Friday, June 29, 2012

Footloose in Montmartre & the Museum of Romantic Life

Friday, June 29, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

Did you know that there actually exists in Paris a street called Rue de Putterie (Street of Prostitution)? Did you realize that the can can dance was the most daring form of eroticism in 19th century France although it was performed by women wearing full-length gowns?

But, as usual, I am getting ahead of myself in wanting to share all the discoveries we made on our walk around Pigalle and Montmartre today. So let me begin at the beginning...

I awoke to the coolness of a summer breeze tugging at the curtains at our bedroom window. The temperature had changed dramatically and the heat and humidity of last night were just a bad memory. Realizing that Llew is still jetlagged, I closed the windows, pulled the curtains down to bring darkness back into the room and left so as not to disturb him. I caught up with email and got breakfast organized by the time my new friend Joyce called to invite us to her place in Chamborcy for dinner tomorrow. I accepted with delight and we made plans for her to get one of her Paris-based friends to pick and drop us back. How kind of her! Vraiment tres gentile!

Llew awoke to the sound of the telephone ringing and actually joined me for breakfast: we ate fromage blanc (literally white cheese, but really a thickish plain yogurt, like Greek yogurt) with Jordan's muesli, then Poilane's Pain Aux Noix with Fig Jam and Praline Spread. I love these Continental preserves and wish I could taste a lot more of them before we leave from here. Coffee went down a treat before I left Llew to get ready and went across to Thomas at the office to get something urgent printed, scanned and emailed.

Alas, the office does not have a scanner; but the lady there was kind enough to print my stuff. I signed it and decided to put it in snail mail to NYU in New York, which meant we'd need to find a poste (post office). By the time I returned to my apartment, Llew was ready to leave and off we went.

Exploring The Museum of Romantic Life:
The RER train took us to Gare Du Nord from where we intended to take Line 2 to Blanche. But that's when our journey went awry. The 2 no longer stops at Gare du Nord--so we had to take the 4 for one station (Barbes) where we discovered that a train had broken down. All of humanity seemed to spill out of the disabled train and on to the platform. When the replacement train arrived, that same humanity fought to get in--it was packed to capacity as it pulled out. Fortunately, we traveled in it for just 2 stations. With relief, we got off at Blanche and made our way to Rue Chaptal to the Musee de la Vie Romantique (the Museum of Romantic Life) which was a recommendation of my NEH colleague Noit who teaches Art History at Tufts University.

The museum was a good 10 minutes' walk away (and probably closer to Pigalle metro station than Blanche).  Entry to it is free and we were very pleased indeed to lose ourselves in a 19th century home in which normally-endowed (meaning middle-class) people lived (as opposed to the over-the-top opulent mansion-museums that I have been exploring over the past few weeks). You enter the main door through a delightful cobbled courtyard garden that was simply full of tall colorful hollyhocks, roses and other profuse summer blooms. In the little garden at the side is a tea room and restaurant whose focal point is a glass conservatory. The museum complex consists of two more buildings where special art exhibitions are held (for which there is an extra charge).

The home belonged to the artist Ary Scheffer who was born in Holland but together with his brothers (Les Trois Freres after which another road is named), made Paris his home. Through their impressive aristocratic connections and marriages, the family was related to Aurore de Saxe (who is better known in literary history as the French writer and painter, George Sand). She took on the pen name in order to be able to share her revolutionary ideas without the censure which, in that epoch, was reserved for women (in the same way that the English writer Mary Ann Evans took on the pen name George Eliot during the same era). George Sand became romantically involved with the classical French composer, Chopin (who was born Polish but made France his home). Together, they created a domestic environment in which artists, thinkers, writers, poets and musicians shared their ideas, thoughts and creative energy.

The first floor of the museum is devoted to the memorabilia collected by George Sand: personal pieces of jewelery gifted to her that she wore all her life, snuff boxes (of her royal relations that she inherited), hair ornaments, etc. there are busts and plaster casts of faces and hands, some sculpture and a few paintings by friends and colleagues of Scheffer. It is a lovely capsule of 19th century life embodied by the pursuit of all things romantic, meaning heartfelt. The best part of exploring this floor was listening to the piano compositions of Chopin that followed us around as we moved--a truly charming touch.

On the second floor were a large number of portraits by Scheffer who had received commissions from members of the European royal families such as the Portuguese who were familiar with his work. They are lovely, subtle, very pleasing representations of aristocratic women in formal garb and they present a very intimate sense of life at the end of the 19th century. Although the museum is very small, it is deeply absorbing and certainly worth a visit. For devotees of Chopin and George Sand, it is a great place of pilgrimage. For me, the most interesting part of the visit was learning that apart from being a novelist and memoirist, Sand was a talented and passionate artist herself. The large number of water colors on which she experimented  is a wonderful testimony to the varied artistic streams of creativity she pursued during her lifetime and her deep committment to them.

Footloose and Fancy Free in Montmartre:
Leaving the Museum behind us, we found our way to Pigalle metro station to begin our exploration on foot of a quartier that is rich in findings for anyone interested in probing beaneath the touristic surface of Paris to find concealed gems. Pigalle and Montmatre have historically been associated with two things: Sex and Art (and remotely, a third--Religion; for the martyr St. Denis had his head chopped off here and walked with it to a nearby fountain where he washed it!).

We used DK Eyewitness Guide's '90 Minute Walk in Montmartre' to get us started and I should tell you that when we finished, it was four hours later! The walk took us mainly to the homes of the renowned artists of the Impressionist and Post-Impressionst era who, in those days, had barely two sou to rub together and could, therefore, only live outside the city limits of Paris. Montmartre was separated from the city of Paris by a wall that ran all around it. Those residing outside the wall paid no tax and since the artists were of the proverbial starving variety, Montmartre was the only place within nodding distance of Paris that they could afford.

Suffused with the Spirit of Toulouse-Lautrec:
Hence, we stared our walk at a spot where most of the cabarets, musical revues and dancing halls were located. And if there are provocative dancing girls and music, prostitituion cannot be far behind. So, these joints blossomed into the city's red-light district. But for the fact that celebrated artists such as Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec were fascinated by the women who entertained at these places and the men who owned the clubs and directed their acts, Pigalle would have remained just another sleazy part of a chic European city. But Toulouse-Lautrec immortalized these characters in the poster art he produced in which they were presented not just as provocative but happy, their fur flying but never in anger. Today most of those halls have been converted into movie theaters or cheap cabaret clubs offering peep shows and kinky sex to please voyeurs. It was among these that we found the building with the ornate exterior in which Van Gogh had once lived with his brother Theo on Rue Victor Masse. We also saw the original facades of the buildings in which Le Chat Noir was composed and presented--an event that gave rise to Toulouse-Lautrec's most famous portrait of a black cat!

The Village of Montmartre:
On this walk there were steep hills to climb and cobble stones to stumble over. We couldn't hurry: there was too much to see and savor. Once you leave Pigalle behind and start ascending the narrow stairways cut into the Butte (hill) towards Montmartre (literally the Mountain of Martyrs), you have also left the solidity and grandeur of Paris behind and entered the world of a little village. The streets get narrower and more charming, the French windows open out on to balconies spilling over with window boxes, there are original gas lights around every corner--this area is similar to Hampstead in London. It oozes with charm. It simply forces you to slacken your pace and look about you with eager, observant eyes at every architectural detail.

We arrived at Place Abbess (once actually the site of an Abbey) with its lovely Hector Guimard-designed Art Nouveau Metropolitan entrance with its full glass canopy (what a pity that these are fast diappearing) and its large and very gaudy carousel. We had our home made sandwich lunches in this busy square, enjoying the deliciousness of brie and smoked salmon in crusty baguettes and thinking how great they tasted and wondering why sandwiches do not taste as good anywhere else.

 We entered the Church of St. Jean the Evangelist with its typically Byzantine brick exterior and very unusual interior decoration (which actually made me wonder whether it was a Catholic church at all). On a neighboring side street, we saw the home in which the Pointillist artist Georges Seurat lived. Not too far away is the Bateau-Lavoir, a sort of community atelier where a number of struggling artists produced their work in circumstances of horrible deprivation (among them Picasso and Vuillard).

And then we were at the famous Place du Tertre, perhaps Paris' most tourist-frequented venue outside of the Eiffel Tower. We recalled La Mere Catherine, the restaurant in which Llew and I have eaten many a pleasant meal on visits past in a venue once frequented by Russian sailors who demanded that their plats be brought to the table, "Bistro, Bistro" (Quickly! Quickly") And thus was born the name of the small French eatery which provides inexpensive meals! (Or so the story goes). We saw the many cartoonists drawing representations of eager visitors (we had once had our portraits drawn too with the same enthusiasm). This part of our walk was crowded but we thrive on the energy of fellow-travelers and we loved every minute.

Inside the Church of Sacre-Coeur:
A few steps away were steps leading to the city's second most dominant feature: the domes of the Church of Sacred-Coeur de Montmatre. It is simply a brilliant concoction of towers, turrets, domes, equestrian statues (of Joan of Art and St. Louis) in light grey that overlooks the sharply etched steps that go down the Butte. And its steps offer stunning views of the entire city of Paris which I now know well enough to be able to point out its landmarks: Here is the Pantheon, there the Church of St. Suplice and at the right is the unmistakeable gold of Dome Church at Les Invalides. At night, Montmatre must have a magical appearance as, I am certain, the gas lights must cast romantic shadows everywhere. (Note to Self: Make a trip to Montmatre after night has fallen on the city).

Inside, the church is dominated by a Byzantine mosaic of Christ that overlooks the large number of visitors. There are other interesting features to make a detailed study of the chapels worthwhile. We, however, did not linger too long.

Cabaret Halls Galore:
Leaving the church behind, we continued down the hill to see the only remaining vineyard on Montnartre at a corner where another landmark makes its presence felt: the Lapin Agile, another cabaret house which still presents performances. Picasso and other artists used to hang out here--which led the actor Steve Martin to write a play very recently entitled Picasso at the Lapin Agile. And then we walked further down to arrive at the famed Moulin de la Galette, made immortal by Renoir in his paintings of the venue (to be seen at the Musee d'Orsay). The venue, still a very chic restaurant, gets its name from the many mills in the area that used to grind wheat and grapes for wine--hence, moulin which is French for windmill.

As we neared the end of our walk, we saw the home of Dadaist artists and members of the Cubist movement and finally we reached the end of Rue Lepic where Van Gogh and brother Theo had lived in yet another building. What is remarkable is that so little has changed about these buildings (at least from the outside), that one seems to be walking in another century. While at the door, one expects Vincent to walk out, smoking his pipe, his ear in a crummy bandage for he cut it off when one of the prostitutes of Pigalle snubbed his overtures!

Our walk reached its conclusion at the infamous Moulin Rouge--literally, the red windmill which sports its original 19th century sails. Of course, reveus are still performed here today and the ambience is not too different from that presented by Baz Lurhman in his film of the same name starring Nicole Kidman.

Yes, our walk did take four whole hours and we were very tired at the end of it. We decided to take the metro back home and get some errands done (phone to be topped up, baguette to be bought for dinner, etc) On our way from the stores, we walked through the second half of Cite-Universitaire that we had not explored before and saw many more interesting buildings representing a number of countries. Llew thought it was a simply brilliant concept and again, we remarked on how fortunate I am to make such a place my home for such a protracted length of time.

Dinner a Deux:
It was time to rustle up a salad with tomatoes, mozarella, lettuce and balsamic vinaigrette, ham-stuffed tortelline in a tomato cream sauce with hazelnut-chocolate mousse for dessert--all of which were just delicious. Llew was glued to the TV watching Wimbledon matches while I busied myself with chores (laundry, downloading pictures, etc.) before showering and going to bed.

Llew remarked that it was an amazingly enlightening day. And I told him that all my days in Paris have been identical. It is my greatest joy to scratch beneath the tourist surface and uncover the secrets that cities hide so deeply. Long may such foraging continue!

A demain!       
                          

Thursday, June 28, 2012

NEH Session, Musee Marmottan Monet & NYU--Paris

Thursday, June 278, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!
NEH Session on Algerian Films:
I left poor jetlagged Llew still in bed this morning as I crept out quietly for my NEH session. I made sure that I had breakfast (croissants and Poilane's Pain Aux Noix)  and coffee all lined up for him as he has yet to feel his way around the kitchen in my apartment. We'd made plans to reunite at the Fontaine St. Michel at 1. 45pm when my NEH session would be done and we could spend the afternoon together.

Our second session with Malika Rahal was an analysis of the two films we had watched on Tuesday: Indigenes and Hors la Loi. As expected, it made for a vigorous exchange of ideas and the posing of several questions. Indeed the films lent themselves to a great deal of discussion and we covered a whole lot of ground from the historical inaccuracies that most historians are quick to point out when a really important film catches the public imagination to the grassroots reaction of contemporary Algerians in France today to films such a these. I found time fly by as we benefited from Rahal's wide research on the topic as well as first-hand field work in Algeria--not to mention her bi-racial heritage which, I do believe, offers her beneficial perspectives on the many controversies that are sweeping the nation.

At 12.45pm, our session ended and I rushed off to keep my appointment with Llew. I had suggested he take the RER train to Notre-Dame St. Michel and spend the morning on the Ile de la Cite, perhaps visiting the Cathedral of Notre-Dame, the picturesque streets surrounding it and the little garden at the back. Llew managed to do all this and spied something I had missed: the Pont de L'Archeveche which, he explained, was affixed with hundreds of locks left behind by visitors as a token of their friendship or love for someone. I hadn't crossed that bridge on foot, so had never come across this unique Parisian feature.

A Walk around the Latin Quarter:
Since we were in the neighborhood, I then led him to the Musee de Moyen Age and the Thermes Cluny where, just as I had done, two weeks ago, he surveyed the magnificent Gothic mansion then sat in the garden opposite it and munched on the baguette sandwich that I had fixed him before I left him this morning. He also wanted to go out in search of a certain street which apparently had a huge sale of English books but despite walking up and down past the Sorbonne and the Pantheon, we were simply unable to locate the street and gave up in sheer frustration.

Off to see the Musee Marmottan Monet:
Jumping into the RER (C) train, we arrived (after a protracted journey during which we took a train going to another destination than the one we wanted) and arrived at the edge of the Bois de Bologne at about 4. 30 pm where the Musee Marmottan Monet is located. We were not worried by the lateness of the hour as we knew that the museum has late-evening opening (up to 9.00pm ) every Thursday. We felt that we could enjoy the supreme collection of Impressionist canvasses at our leisure. It was a long walk from the Bougainvilliers stations and it happened to be a hot and excruciatingly humid day--easily the worst, weather-wise, that I can remember since I arrived here. The walk to the museum not only exhausted us but dehydrated us as well as we had finished all our water supplies earlier in the afternoon. The Paris metro system also gets unbearable on summer days as the cars are not air-conditioned and they do not even have fans! It is unimaginable!

Well, there were worse challenges in store for us as we discovered. upon finally reaching the museum. There was a soiree in the evening and the museum would, therefore, be closing at 6.00 pm! I wanted to strangle the staff at the ticket counter. This would leave us a little more than an hour to see the collection. Of course, in my case, entry is always free (thanks to my Met ID) but Llew was expected to pay full price (10 euros) until I pointed out to the staff that it was unfair. They then offered him the discounted price of 5 euros!

A Fascinating Retrospective on Berthe Morrisot:
This meant that we raced to the basement to see the retrospective on the work of Berthe Morrisot, a female French Impressionist who worked very closely with the biggest contemporary names in the field as she was married to Eugene Manet, the brother of the famed painter Eduoard Manet. The exhibition opened with an exquisite portrait of Berthe by Edouard Manet and contained a vast collection of her work depicting family members closest to her (there were loads of portraits of her daughter Julie seen throughout her growing years), of her husband Eugene, of the homes they lived in, the vacations they took, walks through the neighboring Bois de Boulogne, etc. It was charming, it was delightful, it was well worth that fatiguing trek through the heat to feast our eyes on the works of a woman whose mother had the foresight to send her for art classes when she was a child so that she eventually ended up at the Academie de Beaux-Arts to learn painting formally from the best instructors of the time. What a lovely education! And what a fabulous legacy she has left behind! Ironically enough, the canvas that I thought was by far the best had traveled to Paris from the Metropolitan Museum of Art in New York!

The Grand Maison Marmottan:
We then made our way to the upper floors to take in the splendour of one of Paris' most glorious hotels particulier (private manions). Belonging to Jules Marmottan, it is decorated and furnished in French First Empire style with classical furniture and accessories (I really did covet the many fine examples of 'Paris porcelain') . The walls, ceiling and floors are simply stunning in their visual decoration. As we moved from one room to the next, we were treated to the splendor also of Impressionist paintings in the vast collection of Monet canvasses as well as key works by lesser Impressionist artists such as George Caillebotte. Sisley, Pisarro and Renoir who are also well represented in this collection. In fact, this museum contains the largest collection of works by Monet seen anywhere.

An unexpected find was the superb collection of Medieval and Renaissance mansucripts that are contained in one large dimly-lit gallery. These, too, were marvelous in their miniature detail. Overall, despite the fact that we had to hurry, the collection is small enough that we could see it all without feeling pressed for time. Of course, had we the luxury of more time, we would have lingered longer over the curatorial details, but although unable to do indulge, we did feel as if we did justice to the greatness of the works on display.

A Visit to NYU-Paris:
Realizing that we were not far at all from Rue de Passy, we decided to walk along to NYU's campus in Paris, which we had last visited three years ago. This time, we found the street packed with late-evening shoppers who brought a liveliness to the quartier that we hadn't noticed before. We entered the great portal that opens into the vast campus buildings hidden behind. They comprise a variety of architectural styles from Hausmann-type buildings with ornamental balconies attached to French windows and red brick buildings that remind me of the English Tudor style. In-between the buildings, there are lushly-planted gardens where--no surprize here--there was a garden party on with American students feasting on cheese and pizza! I walked freely among the series of buildings to take in the classroom and dorm room space and to get a sense of campus life here at our NYU premises in Paris. I thought of all my colleagues who, at some time or the other, have taught in these spaces and I tried to imagine myself teaching and working in this venue. It was a not altogether unattractive prospect! After taking a few pictures of the campus, we left through the wide portals and got out into the street.

Dinner Chez Nous:
At a local Monoprix, we bought a few groceries, then caught the metro from Passy, made a change at Denfert-Rochereau and were home in about 20 minutes. The two of us were simply drained by our exertions undertaken in unenviable climatic conditions. We certainly hope it will be cooler tomorrow. I jumped straight into the shower as I badly needed to cool off, then cooled off some more with an ice-cold shandy. We sipped our drinks before I put together a typically French, no-cook dinner for this sweltering day: proscuitto and melon for an entree, Quiche Lorraine with a green salad slicked only with a balsamic dressing for a plat and ice-cream for Llew and a lemon-lime yogurt for me for dessert. By the end of the evening, we had opened up every single window in our apartment and were looking for cross-ventilation to cool the rooms.

Llew spent most of the evening switching between the UEFA Football matches and the Wimbledon tennis ones while I pottered with my laptop trying to find worthwhile pursuits for tomorrow. We had tried to rent a car to drive to the Loire Valley but find that we are unable to get one at this 11th hour. Instead we shall stay and make the most of our time right here in Paris and tomorrow, our aim is to get out to Montmartre to take a 90-minute stroll in the area before exploring Le Musee de la Vie Romantique.

A demain!               

Wednesday, June 27, 2012

Bienvenue en France, Llew

Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

After a fairly sleepless night, I overslept and awoke only at 7. 45 am realizing that I had to shower and shampoo and clean my apartment before I left for Charles de Gaulle airport to pick Llew up. I had never taken the metro to the airport so was surprized by the cost (almost 10 euros each way and no discounts for round trip!) and the length of the journey--it took almost an hour. Fortunately, I had left well in time and by 11. 30 am I was at the right American Airlines terminal on the Arrivals level on schedule--only to discover that he flight had been delayed and was expected at 12. 15 pm. Merde!

Fortunately, I had taken a book and found myself a great seat at Cafe Ritaaz where, propped with a cafe, I awaited his arrival. In due time, Llew made an appearance. He looked tired, sleep-deprived and dissatisfied--all of which, he told me, were true, as it had been an awful flight (old aircraft, cramped seating, terrible food). He braved the long metro ride back to my apartment and although I expected him to take a nap (we reached home at 2. 00 pm), he thought he would wait it out for fear of not falling asleep at night. He welcomed the cuppa I made him, followed very quickly by a very late lunch: salad, quich lorraine and fresh apricots for dessert.

Exploring Cite-Universitaire:
I thought it made sense to take Llew out on a walk around the neighborhood and we started with Cite-Universitaire, the international student community in which I have been ensconsed for the past month. I had saved an exploration of the area for Llew's arrival and it was fun indeed to take the tour with him. We found a map at the main lobby of the Maison Internationale where we discovered the very inexpensively priced student cafetaria and the nicer restaurant.

Using the map to guide us, we made our way around the extensive park-like lawns that comprise this complex. We walked from one building to the next taking in the architectural and sculptural elements from the Casa de Mexico to the La Corbusier-designed Maison de Suisse, from the collonnaded portico of the Maison d'Italie to the much plainer but very interesting Maison de l'Inde which, naturally, I had to explore. Large portraits of Rabindranath Tagore (India's Nobel Literature Laureate--1913) with France's Nobel Literature Laureate, Romaine Rollande--1916, decorated the lobby with a sculpture of Gandhi and more ancient ones from the Sun Temple at Konarak. We also saw the Maison de Maroc and the Spanish and Danish and Norwegian ones before we crossed the street to get to the Marche Franprix to buy groceries for the week.

It was great to pick out food we could try together from a packaged chocolate brioche to a new creamy chevre, from Leffe beer (for me) to new bottles of Bordeau and Cabernet Sauvignon for him. Weighed down by our purchases, we walked briskly home, stashed our goodies and had a cup of tea with Battenburg cake and French macarons and palmiers (the crisp puff pastries cookies with the sweet and delicious glaze).

Exploring Parc Montsouris:
The other thing I had kept to do when Llew arrived was to explore together the Parc Montsouris which lies right across the street from my building. It is a 117 hectare park at the outer edge of the city, the brainchild of Napoleon and his chief architect Baron Hausmann who wished to provide the city with lungs. Based on the style of an English garden, the park turned out to be an absolute delight and Llew and I loved every second of our walk around its green and fragrant environs.

There were beautiful peach roses clinging to the picket fences and spilling over on to the RER train platforms below. There was a vast lake filled with all sorts of mallards, ducks, geese and even swans--both graceful white and the rarer black ones. There was loads of classical sculpture surrounded by beds full of lavender and catmint. There were railings that looked as if they were made of tree trunks--but they turned out to be artificial stone logs instead--so realistically constructed as to be fool-proof. We found ourselves a bench by the lakeside and had a long sit-down and caught up on all the important news of the past few weeks. I discovered that the gold-plated sculpture that I spy from my bathroom window each morning when I first wake up and begin to brush my teeth is not Mozart but the AmericanThomas Paine whose writings on Liberty and the Rights of Man impacted the French Revolution. It is amazing what discoveries one can make on a short walk in the neighborhood!

Llew loves my apartment and thinks I am very lucky indeed to have found it. While he spent the evening at the telly watching Eurosport 2012 (the football match was between Portugual and Spain and Portugal lost!), I rustled up our first really decent meal in our apartment: Salade Composee with my Citrus Mayonnaise (Llew loved it!) with quiche for starters; Ham Tortellini in a Cream Sauce with Pancetta for a main course and Praline Pecan Ice-cream for dessert. While he finished watching the game, I found one of the students that is vacating the building tomorrow selling some of her stuff in a tag sale--and I decided to nip off to her room to pick up some cleaning supplies. I was delighted to find a lot of things I could really use for just 5 euros for the lot!--laundry detergent, dishwashing detergent, scrubbers plus extra virgin olive oil, and a few spices. It was exactly what I needed and she was just thrilled to be able to get rid of them. So it was a very happy transcation indeed.          

Llew had a shower before bed and hoped it will help fight jetlag which is keeping him full of beans although it is past midnight here. For which reason, I need to call it a night.

A demain!

Endless NEH Day--Lecture and Movies on Algeria

Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

NEH Session on Algeria:
I spent most of the day wrapped up in Franco-Algerian affairs. My day began with my short and very convenient commute to the CISP (Centre Internationale de Sejours de Paris) for our NEH session to be conducted by Prof. Malika Rahal who spoke about the historical intersection of Algeria and France. In an hour that slipped rapidly by, she laid out the current circumstances in which the country has placed itself--afflicted, as it were, by historical amnesia, so that there is no academic work at all on events as they have played out in the coutnry after 1962 when Algeria became free from French colonial rule. I was completely absorbed by the insights she offered, not to mention that fact that she is exceptionally easy on the eye. A stunning woman of mixed race (she calls herself an African-American, having a white American mother and an Algerian Arab father) and a distinct Nebraskan accent (she was rasied in Nebraska), she is tall, slender and has a most delightful smile. Added to these visually attractive  features, she is extremely articulate and speaks with a rare clarity on a complex set of issues.

After a brief coffee break, we went into the second segment of her analysis of the reasons for Algerian attitudes towards post-colonial events. I found these insights fascinating especially in light of the mental comparisons I was able to make with the Indian sub-continent and the manner in which India has both, come to terms with her colonial past as well as found a way to move beyond it--to learn from the lessons of hsitory, to celebrate the heroism of her non-violent Independence Movement and yet, at the same time, to have created a distinct national identity that has allowed her to stake her place and be a major player in the 21st century. I can easily see myself doing more research on Algeria and incorporating a comparison between these former colonies and their contemporary status in a future course--perhaps a Seniors' seminar for our Global Liberal Studies students.

Lunch and a Movie Marathon:
Our session ended at 12.45 pm after which we adjourned for lunch. My colleague Noit offered me a lunch coupon which permitted me to partake of a meal at the CISP. I have to say that the Turkey Osso Bucco with the Ratatouile was simply delicious and far from institutional and my colleagues agreed that it was one of the nicer meals they have had there.  An hour later, we headed to the opposite end of Paris, the Northwestern parts of the city to the IHTP (Institute de Histoire du Temps Present) to watch two recent movies on Algeria as Malika Rahal wanted us to have seen them recently and in time for her next lecture this coming Thurday. Thus, while I thought I would  be getting home about 5. 00 pm, I ended up staying to watch two movies, back to back, in a marathon movie-watching session that was emotionally, intellectually and physically draining.

By the time we finished watching Indigenes (The Indigenous) and Lors Le Loi (Beyond the Law), it was about 7. 30 pm and we were starving (although Cote D'Or Dark Chocolate with Caramelized Pistachios, fresh sweet strawberries and juicy cherries had been doing the rounds while we watched). My colleagues (about 6 of us stayed for both movies as the rest seemed to have seen them earlier), suggested dinner and I decided to join them, not realizing that the venue they chose--a place caleld Le Sardine at Belleville--was a long hike from where we were plus a longer hike from my apartment. Realizing that I had made a mistake in going along with them, I only stayed for a quick beer and then make the hike back home so that I walked in my apartment door only at 9. 45 pm being well and truly knackered.

It was all I could do to stay awake to wish Llew a safe and pleasant flight before I hunkered down in bed and fell fast asleep.

 I will be a woman on a mission tomorrow as I get to Charles de Gaulle airport to welcome Llew to Paris, so I better get some urgent shut eye.

A demain! 
 

Monday, June 25, 2012

Lovely Last Day In Lyon

Monday, June 25, 2012
Lyon, France

Bonjour!
I have to say I had a bit of a fright in the middle of the night when I awoke flushing hot and then cold and then hot and then cold again. I became aware of a dull pounding in my head and mild nausea and realized I was going through the frequent squeamishness I experience whenever I have exerted myself physically just a little too much. One Crocin later, I fell asleep immediately and only awoke at 8. 30 am with my medical crisis averted. Thank Goodness!

Off to the Park (and Zoo):
My young escorts were waiting for me to finish with breakfast to get on with our plans to go to the Museum. But I realized just in time that most museums in France are closed on Mondays. And right enough:  The Musee de la Resistance et Deportation which used to be the headquarters of Klaus Barbie, known as The Butcher of Lyon, and which Charles de Gaulle then christened the headquarters of the Resistance, was closed. We had to make alternative plans and my young friends suggested the Parc du Tete D'Or (literally, the Park with the Golden Head!).

I was certainly up for it, not really knowing what to expect there, apart from great sculpture which is what one usually finds in France's great public gardens. We were all set to take public transport to the park: 16 (almost 17) year old Louis, son of my friend Genevieve and his friend 16 year old Remy who had a sleepover, were to be my handsome company for the morning. Just when we were ready to leave, Dad Frederic stepped in with the offer of a ride to the park on his way to a dentist appointment. The offer was eagerly accepted and exactly at 10.00 am, off we went by car.

The park is only a short 15 minute drive away and within a few minutes, we were walking into its grand ornamental gates past the sculpture that I had expected. Louis and Remy were disappointed that the bicycles that they hoped to pedal, with me as a passenger, were not going to be available until mid-day. Which turned out to be just as well. For we started walking through the park--and it was at this point that I realized that the park included a Zoo! How wonderful! It was the second time in a month that I'd be visiting a zoo.

Well, needless to say, we had a great time as zoos bring out the kid in every one of us. I regressed to my teenagehood in the company of my sweet escorts who insisted on trying to improve their English with me. The park was full of kids brought by their teachers for a day trip. It was delightful to listen to their squeals and their expressions as they watched the animals and their antics. Right after they saw a golden money swing through the length of his cage, they broke out, as a group, into spontaneous applause. I have never seen anything like it. After we had seen a vast part of the zoo and needed a bit of a rest, Louis decided to find out if the bicycles were available--and indeed they were!

Except that having spent so much time on our feet, I suggested we rent a pedal boat instead and enjoy the vast lake. The guys thought it was a good idea. And that was how I ended up having one of the loveliest mornings of my travels so far. The weather was simply perfect: neither too warm nor too cool. The sun occasionally put its hat on; but for the most part, shone happily upon us. Pedaling offered light exercise and a glimpse of the vast perennial gardens that comprise the park. After a most delightful hour on the lake, it was time to return the pedal-boat and go out in search of lunch. It was great that the bicycles were not available when we needed them, because we'd probably never have hired a pedal boat if they had been.

Lunch was ham and fries in a park stand with a nice hot chocolate. Just as we finished our meal, Frederic arrived to pick us up and take us back home. My queasiness of the night persuaded me to get back to my room for a short nap and within seconds, I was out like a light. When I awoke, it was time for a cup of tea and as we sat around the table in the kitchen, I felt sorry that my time with the Ducote family was coming to an end as I had enjoyed a great weekend with a varied lot of experiences and memories to take home with me.

At about 5.00 pm, we went for a last walk around the center of St. Didier Au Mont D'Or where my friends live. It was an opportunity to take Edna the dog for a short walk and to visit the local church--with its impressive cathedral-like proportions--before we returned home to stack my back pack in the car and leave for the train station.

Au Revoir Genevieve:
I was delighted that Genevieve arrived from a long day at work at Lyon Part Dieu train station in time to see me off. My train left at 7.00 pm. I have no idea when I will see her again, which makes our partings always rather sorrowful. But I know that if our friendship has survived for 40 years, it will no doubt thrive way into the future. For her generosity and the gifts of her time, I am always grateful.

Back on the TGV train to Paris, I captioned all the photographs I had taken over the long weekend and, literally, by the time I finished, the train was pulling into Paris Gare du Nord at exactly 9. 15 pm. It was almost magical. Those TVG (Tres Grande Vitesse) trains are miraculous! What a convenient and easy way to take on long-distance travel! Thankfully, the RER trains connect beautifully to my residence and I was in my apartment by 9. 45 pm. Incroyable!

In 15 minutes, I finished unpacking, got myself ready for my NEH session tomorrow, had a salted caramel and hazelnut yogurt and caught up with my email and my blog. It was a weekend to remember but it is now time to call it a night!

A demain!    

Sunday, June 24, 2012

Amazing Annecy in the French Alps

Sunday, June 24, 2012
Annecy-Lyon, France

Bonjour!
It is not quite the end of the day yet--only 7.00 pm-- in Lyon, but I have had an amazing day in Annecy and I'm not sure I will have a lot of time to blog later--so here goes.

I awoke at 8.00 am only to find that almost everyone in the Tougne household was awake as well. A quick breakfast followed (chocolately bread and cafe au lait) and then along came Genevieve to the table and ready to drive me off to Annecy today so that I could continue my tour of the French Alps.

Just fifteen minutes later, we headed along the beautiful mountain road to Annecy with a quick stop at the cemetery where Genevieve's parents, Raymond and Lisette, are buried as I wanted to pay my respects to a couple who were always warmly welcoming of me whenever I was their house guest in France. And then we were off past beautiful verdant pasture and rolling hills to the lovely town of Annecy.

The Endless Charms of Annecy:
Annecy is a picture-perfect little mountain town. Every time I have visited it, I have loved it just a little bit more. Today happened to be Market Day and my Genevieve's sister Chantal had warned me to be careful of my possessions. The town was packed as folks bought and sold briskly along the banks of the many canals that crisscross the town. In many ways, Annecy reminds me of Venice or Amsterdam as it is a maze of picturesque bridges, narrow pathways, stone squares, tall towers composed of clocks and bells that chime from time to time. It is an ancient town not too far from the Swiss border--which is why you will find architectural elements that are distinctly Swiss--onion domed churches, for one thing, take the place of skinny spires. When they are not made of stone, the facades of buildings are painted in vivid warm colors--yellows, ochres, peaches and cream. Narrow bridges link the canals together and are lined by shops that offer refreshment in the form of cocktails, traditional Savoyarde cooking (meaning fondue and raclette) and all sorts of regional foods: salami sausages, cheese made with milk produced by the cows that are seen in every field. It is all enchanting--all of it.

I found a church--the Church of St. Francis de Sales--and since it was a Sunday and I needed a mass, inside I went--only to find that mass had just begun and was in Italian. I still cannot fathom why it was in Italian--but there you are! After mass and communion, I was out in the bright, warm sunshine making my way towards Annecy's famous lake. I wondered about taking a cruise on the lake; but then I felt that there wa so many more exciting things to see in this magical town that I dropped the idea of the cruise and pressed on towards Le Pont Des Amours (Lover's Bridge) past the beautiful park.

At lunch, I found the perfect sandwich: A Sandwich Chaud avec Jambon and Raclette Cru (that is to say a sandwich with ham and melted raclette cheese served with cornichons). All that cheese just oozed out as I tried to handle it. It was wonderful. Such a treat! I sat in the park and ate it and watched the world go by and enjoyed every second of what turned out to be a perfect day!

By the time I rejoined Genevieve, the weekly market was closing up and the vendors were pulling their stalls down. Perfect time for me to find my ride and get back to Lyon--which was exactly what we did.

I spent the afternoon relaxing by the pool at Genevieve's home in Lyon when I caught up on my blog.

Family Dinner By the Pool:
Genevieve stirred up a simple but very satisfying dinner after having spent a good while in the afternoon lounging at the pool: Tapenade and Aubergine caviar with bread made neat tartines, brochettes and merguez sausage with potato croquettes, fresh strawberries with chestnut mousse. There was a lot of laughter, a lot of joking (most of which I did not understand) with a house guest named Remi who is spending the night with Louis.

But soon it was time to turn in and that was what we did. Bonne Nuit.

A demain!
       

Off to the French Alps--Rumilly & Aix Les Bains

Saturday, June 23, 2012
Rumilly and Aix les Bains, France

Bonjour!
It was a lazy morning. I enjoyed a long lie-in, ate a hasty breakfast (pain au chocolate with Laduree tea) and was off in the car with Genevieve behind the wheel, headed to the French Alps. The objective was to get to Rumilly, a tiny village tucked away at the foot of the mountains in the heart of the region known as the Haute Savoie or the High Savoy. Genevieve was born and raised in this idyllic part of France on the border of Switzerland. Over the years, I have spent time with her family here and it was heartbreaking to realize that on this trip, her mother would not be around to greet me as she passed away a year ago. Genevieve's mission was to reconnect in Rumilly with her siblings (who would be traveling from the neighboring regions) to get to their parents' home to sort through decades' worth of stuff, to decide what to keep and what to discard before the house is refurbished and put up for rent.

Rediscovering Rumilly:
We arrived in Rumilly at about 11. 00 am and I was disappointed to find that, like many of the little villages that dot the mountains, it has changed, expanded and lost some of its distinctive character. I left my friend and her siblings to their daunting task and with my camera went out to take pictures of the little town. I walked around the Hotel de Ville (really not much more than a Mairie--a mayor's office) and entered the Church of St. Agatha (which I remember well as I used to attend Mass there, almost thirty years ago!). The church is in really poor shape and needs a lot of maintenance. It is very sad how badly it has deteriorated. Outside, in the ancient Hall des Armes (a colonnaded structure perfect for farmer's markets and where I do remember shopping for cheese, many moons ago, with Madame Lisette Tougne, Genevieve's mother), there was a market in progress--lovely cherries, Reblochon cheese--a soft creamy cheese that is a speciality of this region, a Tommes de Savoie (another hard cheese) were on view. Most of the shops were downing their shutters for midi (siesta hour). They would re-open about 2. 30 pm. I have to say that it was simply not the same--there were too many kebab houses which add nothing to the essential French charm of the place). I suppose change is inevitable, but I was not prepared for anything so drastic.

At 1.00 pm, as decided I walked back to Genevieve's mother's home past other small houses with gardens that were a riot of summer color--there was roses tumbling over picket fences, loads of wild flowers everywhere and many hanging baskets. Now that's what I remember so fondly--a French village with red-roofed cottages and red roses! At the little story-book train station, I took a picture--recalling that I had taken the train from there to Annecy, a long time ago.

We had a nice lunch around the communal table: Genevieve's brother Henri and his wife, Carole, her sister Chantal and her husband Frank, her other sister Brigette and her husband Jean-Claude, were present too. Rice and chicken stew and haricots vert with wine and bread and salad and ripe slices of melon for dessert. This was just simple daily French cooking. Simplicity combined with tasty ingredients. It is an unbeatable combination.

Off to Aix Les Bains:
After lunch, because the family needed to continue their mission, Genevieve drove me to Aix Les Bains, about twenty minutes away. Again, I recall passing briefly through this town, years ago, when I had first arrived in France. But, on that occasion, I did not have the opportunity to discover it. This time, I had the entire afternoon at my disposal to explore. On the way, in the car, Genevieve had explained to me that Aix Les Bains is one of those old European spa towns (like Baden Baden in Germany) renowned for the purity of its springs and the medicinal quality of its waters (thermes). People used to arrive there "to take the waters" and, as time passed, these towns grew snazzy with a collection of gracious hotels and tasteful restaurants.

Genevieve left me in the main street which gave me an opportunity to poke my head into the souvenir stores, pick up a few items and enjoy the sculpture sprinkled around town--the war memorial and other bits of stone or metal make interesting visual punctuation points around their rotaries. Aix has its fair share of "touristic" shops but I spent more time around the casino (yes, it has a nice one, similar to the more renowned one at Monte Carlo) and the old hotels.

Dance Party in Aix:
Quite by chance, following the sound of some really rollicking music, I made my way to a square where I found rather rollicking dancing in progress. That was probably the best part of my day. I found myself a table and a chair, ordered a tall Monaco (as all my walking had rendered me thirsty) and had the best time watchaing elderly French ladies and gents boogey. And when I say Boogey, I mean Ballroom dance. It was such a pleasure to see them show off their best moves and their most skillful quick steps! They actually had a DJ who either sang himself or spun their favorite vinyl and their party was simply swinging. Needless to say, I had a fair share of bald, elderly French guys who asked me to join them on the floor for a dance: I lied through my teeth when I told them: "J'aime la musique, mais malheuresuement, je ne dance pas".I must say they took No very sportingly for an answer and left me alone to enjoy the spectacle. It was utterly charming.

At about 6. 30 pm, Genevieve picked me up and off we went to the supermarket so she could buy supplies for our evening meal--as it was her turn to provide the provisions. She made some great choices and soon we were off. On the way back home, she drove me to the Lac de Bourget which is Aix's great lake filled with sailing craft that give the entire marina a very chic ambiance indeed. We walked along the Promenade for a bit and then got back into the car ready to get home for our evening meal. All that walking had stirred my appetite and I was ready to eat again!

Diner Chez Tougne:
Well, there we were around the table once more--feasting this time on a salad of tomatoes, mozarella cheese and basil with a balsamic vinaigrette, tortellini with smoked bacon and ementhal cheese in the sauce, Reblochon cheese with delicious walnut-studded baguette and panna cotta for dessert with a strawberry sauce. Yum!!! By the time we chatted and sipped wine and chatted some more, dusk fell and then nightfall came and it was time to go inside and retire for the night.

I was given a room on the top floor and as I made myself comfortable, I knew it would take no more than ten minutes for me to fall fast asleep--and I was right!

A demain!          

Saturday, June 23, 2012

A Lovely Day in Lyon

June 22, 2012
Lyon, France

Bonjour!
I always believe that comparing Lyon to Paris is a little bit like comparing Boston to New York. The more minor of the two has all the historical and cultural charm but is smaller, more compact, less crowded, less crazy, cleaner, greener and, in many ways, less intimidating. I think that is certainly the case with Lyon. This is my third visit to the city and since my visits now are less frenzied, I can truly enjoy the city at my leisure. And this time, I had a young friend who wished to accompany me and be my guide: 16 year old Louis, the son of my friends Geneveive and Frederic was free for the day, having written an important terminal high school exam earlier in the day. He knows Lyon like the back of his young hand and was eager to improve his English--so off we went on the local bus from St. Didier Au Mont D'Or where they live to the train station at Gare de Vaise from where we took the super speedy, super modern, super new metro to Bellecour, the vast square in the middle of the city which is dominated by the equestrian sculpture of Louis XIV and is reputed to be the largest public square in Europe. A quick visit to the Tourist Information Center brought us maps, but Louis was obsessed (as all young folks are) with his I-phone and the free GPS application that was available at the Center that he downloaded to help us find the places I wanted to visit.

On past occasions, I have made the funicular pilgrimage up the mountain to see the brilliant interior of the Church of Notre Dame at Fourviere and have studied the excellent collection of art works in the Musee des Beaux Arts which ranks second only to those found in Paris--so there was no reason to cover them again. This time, I would be exploring the traboules (the vast labyrinth of underground passages that connect the various 'rues' of this city, especially in Vieux Lyon (the ancient quartier or district) which is also hugely fascinating to me. I also wanted to ensure I ate at least one meal in a traditional Lyonnaise bouchon (a little restaurant that serves regional cuisine).

There was one pilgrimage I intended to repeat: a visit to the atelier of Andre Claude Canova who is a renowned designer of pure silk foulards (French scarves) and--this is a little-known secret--produces scarves for the renowned houses of Cartier and Hermes. I am neither much of a slave to fashion nor a clothes-horse (as anyone who knows me will attest) but I did develop a passion for the impeccably designed French scarves that are made by the pricey couturiers and I have a small but very precious collection that includes the works of Canova. And I am glad to say I managed to accomplish all of my objectives.

The Traboules of Lyon:
A word about the traboules. And that means a word about the canuts. So here goes: Canuts were the traditional silk weavers that congregated in Lyon in past centuries to make it a thriving center of silk weaving, production and sale (hence, the scarves--tu vois?). Through those decades, the canuts lived in small flats in traditional buildings mainly in Vieux Lyon (Ancient Lyon) in a maze of streets with underground passages (or traboules) that led directly to the two rivers that run through the city: the Rhone and the Saone--to enable fast and easy transportation of their raw material and finished products. Hence, there is a network of tunnels under the city that, while no longer in use today, are of deep tourist interest. I intended to discover a few of them.

Using Lonely Planet as my guide, Louis and I attempted to find them. I have to say that it wasn't easy because the entrance to them is usually the great wooden doors to the buildings, most of which have been fitted with modern security systems involving intercom buzzers. While the residents are aware of the fact that visitors are drawn to these secret passages and wish to explore them and, therefore, do respond when you press the intercom buzzer, they do not wish to be disturbed during siesta hours, which is after "midi"-- twelve noon. Since Louis and I had a leisurely start to our day and only arrived in Lyon at 11.00 am, we had very little time to find this hidden underground feature before it grew out of bounds to us.

Well, let me tell you that it is not possible to walk quickly along the cobbled stone streets of Old Lyon--unless you want to risk a twisted ankle. I had no intention of going back to Paris with a fracture, thank you very much. I tried my best to make the deadline but along the way, as is my wont, I was sidetracked by interesting features of the quartier, such as a beautiful building (which turned out to be the Museum of Miniatures), a really glorious church  (The Cathedral of St. Jean) which I simply had to visit, Gallo-Roman ruins (Lyon is full of them as it was, after all, a primary base of the Roman Empire). Not to be deterred by the deadline, we pressed on  and then there they were: once we learned the drill, it was easy to find them. You had to wait outside the door until someone exited the building and then slip in. At the end of an hour, we saw about four of the major traboules and I, for one, was delighted. As we wound our way in and out of them, we were traversing the narrow cobbled streets of old Lyon with their many traditional bouchons, souvenir shops and confisseries (as Lyon has a lot to offer the sweet-toothed).

The traboules are very narrow and not very long. Each connects a well-used street with another one a few blocks away. What is fascinating are the buildings that are connected by this labyrinth from an architectural perspective: they are very similar--a series of floors built one over the next with curved, traditional balconies and stone spiral stairs that lead upstairs (most of which now have heavily grilled wrought-iron gates to prevent strangers from mounting the stairs). They have other interesting features like little niches or grottos at the base and the entire effect is of a small private, enclosed world, that is hidden from the rest of the world outside. It was extraordinarily charming and not something I have seen anywhere else (probably because it does not exist anywhere else). In addition, most of these buildings are in great condition--they are probably much in demand by today's yuppies or the city thinks they are important enough, historically, to be well maintained and regularly restored. Overall, it was an engaging experience and one I deeply enjoyed.

Off to Canova's Atelier:
Andre Claude Canova (as his name implies) is an Italian who made Lyon his home. I have trekked to the distant Quai St. Vincent on a past occasion to discover his workshop (atelier) and his showroom (maroquinerie) knowing full well that a treasure trove of one-of-a-kind merchandise awaited me as a reward. This time I had a young companion and I knew that he would be bored out of his wits if I spent too much time examining the goods. My decisions would have to be the love-at-first-sight kind.

Canova's atelier enjoys a really beautiful location. Although it is something  of a hike to get there, it is based on the banks of the River Rhone, in the shady courtyard of an old mansion that has a gorgeous balustraded double stone staircase leading to a balcony. You get the feeling as you walk into his atelier that you are entering into the world of ancient craftmanship and should immerse yourself fully in the experience. Canova's office and showroom are on the ground floor on the right hand side, while the atelier is on the left. Having seen the atelier previously (visitors can take a tour) and having an insider's insight into the complex and time-consuming process of designing and creating a distinctive silk scarf with a hand-rolled edge--there is nothing machine-made or mass-produced about Canova's work--I went straight to the showroom with feverish anticipation.

Alas, it was closed! You can imagine that I was, as the French say, "desole", i.e. deeply disappointed. The sweet young girl working at a computer (who turned out to be the lovely Clothilde, Canova's own daugher!) apologized for not being able to help me today as her sales assistant was out for the day. However, when she took one look at my face and the crushing despair written all over it, she hastened to add that if I could take a quick look at the wares, she would be happy to help me. I could have kissed her but I restrained myself as we moved into the classically-decorated professional meeting rooms and the showroom-cum-boutique where the finished products reposed in splendour on individual hangers or on a polished wooden table.

While I looked around, Clothilde chatted with me and explained that retail sales (walk-in clients, such as myself) only comprise 5 % of her father's business: the bulk of it is individual commissions for large companies that wish to create one-of-a-kind scarves or ties to gift to their clients, business associates or special employees. These are the folks who enter into extensive discussions with Canova himself to convey an idea of what they desire. Canova's designers (each of them an artist in his/her own right) then go on to create drafts of possible scarfs to meet the clients' expectations. Clothilde showed me scarves designed exclusively for Paul Bocuse, for example, the world-renowned Lyonnais chef who has created a global culinary empire. There were scarves designed for Cartier (which, of course, Clothilde could not sell under any circumstances) and for other exclusive houses of haute couture (whose names she could not disclose). But, oftentimes, some of the scarves made for these clients are sold to the public (with the permission of the ones who commissioned them)--this is strictly not the case with Cartier or Hermes, of course. All the scarves are made in small batches--strictly limited editions, as it were--and once the batch is created, manufacturing of that particular design ceases. In other words, there is no way you can buy designs produced say, ten years ago. The items on display change regularly with three or four new designs added every year. If you know the complex history involved in the creation and production of these items, you will treat them with the reverence due a work of art and it was with this reverence that I handled the scarves and examined them. Eventually, of course, I had to make a decision--and since I am a very decisive person (who doesn't dither endlessly but has a very definitive idea of what I covet and what I don't), it was quick and painless. Less than half an hour later, I was walking out of this paradise of silken luxury with profound joy in my hear--the proud possessor of works of art to add to my collection in the signature red boxes. I must say that Clothilde was simply wonderful and it was a great pleasure to meet her.

Time for Lunch:
It was time for more basic susustenance and my young friend decided to lead me to a young folks' hangout: a little cafe called The Candy Box, where, he assured me, the sandwiches were very delicious and very reasonably priced. We ate toasted paninis with a barbecue sauce for which Louis insisted he pay. During the morning, he had stopped to introduce me to some of Lyon's confectionary treats: cussins--literally silk pillows, today a kind of marzipan candy with a soft chocolate center that have been created in the city since the time it was spared a plague epidemic, many centuries ago. They are sold in decorative tins featuring scenes of the city and make great souvenirs.

Off to the Hotel de Ville and the Opera:
Just a short stroll away was Lyon's gorgeous Belle Epoque Building, the Hotel the Ville or Town Hall with its magnificent facade of Louis XIV on horseback and its collection of sculpted mythological women all over its tower and sides. It stands in a huge square called Place des Terreaux in the center of which is a fabulous fountain whose interest lies in the fact that it was designed and sculpted by Frederic Bartholdi, the same chap who designed and created the Statue of Liberty in New York. A mythological sea god (Neptune, perhaps?) is seen driving a foursome of horses in a wonderful vignette of speed and motion that is perfectly matched by the force and volume of water that gushes all around in the fountain's basin. It is a compelling sight.

On the other side of the square is the collonnaded entrance to the Palais de Beaux-Art in whose cool and shady courtyard, we spent a while surrounded by the works of Rodin and others in the sculpture garden. Then, a short walk later, we were at the ornate Opera House with its lovely ruby-red glass lanterns that contrast with the modernist sculpture on the square in front of it--the architectural work of France's leading contemporary architect, Jean Nouvel.. All of these locations that sit on the banks of the two rivers make the place seem like an island and is, therefore, called Presq'Isle (almost an island).

Since we had decided to have dinner in a traditional bouchon, it made sense to get home early to rest for a little bit, but Louis insisted I try the chocolat chaud in one of Lyon's most exclusive cafes--the Cafe des Negotiants, where he had a Monaco (a beer cocktail with grenadine and lemonade) and I had the hot chocolate which I have to say was amazing (however, the Cukracavalimonada Cafe on Kampa Island in Prague in the Czech Republic is still my all-time favorite for the best hot chocolate in the world!). The restaurant was gorgeous with the most artistic walls and ceilings and plush heavy maroon curtains and rest rooms in the basement that are just as ornate! I know because I needed to check them out!

Then, we were on the metro headed back to Gare de Vaise with the intention of making one stop: a visit to the "perniches" or barges parked along the Rhone, many of which have been turned into bars and restaurants. Well, it would take a long walk to get there and Genevieve would be passing by soon in her car on her way back from work and she decided to drive us there instead, We waited for about 15 minutes for her, were duly picked up and conveyed to the banks of the river, but, unfortunately, there were not a lot of such boats around and the excursion was disappointing.

Off for dinner to a Traditional Bouchon:
In about an hour, it was time to go for dinner and Genevieve made reservations at Cafe de la Federation which is considered the hot favorite for typical Lyonnaise cuisine. It was true to its reputation in every sense. Although it is tiny, it has all the traditional elements one looks for in a bouchon: red and white checkered tablecloths topped by a paper coverlet. The choice of dishes is quickly mouthed. They were kind enough to offer me a written menu plucked right off the door! The clientele was entirely composed of local people--which is a good sign. Not a single tourist was in sight. I suppose on a warm day, they prefer to sit on a terrace and watch the world go by.

It was truly a gastronomic experience. We were served an amuse-goule as a starter: tiny cups of really thick delicious broth with a boiled egg in the center. You break into the egg and let the yolk run into the soup. Culinary heaven! The appetizers were generous and various: cold dried meats with cornichons; a potted terrine; a great big salade frisee with a very "fort" mustard in its dressing. A great hunk of baguette made the rounds. The plats were not the sort you'd find in your standard French restaurant. Nothing fancy or nouvelle about this cuisine. It was just the sort of hearty food you might find a Lyonnais grandmother stirring in her kitchen.

There was boudin noir (a black sausage with a very delicious apple compote in the center--the spiciness of the sausage contrasted superbly with the sweetness of the cinnamon-flavored apples). There was a piece of sheep's intestine served in a very spicy mustard sauce with pommes de terre dauphinoise (scalloped potatoes); there was Quennelles de Lyons (little cushioned dumplings) served with a langoustine in a very creamy seafood sauce (delicious!); I chose the cheek of pork in a thick, almost black stew, that was marvelously flavorful and served in a saucepan! My friends insisted I try each of the dishes to get a good idea of the variety of Lyonnaise cuisine. Indeed everything was incredibly good. I just felt sorry I could not carry the rest of my dish home (doggy bags are not the done thing in France, apparently). The cheese plate was large and varied--I tried a tiny bit of each. Dessert were ditto--I had a baba au rhum and was presented with a tall bottle of rhum seasoned with cinnamon and flavored with a whole vanilla bean to pour over my cake that was served with fresh cream. And then there was coffee--I could barely move when we were done.

Walking Home Through Lyon's Illuminated Landscape:
I had to be almost carried to the underground parking garage but the walk through the illumination of the Hotel de Ville was enchanting. France's cities come alive at night with tastefully placed lighting that make the contours of the buildings spring to life and all along the river banks as we drive home, we were charmed by the colors reflected on the river by these lovely lights.

I could not have asked for a better re-discovery of Lyon. It is a spectacular city by day or by night and I was glad I had decided to make the trip to see my friends and to spend precious time with the entrie family.

Tomorrow, we will be driving to the foot of the French Alps--then to the Haute Savoie--the High Savoy region of France...I can't wait...

A demain!          
  

Friday, June 22, 2012

TVG To Lyon

Thursday, June 21, 2012
Paris-Lyon, France

Bonjour!
So, here I am, after three years, back at the chateau owned by my close friends Genevieve and Frederic on the verdant heights of St. Didier Au Mont D'Or, overlooking the beautiful city of Lyon. But, to begin at the beginning...

NEH Session of The Black Book of Communism:
Nicholas Werth and Henri Russo led our discourse this morning on the topic we had begun to examine on Tuesday: The Black Book of Communism. The emphasis was on the controversial Introduction by Stephane Courtois and the reception of the book around the world. A lively discussion followed our coffee break at 11. 00 and continued till almost 1.00 pm. Although most of my colleagues were headed off for lunch in the quartier, I had to rush off home to pick up my backpack to travel for the weekend to Lyon.

I got home within the hour, grabbed some of my delicious goat cheese quiche for lunch with Marks and Spencer's sausages (I am having the strangest but most delicious meals here) and then, having modified my packing a bit (it got so warm today), I disconnected my laptop, decided to take it with me and left the house. It was really easy to get to the Gare de Lyon for my 4.00 pm TVG train to Lyon (the RER got me there easily with just one small change at Chatelet).

At Gare de Lyon:
Gare de Lyon was buzzing--it is one of the outstation train stations of which Paris has a few. It was with the expert moves of the seasoned traveler that I found my way to my correct Hall and correct Voie (Platform)--speaking French doesn't hurt! But when I got to the main lobby, my platform had not yet been announced. I waited for a good half hour with my book for company. Just then, like magic, within minutes, the skies blackened ominously and the rain came crashing down on the glass roof and thunder rolled loud and furiously and it seemed as if the heavens had opened to pour a whole year's worth of rain down on the earth. Ten minutes later, the downpour had passed--as if someone had just remembered to turn off a tap! When my platform was announced, I boarded my train (remembering to validate my ticket before I entered it).

On the TGV to Lyon:
Gosh, they're not kidding about these trains: they actually do have TGV (Tres Grande Vitesse). I mean my train just flew! It might have been faster than a plane. And it was simply noiseless. I watched the landscape fly by me--a lovely rural one of yellow fields, small unknown villages that time forgot with shy church steeples rising from their midst, ivory cows chewing the cud in emerald pasture. The sun was out and threw warm light over the entire scene unfolding outside my window. The train made just one three minute stop (at Les Meaux) and then we were off again. Within two hours--yes, that's two hours--we were pulling into Lyon Part Dieu station where I spied my friend Genevieve's husband Frederic with their son Louis on the platform, waiting to receive me. A few minutes later, we had a fond reunion. Genevieve was still at work but I would be seeing her shortly at their home.Louis gallantly picked up my bag and carried it all the way to the car. What a fine gentleman!

At Home with My 'Penpal' and her Family:
The drive through Lyon to their chateau-like home at St. Didier Au Mont D'Or was lovely as the sun was bright. Over the bridges of the Rivers Rhone and Saone we went to climb the mountain (Mont D'Or) on which their home is situated and then we were pulling into the beautiful wrought-iron gates and parking on their gravel driveway to be greeted by their labradors, Sweet and Edna! It was a perfectly suburban French scene!

I should explain that Genevieve and I began exchanging letters as 'penfriends' when we were both 13 years old (in those dinosaur days before Facebook) and I lived in Bombay. Over the years, we have met in India, Paris, in the Haute Savoie village of Rumilly where she was born and raised and  in Lyon where she has lived since her marriage. It still amazes me that, despite the long passage of a lifetime and the many ups and downs and many moves and relocations in both our lives, we have stayed in close contact and have remained friends. This is largely thanks to her late Mum, Lisette, who took over the task of writing to me (in French) when Genevieve was too busy with her engineering studies, her position as Senior Executive in a top Engineering firm or raising her sons. It is always a joy to reconnect with her and when we do, the years just fall away as they always do between good old friends.

Genevieve, fortunately, was home for just a few minutes and it was great to see her again as well as her younger son, 14-year old Amaury, who had been swimming in their pool. But, in a few minutes, she left for a professional cocktail meeting (as a senior civil engineers, she designs and builds airports) and I did not see her again for the rest of the evening. I spent it with Frederic and the boys talking about my course and the recent French history that is unfolding. Frederic told me that there are only two French 'movements' of the past century that he "detests": Communism and Nazi-ism. Funnily enough, these were exactly the two movements we had been comparing during our NEH sessions this past week. It was wonderful to receive the perspectives of a non-academic Frenchman on the subject: one who is passionate about his beliefs and waxes eloquent about politics, religion, history, society, and loves an attentive audience.

Dinner was simple and prepared by their housekeeper Virginie: small amuse-bouche in the form of guacamole with seafood paste and potted shrimp in little pots; scrambled eggs with zucchini and fresh strawberries for dessert with whipped cream. We missed Genevieve but I shall be spending most of the weekend with her (which will give us ample time to catch up).

To Bed, To Bed:
Frederic and Louis showed me my room on the third floor of the house right next to the one I had occupied when I had stayed with them, three years ago. 'My' room is now occupied by Louis, but I had the one next door with the bathroom near by. Louis connected me to their wireless internet which allowed me to check up on email and then I went to bed, hoping we will have good weather as I have a young and very enthusiastic companion in 16-year Louis who wishes to show me his Lyon and hopes to improve his English in the process. It should be a lot of fun!

A demain!        

Thursday, June 21, 2012

Lolloping Around Luxembourg

Wednesday, June 20, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!
And what a Bon Jour it would turn out to be. For one thing--and that's a major thing--the sun was out, blazing gloriously upon Paris. I almost did not recognize the golden orb in the sky. I'd be a fool if I spent the day in any other place than in a park, I thought. Question was: Which one? Tuilleries? Luxembourg? Montsouris? Monceau? What an embarrassment of riches!

I breakfasted on the last of my Eric Kayser Brioche with preserves and café au lait--boy, am I relishing these Parisian brekkies! Then, chores accomplished (read all gadgets charged, blog post edited), I picked up my map and NAVIGO (commuter pass) and was off! I decided it would be the Jardin de Luxembourg and the area surrounding it since the RER had a convenient stop there. So off I went. I had, I should mention, just poked my left toe into the garden once--at the very beginning of my stay here; but I hadn’t ventured far enough to catch a glimpse of the Palais de Luxembourg which sits plump in its midst. Today was the perfect one to get that box ticked.

Taking the Air in the Jardin de Luxembourg:
A short train ride later, I surfaced right opposite one of the entrances to the garden--and there are several, for it is vast and has a high wall completely enclosing it. It was, after all, created as a private park for royalty--Louis XIV built it for his wife, an Italian princess, to remind her of her native Florence. The palace, therefore, was constructed in imitation of the Pitti Palace in Florence, although there are some lovely carved and sculpted embellishments at the entrance to soften the severity of the plain horizontal lines. The grand gardens were meant to be strolled in solely by royal feet--the fact that the hoi polloi is allowed in today--not just around the beautiful Octagonal Pond but on the pellicules (lawns) where, a piquenique is possible, is little short of miraculous--look how much the French Revolution accomplished! Today, the palace is the home of the French Senate and is out of bounds to ordinary mortals (except with previously granted permission for which you need to apply in advance).

Apart from the Palace which is a true showpiece, the Garden is truly an open-air sculpture gallery in the truest European sense. They are sprinkled around so casually that every few yards you come upon another fascinating one that simple begs to be photographed. I had a lovely time clicking away and only wished some of them could pose for me--they made such lovely subjects. I spent a while at the pond (where kids can actually rent colorful mechanized boats to sail around), then made my way to the Fontain des Medicis--a huge Florentine concoction of sculpture, water and greenery that sits in a shady corner and can easily be missed. Again, this was a nod to the powerful Florentine dynasty from which the new French queen had descended.

A Walk the Neighborhood of Luxembourg:
Since I’d had my breakfast late, I wasn’t quite hungry yet--so I returned to the Luxembourg Walk in my guide book and followed the road leading to the huge dome that dominated the quartier, assuming that I was heading to the Church of Val de Grace. It was only a couple of blocks later that I realized I was making my way to the Pantheon instead! Right about turn! And then I was back on track again.

Literary Detours:
My objective was to find three locations in the neighborhood that had once been home to American literary luminaries.
1. Right on Rue Vaudigard, I found what is today the snazzy Hotel Luxembourg Parc. One of its flats was once rented by American Nobel Laureate William Faulkner--in those days when the neighborhood was still affordable and within the reach of penniless writers.

2. Hemingway, interestingly enough, lived only a stone's throw away at No. 12 Rue de Ferou in a grand mansion which is strongly gated today. I found the place and admired the beauty of the building--it has carved Egyptian lion/women for gateposts and plenty of classical French carvings on the wall--fat cherubs and flowery skeins. Of course, I had no idea which apartment was Hemingway's, but it was nice to click pictures of the building and ruminate on his Hadley (Wife No. 1) Days, so graphically delineated by the American author Paula McLain in her recent bestseller Paris Wife.

3. And then, a short distance away is Rue de Fleurus which recently leapt into fame following Woody Allen's brilliant film Midnight in Paris. Here, at No. 27, the inimitable Gertrude Stein (“A Rose is a Rose is a Rose”) had held court in the company of her literary and artistic protégés--Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Man Ray, Picasso, Matisse, Georges Braque, etc. While Stein held her literary soirees, she and her brother and sister were busy collecting the work of up-and-coming artists, and in a way to help them, bought up their early canvasses for a song. The Stein Collection, recently held at the Metropolitan Museum of Art showcased their eclectic tastes and the magnificent treasure trove they amassed in the process—worth countless millions today.

Of course, I was thrilled to be able to stand at the great door of the Belle Epoque building that was only 10 years old when Stein moved in and where later, she spent 35 years with her devoted companion, Alice B. Toklas. It was not enough for me to take pictures of the exterior so I requested a resident to permit me to enter and take a few pictures of the inside. She was very gracious indeed and I did! There is a little, rather overgrown, garden at back--and several small entrances that lead to the apartments.

After my very satisfying literary pilgrimage, it was time to return to the Jardin and eat my lunch. Under a shady tree on a very narrow bench (gosh, those French bottoms must be tiny!), I had my baguette sandwich lunch and watched kids on ponies taking rides. It was the cutest sight! Truly, the park was packed and there was not a jade green chair to be found anywhere--although the park provides loads of them. After a long rest (read snooze), I set out again. This time I used my map sensibly and found that I would need to take a bus to the Church of Val de Grace or walk for about half an hour. I chose the former option.

A Visit to the Church of Val de Grace and its Museum:
I hopped into a No. 38 bus and just one stop later, down the Blvd. St. Michel, took a side street that led straight to the massive dimensions of the church. I had discovered the church purely by happenstance when my colleague Jen and I were in a bus together, the other day. When I asked what church we were passing, she said, “Val de Grace—one of the better known churches of Paris”. Well, needless to say, I had never heard of it, but resolved to look it up. And sure enough. My guide book did describe it as one of Paris’ most beautiful churches and provided a brief history.

Built by Louis XIII for his wife, Anne of Austria, who became the mother of the Sun King (Le Roi Soleil), the young Louis XIV himself laid the foundation stone of the church as a little boy. The resulting house of worship is a wonderful intersection of French classicism with Renaissance Baroque design. I saw a great deal of similarities, for instance, between it and the Dome Church which I had visited, two days ago. Both have badalchinos (or central altars) made up of columns of twisted barley stick marble that was directly inspired by Gian Lorenzo Bernini’s design for the Vatican Basilica of St. Peter in Rome. In like manner, there was a startling similarity with the Dome Church in the fully frescoed dome ceiling. But that was where the similarity ended. Once you leave the altar behind and enter the nave, the design metamorphoses into a subdued French style with a succession of bas-relief carvings of busts of saints and classical geometrical motifs.

The church is very occasionally visited by tourists—it is clearly off the beaten track--and I almost had the vast environs to myself. But I would say that it is certainly worth a visit, especially if one does not have the opportunity to visit the Dome Church.

The Museum of Val de Grace:
I soon realized why I was asked to pay 5 euros to enter the church. The premises include a Museum of Medical History—very similar to the excellent one in Smithfield, London, in the Church of St. Bartholomew which is also the venue of the famed St. Bart’s Hospital, London's oldest. Having reviewed that museum at leisure, four years ago, I did not feel the compulsion to spend too much time in this one, apart from the fact that I was quite fatigued. However, I have to say, it is a fascinating museum and anyone with an interest in medical science or the history of military medical care, would find this museum compelling. It has a vast collection of paintings, sculpture, and innumerable objects of antiquity, especially medical paraphernalia, that trace the evolution of medical care on the battlefield—so graphically as to make my knees go distinctly weak at certain points. Definitely worth a longer perusal than I was able to give it.

I found my way to the RER stop at Port Royal and was home just ten minutes later—only to discover that the electrician had been and had fixed my TV which sprang to life as soon as I learned how to use the remote. And what was the first program I watched? A show on Scotland dubbed in French, that dealt with its whisky distilling, peat making, sheep farming, fly fishing and ended with a cooking lesson at one of the country’s most famous restaurants, Three Chimneys at Dunvegan on the Isle of Skye where the chef gave a lesson on the making of kedgeree (a rice and fish concoction that was inspired by the British occupation of India where the dish was perfected) . I kicked myself again for having missed the opportunity to eat a meal there even after Llew and I had made a reservation for lunch on our visit to Scotland—we simply did not realize how long it would take us to drive to the place from the Skye Bridge. We had to finally call to cancel our reservation. I had a cuppa (or what I have learned the French call le gouter), caught up with email, packed for my trip to Lyon tomorrow and was out of the house by 5. 30 to keep my dinner appointment.

Dinner at Chamborcy with Friends:
Yes, I was finally going to eat dinner with company as I had been invited to the home of FOFs (Friends of Friends). These were folks I was meeting for the first time: Lester and Joyce were originally from Karachi and had found their way to Paris, twenty years ago, via Toronto. We had mutual friends in New York who had brought us together and because I know the Indo-Pak-Goan traditions of hospitality, I was not surprised to be invited for dinner to their home by people I had never met before!

I took the RER (B) train to Chatelet Les Halles, changed there to the RER (A) line going to St. Germaine-en-Laye where Joyce was waiting in her car to pick me up and give me a ride to their home in the country at Chamborcy. It was truly a pleasure meeting her and we hit it off well within minutes. Ten minutes later, we were swinging into her driveway and entering her front door past beautiful potted flowers. The day had been gorgeous and the softness of the evening air beckoned us straight out into their garden. Lester was still at work, but he joined us just a little later after Joyce and I had chatted a bit over tea.

Joyce cooked a very delicious dinner—pate with salad for starters, fish in a lemon sauce with potatoes and broccoli sautéed with garlic and caramelized onions for an entree and orange cake with an orange sauce for dessert. As we savored each mouthful, we discovered that we have many friends in common in Bombay, Karachi, New York, New Jersey and even in Vancouver! It really is a minuscule world!

And then before I knew it, it was 9. 30 pm and I felt compelled to leave. Joyce dropped me back to the station, where I hopped a train and reached home by 10. 45 pm. Needless to say, I was much too pooped to do anything more than chat briefly with Llew and go straight to bed.

A demain!      

Wednesday, June 20, 2012

Hotel Des Invalides, Dome Church & Musee de L'Armee

Tuesday, June 19, 2012
Paris, France

Bonjour!

NEH Session on The Black Book of Communism:
Just as I expected, our session with Anglo-French historian Nicholas Werth was deeply engaging and I came away learning a great deal about the genesis of the book and the multiple controversies that plagued its publication--including expensive law suits. The book, however--an 800 page tome filled with global stats on the crimes, terror and loss of human life under communist and totalitarian regimes--became an international bestseller. Apparently in France, where usually at Christmastime, members of le Vieux France, exchanged gifts of superior cognac and cigars, they were gifting elderly uncles and grand-peres copies of this book. Question time was equally interesting with many global comparisons drawn between Soviet-style Communism and the kind perused in the name of Nationalism, such as Nehru's Socialism in India. Overall, it was a satisfying and profoundly enlightening lecture-discussion.

My new friend and colleague, Noit (Noo-eet) offered to buy me lunch as she has amassed a bunch of extra meal coupons a the CISP where she has elected to stay--many of my colleagues who are staying there are in the same boat and I saw offers of free lunches being waved around and a bunch of non-residents tucking into the endless salad bar. My own plat--roasted pork in a mustard sauce--was okay at best, but then in which student cafeteria in America would you be able to pick up a bottle of red, white or rose wine with your meal tray?

Off to Hotel des Invalides:
In keeping with my desire to cover the area heading north of the Pont Alexander III, I told Noit of my plans--they included a visit to the Dome Church to see Napoleon's Tomb and to the Musee de L'Armee which is France's Military Museum--and deeply relevant to our study of France between the Wars. Noit was very pleased to accompany me, so off we went on the metro to Tour la Maubourg from where the vast environs of the Hotel des Invalides are only a few steps away.

The Hotel and Church of Les Invalides:
I have to say this about Le Roil Soleil--Louis XIV. While he was busy building himself ostentatious palaces, he did spare a thought for his thousands of soldiers who had returned wounded, disabled or ill from the innumerable wars of his reign. Since there did not exist a place to treat them, he commanded the construction of a vast hospital for the purpose under the supervision of architect Liberal Brunard. The result is a vast complex of courtyards, endless corridors with hospital wards branching off them and a chapel for the inmates--hence, Hotel des Invalides.

The chapel was eventually called the Church of St. Louis. Patients attended services in this church. However, it was important for the monarch to attend services too and a grand church was build right behind it for Louis' private use. It is a gorgeous confection of soaring space, painted dome, towering pillars, mosaic floors--deeply reminiscent of St. Paul's Cathedral in London and probably inspired by it. In like manner, the ornate altar--known as a badalchino in Italy--made with twisted barley stick marble columns was reminiscent, at least to me, of the central altar in St. Peter's Basilica in Rome. Much architectural 'borrowing' from illustrrious predecessors has created a breathtaking space that was connected to the patients' littler, more modest chapel, by a glass door and gallery.   

Napoleon's Tomb in Dome Church:
The space made a perfect last resting place for France's great military hero Napoleon Bonaparte whose wish was to be buried close to the Seine near the people of France whom he had always loved. Hence, a gigantic marble sarcophagus was built for the purpose (again, reminiscent to me of the marble sarcophagi in the Vatican built to house the remains of the status-conscious Renaissance popes--only theirs' were made of purple porphyry which is the rarest marble on earth).

To view Napoleon's Tomb, I descended down a curving stairwell and arrived at another small altar space which took me past a grand entrance flanked on two sides by larger-than-lifesized marble sculptures of bearded men holding a crown and an orb respectively in their hands. Inside, the humongous tomb is surrounded by more sculpture--this time of Greek maidens leaning against pillars, each representing one of Napoleon's many successful military campaigns. I circumnavigated the space to take in its solemnity and its privileged position before I climbed up again. It was at this point that I remembered having seen this monument 27 years ago on my very first visit to Paris. The memory came suddenly at me like a ton of bricks and a felt a sharp jolt of nostalgia for the wide-eyed ingenue I once was!

A walk around the Dome Church--whose beautiful gold-embellished Dome can be seen all over Paris like a landmark compass which points the way and gives you  your bearings--revealed other tombs of prominent Frenchmen: Joseph Bonaparte, Napoleon's brother; Marshal (I love the French word, Marechal) Foch (Chief commandant of the Allied Operation during World War I); Louis XIV's Chief military architect, Vauban; and in a nondescript corner, that of Jerome, Napoleon's younger brother, King of Westphalia.

The church was full of French school kids on field trips or American high school students on a Travel Abroad Study Tour. It is my understanding that there are no longer services held in this church which is now, strictly a museum (I paid 8 euros to see both: the church and the Museum and my Met ID card did not work this time round!) Fortunately for me, although we had reached the venue at about 3. 45 pm, the place had late-night closing and we were free to enjoy it all until 9.00 pm. This allowed me to take spurts of rest in-between my exploration.

Exploring The Musee De L'Armee:
The Musee de L'Armee which was my next port of call, is part of the Hotel Des Invalides. Apparently, it is still a hospital today, but only a small part of it is used for this purpose. The bulk of the complex is devoted to a preservation of military history and it is all beautifully organized--each epoch of French war history devoted to a different section of the quadrangular building. I started with World War I and II as that is most immediately related to the topic of my current inquiry. It is simply the most detailed museum devoted to this subject. Loads and loads of objects, documents, flags, banners, uniforms, apparatus and military equipment (including rifles and canons) weigh this space down. It is simply impossible to see and read everything and I soon realized I had to be choosy--although I did pause to watch the many rivetting film clips.I particularly devoured the segment on the tench warfare of World War I--having visited the trenches recently on the Somme.  My emphasis then lay on the Allied colonial effort, i.e. the use of Tamilians (in Pondicherry, known as Sepoys), Senegalese, Northern African (known as Spahis) and Madagascan troops by the French and the use of Sikh and Gurkha infantry and cavalrymen by the British. All these troops were based in France during the year 1914-18. Sadly, pictures are the only things that remain of their valiant war effort. The section which is spread out over three storeys was simply exhaustive and exhausting and by the time we arrived at World War II, Vichy France and the role of General Petain, I was knackered and badly in need of a cup of tea in the cafeteria which (get this!) cost 4 euros! That is about $6.00 for a cup of hot water!!! Astounding. Noit, who had spent most of her time in the Algerian War exhibit, joined me for tea (and was equally flabbergasted by the price).

After giving my feet a break of about 45 minutes, I set out again--this time to see the special section devoted to General Charles de Gaulle which is entirely audio-visual. Noit left to keep a late-evening appointment while I continued on my voyage of discovery.

Historial Charles de Gaulle:
This section of the Musee de L'Armee is unique because there are absolutely no objects on display. What you are handed is an audioguide which is automatic. As you move from one part of the exhibition to the next, it senses your position and automatically provides spurts of commentary in the language of your choice. My audioguide was a mess. Most of the time it was unable to translate the text into English and all I kept hearing were apologies. When I drew the attention of the museum staff to this, she apologized and said that all their guides are equally bad--they are "Chinese guides", she said, by way of explantion. Her sub-text said, So, what can you expect?

At 7. 15 pm, I walked into the large auditorium to watch a film on the biography of Charles de Gaulle which gave a capsule idea of his rich and eventful life. It was really interesting. On a tryptych screen, we got to see a number of visuals that threw light in his life and his passionate desire to do something significant for his country. Indeed, he had his wish granted. I found the film segment on France's reaction to the Armistice in 1945 deeply moving and felt a tear roll down my cheek. Fortunately, in this space, my audioguide did work and I was able to follow every word--which made a huge difference to my enjoyment of the exhibit.

Following the movie, I skimmed around the rest of the section and could easily have spent an hour or two longer perusing all the material on display which is a very rich archive indeed. But by then I felt knackered and simply needed to get home. I asked for directions to the nearest bus stop, but on discovering that the metro would take me to the last stop (Balard) from where I could take a tram right to my doorstep, that's what I decided to do. The tram ride was a revelation as I skimmed through the outer periphery of the city taking in the mutli-cultural life that is now so distinctly a part of the Parisian scene. Through Porte de Versailles and Porte de Vanves I went and arrived finally at Porte d'Orleans and then my stop at Cite-Universitaire. It is amazing how I am taken on sight seeing tours even when I least expect them.

It was all I could do to heat up my dinner: a frozen Chevre Quiche (goat's cheese, which turned out to be simply delicious!) with a salad and then off I went straight to bed, completely cream-crackered by my eventful day.

A demain!