the context of this sentence, it must have sounded more like I dropped the "en" of "enceintes" in a lower register, making it inaudible, but still "heard." (The French do this all the time, especially in their frequent use of the word enfin, which resembles the ubiquitous "like" of American English.) Dominique certainly didn't notice. Maggie, on the other hand, noticed, and after I made eye contact with her (which was immediately) she could barely keep herself from cracking up.

Oops. Hopefully next time this situation comes up, I'll think of the three meanings of enceinte (as compared to the one meaning of sein) and choose correctly.

Garden-Related Sightings

2010-05-20T12:41:00.000-07:00

Only two more days to submit your three favorite Panda-à-Paris posts! Send your list to panda.a.paris[at]gmail.com!

As you know, we're really excited to get back to our garden in Somerville. Thinking about spreading compost, collecting rainwater, and defending against pesty bugs and rodents occupies more of our time than it probably should. But we can't help it if springtime has awakened Paris' green thumb and stoked our imaginations.

Someone has planted a container garden on the steps of La Madeleine. We don't know who did it, but we're pleased. Even better, this coming Sunday and Monday, the Champs-Elysées will be turned into a massive pedestrian zone and filled with soil, grass, cows, and agricultural delights of all kinds. The program is called "Nature Capitale" and we will surely be visiting.

We saw this nascent container garden at the Parc Montsouris and raged internally. It's time to plant stuff! Get on it!!

If we were staying in Paris through the summer, we might have signed up for the service advertised here - a farm share delivered to your neighborhood! And of course it's called "potager." This doesn't look quite as "organic" (both in the sense of how the food's grown and how the organization is run) as the farm shares we know in Somerville, but no matter - it's still exciting to see the idea catching on in France's biggest city.

Château de Vincennes

2010-05-19T20:36:00.000-07:00

To celebrate the end of our time here, we'd like to ask a favor of our readers: take a minute to read back through your favorite posts, and send your "top 3" list to panda.a.paris [at] gmail.com. We'll be collecting your submissions throughout the week, and next week (our last in Paris!) we'll post the results. Thanks in advance, and happy browsing!

For our last free museum Sunday, we set our sights high: the Château de Versailles. But then we found out that it's only free the first Sunday of the month between November and March, so that was a no go. We decided to substitute one château for another, and with Becky and Élodie (Maggie's conversation partner/our new friend), we headed instead to the Château de Vincennes.

From the outside, we could already tell we were in for a treat - this is an honest to goodness castle, with high, often crumbling walls, a moat, towers, and drawbridges!

A slight let-down once we got inside: like Versailles, the Château de Vincennes is only free on the first Sundays of November through March. (Clearly we should have checked our own post on this very subject from way back in September. Stupid, stupid, stupid.) On the bright side, the woman selling tickets took pity on us and let me and Becky in for free (because I'm 26 and she's 25 - although technically 25 is the cutoff, and you're supposed to be a resident of the EU). Maggie and Élodie, on the other hand, got stiffed with a 12-euro tour fee. Eek.

You can technically enter the Château de Vincennes for free and walk the grounds, but you can't go in the buildings, and you certainly can't benefit from the excellent tour. Our guide discussed in detail three highlights of the Château and led us through one of them. First, we learned about the Tour du Village, the only remaining tower of the original six constructed in the 14th century:

Second, we spent about an hour walking in, over, through, and under the landmark that Céline correctly identified to win our last Photo Challenge: the Donjon de Charles V, constructed between 1337 and 1373, is the highest medieval tower in Europe.

It began as the stronghold of French kings during the Hundred Years' War, then became a prison that held such luminaries as the Marquis de Sade and the Comte de Mirabeau. In addition to its historical importance, the donjon is something of an architectural marvel for its time, and many of the monument's details struck us as both brilliant and beautiful.

The two columns in the bottom row constitute the main supports for the tower - they're actually stacked on top of each other through five 30-ft-high floors. You might just barely be able to see the colors painted on the column on the right, which give a faint indication of the riot of color that these rooms originally boasted. (Another great place to see "authentic" medieval interior design: Église St.-Germain-des-Prés.)

And finally, the Chapel, designed after the much more famous La Chapelle of the Île-de-la-Cité. It doesn't quite measure up, but only because the stained glass hasn't been preserved as well. On the bright side, with fewer heavy panels of stained glass, there's tons more natural light, such that the ceiling seems to float above your head. Bonus: When we visited, there was a nifty temporary exhibition on medieval musical instruments. Score!

Unfortunately it wasn't possible to visit several of the 17th-century additions to the château, which now host archives of the Defense Ministry. But we'll see plenty of 17th-century interiors when we visit the Château de Versailles later this week with Maggie's mom. Stay tuned!

Finding Némo

2010-05-19T10:22:00.000-07:00

He's a stencil artist whose trademark character is a silhouetted man in a trench coat and hat. The man often appears near a red umbrella and balloon, with other stenciled shapes and objects thrown in depending on the narrative of the piece.

There's an entire Flickr group devoted to Némo. Luckily we found out after having already taken our own pictures of his work, including this next one, which is one of our favorites from this entire trip.

Luckily for us, Némo seems particularly fond of decorating the many bare walls and deserted buildings of Belleville and Ménilmontant. He's been known to team up with Jérôme Mesnager to produce black-spy-vs.-white-spy type murals.

One of these days, maybe we'll catch Némo in the act just like we caught "Harry" of Zoo Project. Considering the scale of some of Némo's pieces, he must spend quite a bit of time stenciling and painting, so our odds might be good . . .

Supermarchés de la rue de Belleville

2010-05-18T16:43:00.000-07:00

To celebrate the end of our time here, we'd like to ask a favor of our readers: take a minute to read back through your favorite posts, and send your "top 3" list to panda.a.paris [at] gmail.com. We'll be collecting your submissions throughout the week, and next week (our last in Paris!) we'll post the results. Thanks in advance, and happy browsing!

Paris is best known as a city of light, of romance, of history and culture and beauty. It is not generally thought of as a big, dense, dirty place where 98% of daily existence is completely - and at times oppressively - mundane. But because Paris is, in fact, all of these things, it's important to be able to take the mundane and turn it into something more interesting. A trip to the supermarket, for instance. There are at least nine supermarkets within a five-block radius from where we live, which turns normally mundane food shopping into an exercise in self-image, fiscal discipline, and logistical savvy. In case you ever live where we do, here's a tour of your supermarket options.

The first supermarché you walk by on your way up the rue de Belleville from Métro Belleville is Ed.

Ed is a chain that clearly prides itself on being a cheap place to shop for a limited selection of food and household products. It also appears to be the supermarket that devotes the smallest percentage of its budget to appearance (there's an equally ugly - if slightly larger - Ed at Métro Pyrénées).

Next, you'll notice Chinese supermarkets on both sides of the street.

Given that you're walking through the heart of Belleville's Chinatown, it should come as no surprise that these stores are your one-stop-shop for all kinds of East Asian delicacies (and "delicacies"). Though poorly organized, the prices are rock-bottom, the service is efficient, and the produce is much fresher than at any of the chain supermarkets. We probably hit up "Les Halles de l'Asie" two or three times a week (it's just so convenient when walking from the métro to our apartment), which has made it easy for us to consume fewer processed foods and more fresh veggies and fresh-frozen seafood. Thanks, Chinese supermarkets!

Passing our apartment, the next supermarket is Belleville en Bio, which we've reviewed before. Considering we're East Coast Liberal hippies, we should probably shop at this all-organic store more often. But we're frugal East Coast Liberal hippies, and the "Bio" label in France (much like the "organic" label in the states) doubles prices without ensuring environement- and health-friendly products. Bummer.

Our go-to chain supermarché is Franprix, located at the corner of rue de Belleville and rue des Pyrénées (and again on rue de Belleville just above Métro Jourdain).

They just redid this store entirely, and it's too bad we weren't prepared for a before-and-after comparison, because the change is mind-boggling. In any case, Franprix sits in the middle of the supermarché hierarchy, above Ed and below Monoprix (see below) in terms of price, selection, and quality. We reguarly buy yoghurt, cereal, butter, cheese, condiments, household goods, and cheap wine here. Whereas Ed and the Chinese supermarkets are downhill from our apartment, Franprix is about a block uphill, giving it a logistical advantage (on the way home, it's easier to carry a heavy bag downhill).

Finally, Monoprix is the chain supermarché with the greatest selection, highest prices (even for the same exact products you get at Franprix and Ed for cheaper), and largest quantity of somewhat high-quality products. All Monoprix's have internal boulangeries, boûcheries, and (I think) poisonneries, each of which normally charge less for their wares than the individual food boutiques operating outside of Monoprix. The store also offers a (comparatively) large selection of clothing, kitchenware, and toiletries, putting it somewhere between a Shaw's/Publix/Giant/Acme and a Walmart/Kmart/Target.

We tend to shop at Monoprix when we want to get absolutely everything in one place - and even that's usually impossible. French stores, we've discovered, are aggressively territorial. We love this when we encounter it in a boulangerie, fromagerie, boucherie, cave à vins, or other "speciality shop," but as Americans we demand that our supermarkets constitute a one-stop-shop for all of our needs. The supermarchés we've been to here, however, don't aspire to that standard (and we're not the first to notice).

Supermarchés at which we haven't shopped regularly (or at all): Carrefour, Casino, Huit-à-Huit, Naturalia (another bio place), Shopi, or Leader Price. Basically, if you ever forget how big and ordinary a city Paris is, just think of all the supermarket options. That's what we do.

A Réaumur

2010-05-18T03:03:00.000-07:00

Inspired by Invisible Paris, a blog that explores the unsung marvels of the city, I decided to uncover the history of this building. My sleuthing started with a single clue, found on the tower on the southeastern (and most visible) corner of the building.

This isn't much of a clue, since "à Réaumur" really only tells you that you're on the street that the building sits on. But thanks to the marvels of Google, a tiny bit of sleuthing led me to discover that "À Réaumur" was a big department store that opened in 1897 as a competitor to Galeries Lafayette, Printemps, Le Bon Marché, BHV, and Le Samaritaine. The name seems to be a jeu de mots - a pun - since it sounds just like "Arrêt au mur," or "stop at the wall." Not a very funny pun, I guess.

À Réaumur specialized in ready-to-wear clothing and catalogue sales, supplied the French Army during WWII, and won all kinds of awards at various World's Fairs and International Expos over the years. (All this from an amazing blog that also publishes images of old catalogues and gives lots of details on the store's history.)

The building itself, designed by F. Constant-Bernard, was constructed with great speed and has housed clothing boutiques and offices since the closing of À Réaumur in 1960. My favorite aspects of the building are the little architectural details - the spiderweb-like metal braces holding up the awning, for instance.

That wasn't too hard. Maybe I should move to the next mystery to solve: what's the story behind the delightfully baroque building right across the street from À Réaumur, which refers to one "F. Potin" and now houses a Monoprix?

Any ideas on where to start?

Kiwizine: The Final Reckoning

2010-05-17T11:38:00.000-07:00

To celebrate the end of our time here, we'd like to ask a favor of our readers: take a minute to read back through your favorite posts, and send your "top 3" list to panda.a.paris [at] gmail.com. We'll be collecting your submissions throughout the week, and next week (our last in Paris!) we'll post the results. Thanks in advance, and happy browsing!

As many times as we've gushed over Kiwizine, one of our favorite restaurants, we've never actually shown you a characteristic meal. A quick refresher on how it works: they're only open Friday and Saturday nights, serving drinks from 4-8 pm and dinner from 8-12. Each weekend at Kiwizine means a completely new menu, which is the only option both Friday and Saturday nights. The menu is composed of three courses (entrée, plat, dessert) which cost 17.50 euros, total. This makes Kiwizine the best deal in town even before we consider the quality of the food. Here's what we ate two weekends ago, when Becky was in town:

Entrée: Salade d'encornets avec croutons

Squid salad with croutons (which you often don't get on French salads)

A beautiful dish (as you can tell) with various textures for your mouth to enjoy. Even though we knew that these tiny squid were coming, they still surprised us with every bite. We can't remember what the dressing was like, but if we had to guess, we'd say it was a zesty vinaigrette.

Plat: Filet du jour accompagné de tapenade, de poivrons grillés et des pâtes aux épinards

Fish filet of the day topped with tagliatelle, grilled peppers, spinach, and tapenade

It's too bad that the tapenade looks less appetizing in our photograph than it did in real life, because this was an amazing - brilliant, even - combination of tastes. One of the things we love about the French cuisine we've eaten is that everything tastes best when you get a little piece of each element in every bite. Here we had bitter (the tapenade and spinach), sweet (the pepper), and a touch of salty (the fish) on the pasta base. Regarding the presentation of this dish, we recognized the personal plating style of the chef, Jono. He loves stacking layers of different colors and textures and tastes, as we've seen before: a lamb shank on a bed of puréed sweet potatoes, or another fish filet over grilled zucchini, or tomato-and-basil gambas over toast.

Dessert: Carrot cake

We know what you're thinking: carrot cake? So what? Just remember that this basically doesn't exist in France. In fact, for the most part, the only soft cakes to be had are chocolate (which makes banana cake an even bigger hit here than in the States). So a soft - but not melty - sweet cake with even sweeter icing turns out to be kind of a big deal. And as the lemon garnish might suggest, this carrot cake was a refreshing end to one of the lightest three-course dinners we've had in Paris.

Kiwizine (92, rue Rébeval, 75019 Paris, 06 50 41 61 07), you win.

Impressions

2010-05-17T05:53:00.000-07:00

Ok, maybe not as interesting as I thought. But the sentiment is 100% Impressionist, and I'm inspired to try again with a different subject when we get back home. Of all the places you see every day (or several times a day), which would you choose to portray through a series of "impressions"?

The Historical Writings on the Walls

2010-05-16T22:02:00.000-07:00

To celebrate the end of our time here, we'd like to ask a favor of our readers: take a minute to read back through your favorite posts, and send your "top 3" list to panda.a.paris [at] gmail.com. We'll be collecting your submissions throughout the week, and next week (our last in Paris!) we'll post the results. Thanks in advance, and happy browsing!

History is everywhere, if only you know where to look for it. Paris makes it easy by throwing plaques up on at least one wall of every building of even minor consequence. In a city that's been around 2,000+ years, that comes out to a lot of plaques. Maggie probably hates them, because I'm always stopping to read, which makes walking anywhere an e x t r e m e l y s l o w p r o c e s s.

Among the most common (and most recent) plaques are those you see on schools. They always look the same and say almost exactly the same thing.

"In memory of the students of this school, deported between 1942 and 1944 because they were born Jewish, innocent victims of Nazi barbarity and of the complicity of the Vichy government. They were murdered in the death camps. 390 children lived in the 19th arrondissement. Let us never forget them."

I'm surprised it took until 2003 to get these plaques up, but I guess it goes to show that, unlike in Germany, France hasn't been as comfortable confronting the crimes perpetrated by the French under the Occupation. On the other hand, there was never any hesitation when it came to plaques honoring heroes of the Resistance.

It's worth noting that the school-memoriam plaques are made of the same material as expensive grave markers, which I'm sure is also intentional. Older plaques are made of a different - and much less eye-catching - stone, which ironically makes them much easier to read. This is helpful when your mind gets so used to seeing plaques, it automatically filters out all but the most interesting names.

As you can tell, I love the accessibility of music history in Paris. Who needs a library when, on your way to the store, you're constantly running into composers' and performers' old haunts? Franz Liszt (never thought of him as a "François" before) stayed with the Erard family at their 2nd-arrondissement compound, Edith Piaf was born on the steps of an extremely modest building just up the street from us on the Rue de Belleville, Thomas Paine (who "crooned" Revolution in the ears of colonial Americans?) lived in the 6th arrondissement while participating in the French Revolution and helping to write their "Bill of Rights", and Iannis Xenakis (composer/architect) lived in a beautiful building in the 9th arrondissement.

One more type of "plaque" remains, and this is one you've already seen in another post.

From left to right, we have a marker at the spot of the former "Porte de St. Honoré," (an old gate in the city walls), a marker at the house of the man who inspired the use of the term "fiacre" (after the Saint) to describe a carriage-for-hire, and a marker at the home of Nicolas Flamel, the reputed alchemist and Harry Potter character.

There are thousands of these markers around the city, treating every conceivable subject. But apparently no one's thought to put up a marker explaining the history of these markers, and I can't find anything online. Can anyone help me out?

Through Mehdi's Eyes

2010-05-16T06:47:00.000-07:00

On the same pleasant day of babysitting that brought Professor Gamberge to our attention, we took the two boys to the Parc des Buttes Chaumont, where Nahel and I played soccer while Maggie and Mehdi walked Panda. Already aware of Mehdi's potential as a photographer from our "Portraits of Belleville" photo-shoot with his family, Maggie once again handed him the camera. What follows demonstrates the same budding genius we saw in Jacob's photography, way back in October.

Thanks, Mehdi, and keep it up!

Professeur Gamberge

2010-05-15T14:37:00.000-07:00

While babysitting our friends' children yesterday, I watched a cartoon called Le Professeur Gamberge whose episode title was "Il s'arrête quand, la crise?" (When will the economic crisis be over?) I was astonished that a children's cartoon would address such a heavy, "adult" issue, but I was even more surprised by the unabashedly populist response. In the episode, the Professor (whose last name translates to "Think Hard") explains to three children that bankers - portrayed as gourmands at a table full of rich food - ate too much and got very sick. They'll need to curtail their excessive eating and exercise before their banks - and then the economy - feel better. Brilliant/provocative!

I couldn't find the exact clip I saw (nor could I find an official website) but I did manage to locate a few other "episodes" on youtube, and hopefully this one on slavery (!!!) will give you the gist:

A brief resumé, for the non-francophones: the children are about to ask the Professor a question when they're interrupted by a news segment about a French couple accused of enslaving a maid. Professor Gamberge explains the history of slavery, starting with the war spoils of antiquity, then the Arab slave trade of East Africa, then the European slave trade between Africa and the Americas. He notes that today, slavery doesn't exist at quite the same magnitude as in earlier times, but it can still be found in war zones, under dictatorships, and even "here." He ends with the instruction, "Never forget that we cannot treat humans like dogs." One of the girls takes the edge off by retorting, "But there are some dogs who are treated very well!"

Apparently, Professeur Gamberge also helped explain the recent Regional Elections, but he's not always answering politically charged questions (other topics of interest: earthquakes and forest fires; you can find a list of the first fifty questions posed in episodes here). All questions answered by the show come from children, and supposedly nothing is off-limits. Maybe we can get such a hard-hitting, pedagogically-oriented segment on Sesame Street. First question: Big Bird, why can't Bert and Ernie get married?

Concert #2: Salon Edition

2010-05-14T13:08:00.000-07:00

Yesterday marked both a national holiday and my second Parisian concert in the last month. While my first concert took place under somewhat rushed and harrowing circumstances, I had been preparing for yesterday's performance with Dominique Fournier (piano) and Anne-Chantal Carrière (soprano) since late fall. You can listen to our entire performance by clicking "play" below, or choose individual tracks by clicking "Les Sonorités du Salon." Click "download" on the player below to get the whole album in mp3 format. (If you're desperate to hear me play clarinet, skip to tracks 4-7.)

<a href="http://louisepstein.bandcamp.com/album/les-sonorit-s-du-salon">Mozart - Ridente la calma, K 152 by Paris Chamber Players</a>

The concert took place in a private salon in the 9th arrondissement, just across the street from former residences of Chopin and Georges Sand. The salon, decorated in authentic Louis-Phillippe style, transported us to the era in which much of the music we performed was written.

Playing chamber music is always a pleasure, but I especially enjoyed the "ethnographic" element this concert adds to my year of research. After all, I'm writing a dissertation about the period in French history that saw the last great flowering of salon culture, so I've spent a decent amount of time reading about concerts just like this one. To have participated in the planning and execution of a concert that could have easily taken place a century ago gives me a strange, almost cosmic sense of connection with the composers, performers, salon hosts, patrons, and audience members that I've been studying. It's fitting that this rich moment comes towards the end of a rewarding year.

I hope you enjoy listening to the recording. Let me know if you're interested in coming to a repeat performance of this concert, which will take place on May 30 in Longpont.

Photo Challenge #5

2010-05-13T13:33:00.000-07:00

Name this medieval fortress located just outside the city limits of Paris, and win a prize!

We're only going to be able to send Parisian goodies for another few weeks, so get in on the action while you still can! (Ineligible for participation: Becky and Élodie).

New Zoo Project

2010-05-12T19:29:00.000-07:00

Black and white is his palette (mostly). Social critique is his MO. Eastern Paris is his gallery. And we are among Zoo Project's many fans.

Mr. Ram is missing half his right arm.

"Gare aux Gorilles" is a Georges Brassens song.

What are those eyes looking at?

"We learn more in one all-nighter than in an entire year of sleep."

That guy ... that guy . . . that guy . . . that guy . . .

. . . is different.

This one is directly across the street from the similarly repetitive work just above. "Harry" (as the artist seems to call himself) has chosen temporary, modular buildings next to a construction site as media for these two pieces.

Did Zoo Project just invent the concept of "white face?"

This is one of Zoo Project's older works (going by the amount of graffiti that covers it) with one of its most straightforward meanings. Now the wolf knows what it feels like to have a "little pig" blow his house down.

At first glance, this one seems unfinished. But then you notice that its bottom edge falls neatly above the street sign. What would Maurice Chevalier have thought?

May Holidays

2010-05-12T15:10:00.000-07:00

There are four major national holidays (jours feriés) in France during the month of May:

1 May - Labor Day/May Day
8 May - Victory in Europe Day (end of WWII)
13 May - Ascension
23-24 May - Pentecost (the Catholic holiday is Sunday and the public holiday is Monday)

For a country that claims to be secular, there are a lot of Catholic holidays in that mix, but who am I to judge?

Anyway, for each of these holidays, most everyone gets off from work. All libraries in Paris were/will be closed during these days, for instance. (So much for wrapping up my research this month.)

Many of our French friends showed disappointment that the first two national holidays fell on Saturdays, since that meant that they didn't get off from work. They'll make up for that thanks to tomorrow's holiday, which effectively creates a four-day weekend for many workers. The French expression for taking off the day between a holiday and the weekend is "faire le pont" - to bridge that gap between days off with yet another day off.

As if there weren't already enough holidays in May, France decided to celebrate one more: La Nuit des Musées, or "Long Night of Museums" or "A Night at the Museum" (as I've decided to call it). Basically, on Saturday night, May 15, tons of museums will be open way late (until midnight or 1 AM), and will be free to visitors after 6 or 7 PM.

The publicité for this new holiday seems to suggest that it comes around only as often as a full solar eclipse, but it actually happens every year around this time. Thankfully, unlike Ascension and Pentecost, La Nuit des Musées is a holiday we can really get into.

Métro Manifesto

2010-05-11T17:08:00.000-07:00

Want to know the hot-button topics in French culture? Just take the Métro. There are all kinds of provocative stickers attached to the walls and windows of every train.

France supports the Palestinian Authority and the notion of a Palestinian state in ways the US can't even contemplate. There's also a current of sentiment against what we might call the Israeli "occupation" of Palestinian territory, but what they would call "colonization." Fascinating.

Apparently, 40 years after women's lib, the French still aren't getting the message about equality in the home. This sticker suggests that women and men "everywhere" should "split chores, all the time." (Tâches could also just refer to tasks or responsibilities in general, but I like reading it as "chores.")

Alas, we didn't get a picture of the iconic purple No Sarkozy Day stickers, but at least we caught that anti-horse meat ad campaign way back in the fall . . .

Another thing the Métro is good for: promoting safe sex. Now in "his" and "hers" versions! (It seems unfair that he gets four for two euros, while she only gets one.)

Maybe the Métro's new slogan should be, "It helps you get around." (Or maybe you can come up with something better . . .)

In Which I Pour My Heart Out About Researching A Dissertation

2010-05-11T13:58:00.000-07:00

The most important thing I've learned over the last 8 months of research is something I learned at a Parisian restaurant.

My mom, Cathy and I had arrived several minutes early at La Cerisaie, where we were going to have dinner with Maggie, Eden, and JP, who were running a little late. It was freezing out, so we tried to go in. But the door was locked, there were no customers inside, and we were early enough that I figured they just hadn't opened yet. (Many restaurants don't open until 7:30 or 8.) We kept waiting for the other three to show up, getting colder and wondering when the restaurant would open. Finally, someone inside came to the door, opened it, I explained we had a reservation, and she let us in.

When Maggie, Eden, and JP finally arrived, I watched as they, too, struggled with the door. The hostess, who was busy doing something, called out "it's open! just keep pushing!" and a few seconds later they managed to force themselves through the door. I realized the door must have been open when we were trying to get in too, we just didn't push hard enough.

I was reminded of this incident yesterday, when I finally gained access to the archives of a certain Parisian music publisher after 7 months of trying. When I say "7 months of trying," I mean I sent dozens of emails, made gads of phone calls, resorted to pleading with mutual acquaintances to intercede on my behalf. Basically I did everything short of showing up uninvited at the homes of the people with whom I was trying to get in touch. Oh, and after "getting in touch," I still had to get legal permission to look at something, anything, in their archives. Which took more time, caused more frustration, and made me feel like I was being left out in the cold. It was La Cerisaie all over again.

So I kept pushing. I knew it was possible to open that door, and eventually it did open - just not all the way. When I was finally given access, I wasn't allowed to see any of the things I had originally asked to see, like musical sketches, letters, contracts, and account details. Copyright and other legal questions made these things off-limits, but I did get to study something I hadn't even considered asking for: livres de cotage, the books in which they kept track of how many copies of each piece they print.

I'm purposefully showing you a terribly out-of-focus picture because 1) I wasn't supposed to take pictures and b) I definitely am not supposed to be "publishing" images of their livre de cotage and iii) don't steal my research, ok? It probably wouldn't be that useful, anyway - it's not incredibly useful to me, just a little interesting, worth a few sentences in my dissertation. In 8 months of research, I've gathered all sorts of crumbs like this one, which hopefully will come together to look more like a pie crust and less like a pile of crumbs by the time I'm finished writing up everything.

This archive was a particularly difficult nut to crack; several other archives, libraries, and attempts at making contacts proved challenging as well. But if I accomplished anything this year, it's because I learned to just keep pushing, not to take "no" for an answer, and to only eat at really good restaurants.

Musée Cognacq-Jay

2010-05-10T14:09:00.000-07:00

The Musée Cognacq-Jay houses a collection of 18th-century paintings, sculptures, furniture, and other oddities given to the city of Paris by 20th-century entrepreneurs Ernest Cognacq and his wife Marie-Louise Jaÿ, founders of (the now-closed for reasons of "security" and "renovation") Le Samaritaine department store.

We visited the museum with friends Adam and Rachel and thoroughly enjoyed both the collection and the hôtel particulier that houses it. One of the most intriguing pieces was this titillating painting titled L'amour frivole:

The first thing you notice is likely the creepy guy in the window trying to undress a sleeping maiden. But then, looking closer, you might also see this:

L'amour frivole is attributed to Swedish artist Jean-Frédéric Schall? That's not a very Swedish name, you think to yourself. And the painting was previously attributed to Pierre-Antoine Baudouin? What's going on here? A bit of googling, and I discovered that L'amour frivole is more likely the work of Niclas Lafrensen, the younger. I understand, however, where the confusion might have come from. This painting by Schall certainly echoes the subject matter of L'amour frivole.

What do you think? Should I alert the Musée Cognacq-Jay about this faux pas?

If you go:

Musée Cognacq-Jay

8 rue Elzévir

3rd arrondissement

Métro: Saint-Paul, Chemin-Vert, Rambuteau

Open from 10:00 a.m. - 6:00 p.m., Tuesday through Sunday

Closed Mondays and some holidays

Oh, and it's Free!