Manifestations Place du Palais Royal

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

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

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

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.