Bateau Mouche

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!

Secrets of the Second Arrondissement

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.

Wagner Lived Here

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?

Château de Vincennes

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!

A Réaumur

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!

In yesterday's post on Paris's plaque obsession, I mentioned that the city makes it easy to recognize its long and storied history. But when your history is as rich as Paris's, it's hard to get to every little detail. For instance, on my way home from the library most days, I pass by this incredible building that takes up an entire block of Rue Réaumur:

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?

The Historical Writings on the Walls

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?