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!