Art in Paris: Belleville Open Studios

Tags

art, Ateliers d'Artistes de Belleville, Belleville, Belleville Open Studios, Belleville Portes Ouvertes, Catherine Arnaud, Clem Letrusko, contemporary art, flâneur, Geneviève Baudoin, Jean-Pierre Lourdeau, Lou Perdu, Marie Drouot, Paris, Portes Ouverte des Ateliers d'Artistes de Belleville, Sherard

Tourists flock to the cafés of St.-Germain-des-Prés, like Les Deux Magots, which were frequented by cutting edge artists and intellectuals in the first half of the 20th century. But they are long gone, driven away by those very tourists, and the higher prices they are willing and able to pay. Creative people will generally be found where rents and absinthe are cheap. Where is this now? Quartiers populaire like Belleville. This is one reason why I look forward every year to the Portes Ouvertes des Ateliers d’Artistes de Belleville (AAB) – Belleville Open Studios. I’ve enjoyed this event in several prior years: 2015, and most notably last year, 2018, with my nephew Andy. I had particularly liked two artists last year, Jean-Christophe Adenis and Sophie Herszkowicz. I was deterred by cost last year but this year I was able to find a small painting by Sophie Herszkowicz that displayed her talent and fit my budget. I’m jumping ahead of the story, however.

One cool feature of the Belleville Open Studios is that each artist contributes a small piece that is available for purchase, for 45 euros, in the AAB gallery at 1, rue Francis Picabia, M° Couronnes. Sherard and I got there just after opening, at 2 pm on Friday, to have our best shot at one of these. The small pieces that most interested me were already sold, but Sherard was taken by — and snapped up — an oil painting by Clem Letrusko of a pink crucified bunny.

Sherard with the small oil painting by Clem Letrusko (lower left) that he purchased on opening day.

Installation by Clem Letrusko based on a sculptural version of Sherard’s piece

The staff explained that we would have to return on Monday, the last day of the Open Studios, to pick up the piece, so that it could remain on display until then. This was of course no problem for flâneurs like ourselves.

Next, we looked at all the sample art works to decide which studios either of us wanted to visit. There were several that we both liked and several that only one of us liked, since there’s no disputing about taste. We circled each studio that either of us wanted to visit on the AAB map, then set out to see as many as we could that afternoon. We only saw a fraction of the 176 participating artists, even though we spent several hours on Friday, went back for a few hours on Sunday and explored for several more hours on Monday.

Here are some works that I particularly liked:

The studio of Catherine Arnaud, which I fell for in 2015.

Sculpture by Marie Drouot

Works by Jean-Pierre Lourdeau

Scary portrait by Jean-Pierre Lourdeau. Sherard asked me why I liked it and I replied that I didn’t exactly *like* it but I was impressed and affected by it. Maybe not something I’d like to wake up to every morning but it makes me feel a certain kind of way.

Seule by Lou Perdu

Geneviève Baudoin in her Belleville studio

Sometimes the environment of the studio is as interesting as the art!

I’ll post separately for the artists we bought works from.

Update: Just for fun, here are similar photos that I took, one year apart. Le plus ça change !

2018

2019

Sherard’s First Days

Tags

Antoine, Batignolles, Bouillon Chartier, Comptoir General, Experimental Cocktail Club, flâneur, Fushigi!, Hoppy, Il Tre, Le Refuge, Le Tout Petit, Les Ambassades, Marais, meals, Metro, Montmartre, Montorgueil, Musee d'Orsay, Palais Royal, Parc Monceau, Rodin Museum, rue Montorgueil, Sacre Coeur, Sherard, Théâtre de Nesle

My friend and book club colleague Sherard arrived on Tuesday, May 21, for his second visit to Paris. We had had a lovely time here three years ago, in 2016, so I was delighted when he accepted my invitation to visit again.

Sherard on rue Montorgueil

He arrived in the morning so our strategy was to keep him up and about until at least 8 pm to help with jet lag. We headed up to Montmartre, starting with Sacré Coeur, which we had also visited during his previous stay.

Sherard with Sacré Coeur

We were both bemused by the crush of tourists at the top, and impressed with how much quieter it was off the tourist track on the back of the hill. We sat for half an hour at Le Refuge, which Antoine had introduced me to in 2010, watching local people (with nary a tourist in sight) come and go at the métro station Lamarck—Caulaincourt. On our way home I proposed dinner at one of my favorite places, Bouillon Chartier. There I made the first of several mistakes, by failing to warn Sherard that the bar entier would be a whole fish, head, skin, fins and all. He bravely tackled it and I think mostly enjoyed it.

Bob and Sherard at Bouillon Chartier

We finished the evening with a couple rounds of cocktails at Experimental Cocktail Club, which is exactly the same as we remembered it from 2016.

The following day we got a joint ticket for the Musée d’Orsay and the Rodin Museum, and headed off to the Orsay. I discussed our experiences at the Orsay in the previous post, but this pic of Sherard from a hallway in the Orsay is worth adding:

Sherard getting his model mojo on

When we first arrived at the Seine Sherard remarked on the wide walkways on each side of the river (berges). At first I was puzzled, but then I realized that he hadn’t seen them during his previous stay since they were submerged by the Great Flood of 2016.

After the Orsay we were hungry, and wandered back into the 7ème, which I don’t know well, to forage. We finally came across a friendly place called Les Ambassades whose 19 euro menu included appetizer, main, dessert and beverage, so we were well fed. After lunch I realized that we were just a block or two from the Rodin Museum. Our ticket allowed us to visit the two museums on different days (with a three month period, actually) but since we were already there I suggested that we make it a two-museum day. The indoor museum doesn’t thrill me, but we both quite liked the sculpture garden.

The garden of the Monet Museum, with The Thinker and even Balzac peeping through the vegetation

Balzac by Rodin

The garden of the Rodin Museum

We just had time to regroup at home before heading across the river again to see an interesting production called Fushigi! at the Théâtre de Nesle, an improvisational piece based on the films of Miyazaki. I had imagined colorful costumes but I couldn’t have been more wrong. A young girl embarked on a mission to restore a precious plant to its environment. She and her mother used (very) friendly monkeys to carry messages between them. A wicked witch turned the girl into a vulture, but fortunately her identity was restored and they all lived happily ever after. I don’t have to give you a spoiler alert because the show is different every performance; all this was improvised by four actors clad in white using mime, plus occasional spoken words, to tell a vivid and affecting story. It was also perfect for us, since rapid fire, subtle French is challenging to follow.

After the show we had a a simple but delicious Italian meal at Il Tre, on rue Montorgueil.

Bob with Sherard at Il Tre on rue Montorgueil

We went out later to explore the gay scene in the Marais, but everything was pretty dead so we ended up with a tasty beer at Hoppy, one of our favorite bars from 2016, that fortunately is still thriving.

Sherard at Hoppy, after a long day

The next day Sherard asked me to look over a map of Paris and point out the areas with which I was least familiar. This was an approach that worked well during his last visit, ending up with a charming dinner in the faraway 14ème. This year one of the less familiar arrondissements I mentioned was the 17ème. I had visited a few times but never fully explored. We set out on foot, as is our wont, which took us through the Palais Royal.

Statue at the Palais Royal (with modesty preserved by a strategic bud)

Bob ‘s hat head at the Palais Royal

When we encountered the Galeries Lafayette I suggested we take a look, as a contrast with the more popular 17ème. It’s beautiful and impressive, but I find the rank commercialism rather distasteful.

Dome of Galeries Lafayette

Our first stop in the 17ème was the charming Square des Batignolles, a jardin à l’anglaise, i.e. mimicking nature rather than geometry. A striking contrast to Galeries Lafayette!

Square des Batignolles with Sherard

Square des Batignolles

We had lunch in a cute little place next to the park.

Bob at “Le Tout Petit,” Batignolles, 17ème

Sherard at “Le Tout Petit,” Batignolles

Then we plunged into terra incognita (to me). I was surprised to find dozens of big, brand new buildings clustered around a planned station of the fast, fully automated métro line 14. Unfortunately the buildings are finished and occupied but the station has been delayed, so the overcrowded line 13 is a nightmare for the time being.

Just a few of many new buildings in the 17ème

Sherard had noticed a green strip called the Cité des Fleurs on the map and suggested that we check it out. What proper flâneur could say no? I wasn’t sure that it would be open to the public, but in fact it’s open from 7 am to 7 pm, so we enjoyed a stroll. The older buildings on each side couldn’t be more different from the high rises just a few blocks away.

Lovely houses in the Cité des Fleurs, 17ème

It was only as we were about to exit that I remembered my friend Antoine having mentioned that he had moved from St. Germain des Prés to this very Cité des Fleurs! I texted him on the off chance that he might be at home, taking care of his newborn daughter; he was, and he invited us up for coffee!

Antoine with his two-month old daughter

Bob, Antoine with his daughter, and Sherard

It was great to catch up with Antoine and to see what a family man he has become. We walked home via the beautiful Parc Monceau.

Sherard and I we’re both a bit tired after our long day, and my memory of dinner is hazy, but I’m pretty sure that we capped the evening with cocktails at Experimental Cocktail Club.

A few days later, on Friday afternoon, I made a remarkable mistake that needs to be recounted. I took Sherard for a drink at Le Comptoir Général, an African-themed bar along the Canal Saint-Martin that Alexis had introduced me to in 2013, when it was known as the Ghetto Museum.  I had been blown away on that first visit by extensive conceptual art installations, as well as by their powerful signature cocktail, the Secousse (Earthquake).

A glimpse of the Ghetto Museum from 2013, but the art is almost all gone now.

I also had a dim memory that over the years it had become less African art museum and more pretentious yuppie bar, but it was still on my mental list of places to show visitors. What I definitely did not recall was that I had taken Sherard there on his first visit, in 2016, and we had been distinctly underwhelmed:

I showed Sherard Comptoir Général but realized, seeing it through his eyes, that it was no longer the astonishing art-intensive Ghetto Museum that Alexis had introduced me to several years back, but had become just a big hipster bar with a few bits of African decor.

The current Comptoir Général isn’t a terrible place. We had a moderately pleasant time sipping our drinks and watching the hipsters. The terrible thing is that I had forgotten that we had done the same thing three years earlier. Memory becomes an issue as one gets older. For someone who is “pushing 70” I think I do pretty well, but I have to admit that this oversight gives me pause. It would be an “expected surprise” to sink into outright dementia in the last years of my life, but I’m hoping to stave this off as long as possible!

Near the end of the week Sherard revealed that he had had a slight ulterior motive all along: To keep me so happily busy that I wouldn’t have time to blog. In this he succeeded magnificently! I’m writing a full week later, just after he headed back to Boston.

Diary of a Flâneur

Tags

13 prairial an 2, battaile de 13 prairial an 2, Canal Saint-Martin, Charlie Hebdo, Coulée verte, flâneur, folie, folies, Gare Saint-Lazare, La Grande Canopée, mannikins, Nuit Debout, parc de la Villette, Parc Monceau, Paris, Promenade plantée, rue des petits carreaux, rue Richard Lenoir

While I’ve mostly posted on specific topics and visits this year I’ve continued to log my Paris walking average of seven miles a day. This post collects some of the interesting or attractive things I’ve run across in my wanderings (saving art for a later post).

One of my favorite walks in Paris is along the Promenade plantée (also called the Coulée verte), which transformed abandoned railroad infrastructure into a leafy linear park. It begins near the Place de la Bastille and runs several miles to the Parc Vincennes. The first section is elevated, connected with a short level stretch, through a tunnel, with a depressed section.

Even on a gray day the Promenade plantée is lovely

These Parisians know how to party!

This street sign for the “road of little square stones” is itself made up of little square stones.

The monument in the center of the Place de la Republique was totally renovated in 2010-13, then trashed after the Charlie Hebdo massacre in 2015 and during the Nuit Debout protests in 2016. It has now been restored, ready for the next popular uprising.

The statue of Marianne in the Place de la Republique

There’s a lot of history on the plaques around the base of the monument. This one commemorates the biggest naval victory of the First French Republic, over the British fleet. In our calendar it took place on June 1, 1794, but the Revolution established a new calendar starting at year 1, including new names for the months.

Plaque on the base of the monument in Place de la Republique commemorating the battle of 13 prairial an 2

There are officially sanctioned skateboard areas all around Paris. This one is right on the Place de la Republique.

A skateboard area in Place de la Republique

A nostalgic 2CV

A field of flowers (with a secret)

La Grande Canopée, almost empty

The Parc de la Villette in the northeast corner of Paris contains a dozen or more “folies.” Some have uses but many, like this one, are purely decorative.

A folie in the Parc de la Villette

There are a lot of ancient-looking ruins in Parc Monceau. The columns themselves are fairly old, but they have been repositioned for aesthetic effect much more recently: “The Naumachie of the Park was built with the columns of the ancient Rotunda of Valois, ordered by Catherine de Medicis to house Henry II tomb.” [Source]

Ancient-ish ruins in Parc Monceau

Gare Saint-Lazare from Europe

Mot du jour: 2CV. The Citroën 2CV, 1948-90. 2CV literally means deux chevaux, “two horsepower,” but the original version actually had nine.

An Expected Surprise and a Secret Garden

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apartment, Expected Surprise, flâneur, Garden of the Hôtel de Matignon, Hôtel de Matignon, Jardin, Paris

Each year it turns out that friends will be visiting Paris while I’m here. This has become so predictable that I call it an “expected surprise.” Usually we just meet up for meals, drinks or activities, as with Brian, Sheila, Rick and Cheryl in May. But not infrequently my not-very-surprising visitors will stay with me for a few days. Thus I wasn’t actually surprised when I learned a week or so back that my old friend Stan would be arriving with “Q” the day after Andy left.

Stan, Q and me

They ended up staying for two nights, before jetting off to Ibiza for their first-ever beach vacation. They treated me to a couple of drinks and breakfasts, and most kindly took me out on their last night to La Bocca, an Italian restaurant I have eaten at just about every year. I had exactly the same meal as in 2016 with Zhizhong, and enjoyed it just as much.

I had gotten farther behind on my blog than ever before so I spent much of the weekend catching up. While blogging takes time away from experiencing it’s part of my Paris life that I’m not (yet?) ready to give up. If you’re reading this, thanks for your attention. You are the digital flâneurwho is necessary to complete my project.

The sun came out on Sunday afternoon, so I strolled over to the 7ème, to which I have given short shrift in prior years, to visit the magnificent garden of the Hôtel de Matignon, the residence of the French Prime Minister. The garden is open to the public only three days each year. Security was intense but after emptying my pockets I entered a lovely hidden garden. The full photoset is here: [Hôtel de Matignon Photo Set] but a few samples are below.

Panorama of the garden of the Hôtel de Matignon

Lawn of the Hôtel de Matignon

Hôtel de Matignon

Update: Here’s a Google photo set with full-sized versions of all my photos of the Garden of the Hôtel de Matignon: Garden of the Hôtel de Matignon

On My Own Again

Tags

Aarchna, art, banlieue, Belleville, clouds, Danube, Eiffel Tower, flâneur, France, Il faut se méfier des mots, Ivy covered cottage, Jordain, Kristoffer, la Mouzaïa, Nausicaa Favart Amouroux, One must mistrust words, Opéra, Opéra Garnier, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, Paris, Pré Saint-Gervais, quartier d’Amérique, Rosa Bonheur, rue de Belleville, rue de Crimée, rue du Télégraph, semaphore, Télégraph, Un Tapis de Poésie, villas, Water towers, weather

On Sunday morning I saw Kristoffer off on the Roissybus at Opéra. The ticket machine at the bus stop was broken but he was able to buy a ticket from the driver (since he had prudently saved 11 euros in cash).

Opéra Garnier looking lovely, in a rare moment of sunshine

Paradoxically, you have to stand at a traffic island in the middle of rue de l’Opéra, where the sides are blocked by other buildings, to see the full dome, and the pitched roof over the main theater.

In prior years I’ve just sent departing guests out the door with detailed instructions, but a Boston friend has taught me how nice it is to see someone off. This is especially true when I’ve been handling navigation issues for my guest while we’ve been together, so he may not have gotten particularly comfortable with the métro, etc. How I have remained oblivious to this all these years is a mystery, but it’s not too late to teach this old dog a new trick! (Though note that I didn’t go all the way to the airport and back; let’s not get carried away here!)

This year’s sojourn has been very sociable. A series of old and new friends have stayed with me for several days each: Jared R, Sherard, Omar and Kristoffer, and I’ve spent a lot of time with other visiting friends, including Jared W, CN and Arturo. As in other years I’ve seen a lot of Zhizhong, and I’ve started catching up with other French friends as well. Earlier in the trip I stayed with Charlie and Markevin near Toulouse and spent a couple of afternoons with Grégory in Bordeaux, not to mention my new Korean friends. This has been great fun, but it has also left me with less alone time than in prior years, and has greatly changed the blogging dynamic. From a discipline that I followed (almost) every evening in 2010 it has become a binge project that gets a week or two behind, then takes me a day or two to catch up! All a long way of saying that it’s different, but quite OK, to now spend a few days alone.

Sunday afternoon I headed over to Rosa Bonheur for old time’s sake. The weather has continued to be a mix of sun and rain, but there was a pretty good crowd on the terrasse. I didn’t get into any deep conversations but I did exchange a few nice words with a young woman who was there with her young son and older mother.

Rosa Bonheur, finally open and busy

After finishing my beer I strolled over to the area of little “Villas” to the west of the Park des Buttes Chaumont, which I now see is called la Mouzaïa or the quartier d’Amérique. I added a few shots to my Picasa/Google photo set on la Mouzaïa then continued on to see some of the open studios in an area I had not previously visited, the city of Pré Saint-Gervais, a banlieue!

As usual there was a lot of so-so art, but I really liked several pieces by Nausicaa Favart-Amouroux.

Painting by Nausicaa Favart Amouroux

I also enjoyed a poetry reading accompanied by violin at Un Tapis de Poésie.

Pré Saint-Gervais itself seemed to have something of a Turkish tilt, but otherwise seemed quite Parisian and not scary, except for an abandoned building, covered with graffiti.

Scary abandoned building covered with grafitti in a banlieue!

Somewhat less scary in the context of its spanking new neighbors

I had actually encountered a scarier scene earlier within the city limits at Danube.

Bucolic scene at Danube. Oh, wait…

I had a nice Indian dinner at Aarchna, on rue du Télégraph back in Belleville. I was interested to learn that the « télégraph » was actually one of the earliest lines of visual semaphores, which in 1794 allowed a message to be transmitted from Paris to Lille in three hours that previously took three days on horseback. That’s why it was placed on the highest hill in Paris, also why there are now water towers on the same spot.

Water towers on rue du Télégraph

After dinner I walked down rue de Bellevile as the sun went down (around 10 pm!). Here are a few atmospheric pictures from my day as a lone flâneur.

Ivy-covered cottage on rue de Crimée, near sketchy Place des Fêtes

“Beware of words.”

Doorway at Jordain, rue de Belleville

The other Paris: the Eiffel tower from rue de Belleville

Lovely clouds behind a dome on rue Réumur

All day Monday and Tuesday morning I did literally nothing but catch up on my blog. Enjoy!

Mot du jour: banlieue, literally, “suburb,” but many of the inner ring of cities just outside Paris are ethnic, depressed and at times dangerous so in France the term has a sketchy resonance.

A Flâneur is Born

Tags

4ème arrondissement, Alésia, art, Belleville, Boulangerie, Café de l'Industrie, Carrousel du Louvre, flâneur, FNAC, France, Haussmann building, Le Verre Siffleur, Louvre, Marais, meals, Musee d'Orsay, Paris, Sherard, Uniqlo

Wednesday was Sherard’s last day in Paris so we were thrilled the night before to see that the Louvre would reopen! We got up early — for us — and arrived shortly after it opened. Unfortunately, there was already a huge, raucous line. I searched online for a way to jump the queue, and was pleased to discover that the same strategy I had used other years for the Musée D’Orsay also works for the Louvre. In both cases the bottleneck is the security line, but both museums have a much shorter security line for people who already have tickets. You can buy tickets ahead of time on line or at FNAC or many tabacs, but if you wait until the last minute there’s a tabac that sells Louvre tickets right in the underground Carrousel du Louvre where we were waiting. The express security line for people with tickets is up at the glass pyramid so once you have your tickets you go there and sail past the normal security line. I was proud of having worked this dodge but I could see that Sherard was still repelled by the mob scene. I asked which galleries interested him most and when he left it to me I led him to the Mona Lisa, which I assumed he would want to see, even though it attracts the worst sort of paparazzi crowd. After that I spied a few paintings I liked but I could see that Sherard was still not into the experience.

Portrait of a Man Holding a Statuette by Bronzino, Florence, 1503 – id. 1572

Over morning coffee Sherard and I had a heart to heart talk. The upshot was that all he really wanted that day was to buy two items he had seen on earlier walks: (1) a rug he had admired during our walk through the Belleville and Couronnes neighborhoods and (2) a small painting he had liked at a gallery in the Marais. I was proud of Sherard for asserting what he really wanted in the face of the conventional expectation that one has to see the Louvre!

We got the hell out of there and headed east. The problem was that neither of us remembered exactly where he had seen the rug, so we retraced our steps: up rue de Belleville, then over to the Parc de Belleville and back down from there. Along the way we saw several pieces of street art that Sherard liked way more than anything he had seen at the musty old Louvre.

Street art in Belleville

Street art in Belleville

[Click here to download an enormous pano of the piece above.]

Just as we were about to give up on the rug, back at the Boulevard de Belleville, I noticed some Muslim stores on rue Jean-Pierre Timbaud, and sure enough, there was the rug! Sherard bought it for a song, and the first of our missions was accomplished.

After lunch at the Café de l’Industrie — a sentimental favorite from my first year — we headed over to the Marais.

Sherard’s lunch at Café de l’Industrie

There was a moment of anxiety at the gallery when the painting Sherard liked was no longer on display! But after he asked at the counter the clerk brought out many similar pieces and Sherard left as the happy owner of a colorful semi-abstract portrait. Both missions accomplished, we happily strolled home through the Marais.

Uniqlo store in the Marais, in a former foundry

Sherard suggested that we eat dinner in a completely non-touristy neighborhood we had not yet visited. I took a deep breath and proposed Alésia, a typical if unexciting neighborhood in the 14ème arrondissement. I had no specific place in mind so we simply explored. Needless to say, this warmed the cockles of my flâneur heart!

Lovely Haussmann building in the 14ème arrondissement, near métro Alésia

Boulangerie in the 14ème arrondissement, near métro Alésia

The restaurant we settled on, Le Verre Siffleur, turned out to be friendly and rather stylish as well as offering a good meal at a reasonable price.

Bob’s dinner at Le Verre Siffleur, in the 14ème arrondissement

Among our pleasant conversations there was one with a young man from Dijon who gave me his number and invited me to visit his city for a few days. Sherard noted that something similar had happened with an artist earlier in his visit, and asked me whether this sort of thing occurs to me often. I responded, “Only in Paris!”

We ended the evening, comme d’habitude, with cocktails at Experimental Cocktail Club. The bartender was charmed when we mentioned our afternoon in Belleville, which she “adores.” But when we mentioned our excursion to Alésia she said, with a visible shudder, that she “never crosses the river.” Just like crossing the Charles River between Boston and Cambridge!

Mot du jour: « comme d’habitude », “as usual”.

High, But Not Dry

Tags

art, Bastille, Belleville, Canal Saint-Martin, Comptoir General, flâneur, France, Ghetto Museum, La Bocca, Marais, meals, parc de Belleville, Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, Paris, Place des Vosges, Point Ephémère, Rosa Bonheur, rue de Mouzaïa, Sherard, villas

Thwarted by the closings of the the Louvre and the Musée D’Orsay, I promised to take Sherard on Sunday to one of the highest points in Paris, which I guaranteed wouldn’t be affected by the floods. I was right, but … read on.

We walked across the Marais — where Sherard saw a small painting he liked — via the Place des Vosges (mentioned in my French Linen post) to the trendy area east of the Place de la Bastille, then over to the Canal Saint-Martin, which was interesting as ever.

Street art along the Canal Saint-Martin

I showed Sherard Comptoir Général but realized, seeing it through his eyes, that it was no longer the astonishing art-intensive Ghetto Museum that Alexis had introduced me to several years back, but had become just a big hipster bar with a few bits of African decor.

We walked the length of the canal up to Point Ephémère, a hipster bar in part of an old fire station that I had been reading about. We stopped in but it looked too sketchy for our bourgeois tastes. Sad for me since I like to think that a flâneur can appreciate all aspects of the city. There was a leftist political rally of some sort on the plaza between the canal and the Basin de la Villette. We stuck our heads in but it wasn’t our scene either.

Not having had much luck thus far I directed our steps to my ace-in-the-hole, the Parc des Buttes-Chaumont, which never fails to charm. Imagine my chagrin when it too was closed! Not of course due to flooding — it’s one of the highest places in Paris! But it seems that the rains that preceded and caused the flood had soaked the soil and rendered certain trees unstable. There was a sign at the main entrance, however, saying that one of the ginguettes in the park was still open, accessible presumably by a safe route. There was no mention of my primary destination, Rosa Bonheur (which usually has a terrific gay scene on Sunday afternoons) but since it was close to an entrance at the top of the park I hoped it might be open as well. I checked its website and phone message and there was no mention of it being closed so we walked up along the outside of the park to the highest point, where a sign informed us that Rosa was closed. We got a quick bite at a restaurant across the street, where our only cold comfort was schadenfreude as we watched families and gay guys come up to the locked gate to discover — as we had — that both the park and Rosa were closed.

Not-terribly-good lunch on rue Botzaris

Our luck turned at this point, however, as Sherard enjoyed the little pedestrian “Villas” off rue de Mouzaïa, which led us up to the completely non-touristy Parc de la Butte du Chapeau Rouge, with a commanding view of the northern suburbs.

Flowers on Villa d’Alsace, off rue de Mouzaïa in the 19th

We walked back via the Parc de Belleville, and Sherard really enjoyed that area, especially appreciating a rug in a Muslim shop we passed by at some point in our meanderings.

Crowd at an impromptu concert at the Parc de Belleville

That evening we had a late dinner at an old favorite, La Bocca on rue Montmartre.

Seafood pasta dinner at La Bocca. The long thin shells are clams, although I’m not sure they are the same species as we get in the U.S. since I’ve never seen a shell like that at home

 

Afterword – 2015

Tags

Antoine, apartment, art, Chris, Elliot, flâneur, Gerry, Gordon, Lisa, Mariage Frères, Matt, meals, Montorgueil, Mustafa, Paris, rue Montorgueil, weather, Zhizhong

My sixth petit séjour in Paris was terrific in several respects, quite good overall, and  disappointing in just a few ways.

My apartment was simply wonderful. It lived up to the site’s description with only a few tiny glitches, and in several respects was even a bit better than I expected. Ironically, its only real deficiency was the fact that it was so comfortable that I sometimes stayed home — reading, blogging or resting — instead of going out into the world! It was wonderfully quiet for sleeping, yet steps from all the animation and food of rue Montorgueil.

I had realized when I reserved the apartment that it was located on a street of fabric shops, but there was one odd detail I hadn’t fully anticipated: during the day several porters waited across the street, ready to transport bolts of fabric. They weren’t unpleasant or threatening, but I couldn’t help being aware that every daytime departure or arrival from my apartment was closely observed by guys with little to do but watch and gossip within the tight-knit fabric community (pun intended). I long ago gave up most ideas of privacy, but I couldn’t help noticing that this particular location so thoroughly lacked the anonymity that is a general feature of urban life.

I had a tiny anxiety that I would end up taking the elevator too much, since this was the first apartment I have rented that had one. But in fact I used it only to transport my big suitcase on arrival and departure, and a couple of times for big loads of groceries, etc. The rest of the time I scampered up and down the three flights of stairs as I have in prior years — with the exception of my first year when I found the five flights of stairs in both apartments psychologically distancing.

When I first arrived in Paris I didn’t feel as energized as in prior years. This was a principal subject of my post on May 28. I’ve had slow times for a day or two on all my visits, but never before when I first arrived. I’m not sure about the reason, but a few hypotheses seem plausible:

• This year I had just spent ten days as a vigorous tourist in Rome and Venice. By the time I got to Paris I was tired! It was lovely and relaxing to just spend time in my new home-away-from-home. I puttered around setting up housekeeping, but didn’t feel as motivated as in prior years to hit the Parisian pavement.
• In contrast to Rome and Venice — which were both new to me — Paris seemed awfully familiar at first. Paris was charming as ever, but it no longer seemed to offer the same thrill of discovery that I had experienced every day in Italy, and my first few years in Paris. When I thought of going somewhere I had usually already been there, and the idea of going again seemed uninspiring.
• Zhizhong and Elliot were great but Lisa and Alexis were away and my other Paris friends were pretty much no-shows in May. As in prior years I worked the social networks looking for new friends, but (in part perhaps because I had been spoiled by a happy experience in Boston this winter) the last two weeks in May I never found anyone quite interesting enough to meet.

Visitors helped me recover from my lethargic mood. Brian and Sheila and their friends were lively companions on two days, and when Chris and Matt arrived the first week of June I was back in business. From then on a stream of visitors — and a few new French friends — kept me almost continuously engaged. Showing friends around lets you see a city through fresh eyes, and regain some of the delight of discovery.

Several of my visitors were especially talented flâneurs: Yunpeng and Matt and Chris come first to mind, though Brian and Sheila and their friends were also keen explorers.

I had several wonderful meals. My favorite was Frenchie with Matt and Chris, followed closely by Hélène Darroze with Taka and Nick.  Métropolitan with Gerry, Bofinger with Gordon and Musatafa and Tintilou with Elliot didn’t disappoint either. Mariage Frères was more of a mixed bag, though, because of the lamentable service.

I saw some excellent art, as usual mixed in with less inspiring stuff.

I went on several fine excursions outside Paris, with Zhizhong, Brian and Sheila, and Matt and Chris, as well as a visit to Senlis by myself.

Two street festivals were fabulous: La Fête de la Musique with Sawyer and Seth was absolutely wonderful, because of the opportunity to meet and hang out with them as well as the giddy atmosphere of music and celebration. Paris Pride with Zhizhong and Guillaume started slowly but ended up being quite festive and sociable.

The weather was ok in May, but on the chilly side. It was quite good in June. It never got really hot until the week after I left, when it hit 103 degrees at one point. The cross-ventilation in my apartment worked great, and was pleasant on several occasions. But it wasn’t really necessary this year during my stay.

Blogging was an important part of my experience, as in prior years. In the first few years I would blog in the evening after getting home, even if it meant staying up quite late. But this year I would more typically spend a morning organizing photos and writing several days’ posts. It felt as though this took more time away from exploration than in prior years. But I continue to enjoy the process, and the result. My life in Paris is examined far more intimately than my life in Boston.

Parisian friends have been a big part of prior trips. This year I enjoyed several memorable outings with Zhizhong, including a posh evening at the home of the American Ambassador followed by crashing an even posher private party. It was great to reconnect with Antoine this year, starting with a delightful dinner party catered by Matt and Chris. Others were away or elusive, however, and until the very end of the trip I didn’t meet anyone new. Fortunately, in the last week I caught up with Martin and met Guillaume, so I felt somewhat reconnected with the Paris social scene.

I walked a bit less than in prior years: an average of 6 miles a day instead of 7. That’s still twice what I do in Boston, but it’s odd. I swam just twice during the stay, and relied mostly on walking and stairs to keep fit. My weight stayed the same and I was at the same level on my elliptical trainer when I restarted regular workouts, so all seems good. I just flossed since I had abandoned my Paris Waterpik, and that seemed to work fine as well.

The dollar was so strong! This made euro prices much cheaper in dollar terms than in prior years. While on the one hand I had never let the cost cramp my style, on the other hand affordability warmed the cockles of my Yankee heart.

There was a lot to like in this year’s stay, but another year I may change the program a bit. I might pick another city instead of or in addition to Paris, such as Barcelona or a city elsewhere in France.  I might finally rent a villa in the Italian or French countryside for a couple of weeks, or even do a bike trip or charter a canal boat! Stay tuned…

Three Flâneurs

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Belleville, Café Le Baron, cake decorations, Chris, cobblestone street, enormous whisk, flâneur, giant whisk, glasses, glassware, incinerated motor bikes, industrial cookware, King of Pop, Maille, Matt, Michael Jackson, model, mustard, Parc Monceau, Passage des Panoramas, photo shoot, pur, rue des Jeûneurs, tattoos, terrines, whisk

Matt and Chris are born flâneurs. Though this is their first time in Paris they feel absolutely no need to check off tourist sites. Instead they are atttracted by every little alley and stairway. “Where does that go?” They are insatiably curious! This, needless to say, suits me down to the ground. I enjoy nudging them towards interesting places, and pointing out features that they might have missed. But just as often they have suggested unfamiliar routes that have opened my eyes to something new. Walking with them has reawakened my love of Paris, which had dozed a bit this year before they arrived. This post is a collection of photos and stories from our first week of wandering together.

During my first two weeks I had always turned left on rue des Jeûneurs or gone straight ahead whenever I left my apartment door. Those directions lead to the Montorgueil shopping district and the Grands Boulevards, while the only thing I knew of in the other direction was a straight nightclub, Silencio. When Matt suggested that we turn right I realized that I had never been that way in daytime. We discovered three cute local lunch places, serving office workers and graduate-level students rather than the bobos of rue Montorgueil. We ate lunch in this place and I plan to try the other two after Matt and Chris go home.

Lunch hour rush at Pur, on rue des Jeûneurs.

Quirky cake decorations. I want to be invited to that party! Looks like I’d fit right in…

Cake decorations, we think.

This scene was in lower Belleville. It looked like something from a war zone. We couldn’t tell whether it was an accident or arson, but we found it astounding that there was no police tape or indeed any indication that anyone was even aware of what must have been quite a conflagration.

A bunch of incinerated motor bikes.

Passage des Panoramas.

Really remarkable terrines.

Glassware in Café Le Baron in the 9e.

Outside a tattoo shop.

Perfect if you’re into Michael Jackson memorabilia.

Chris with an enormous whisk in an industrial cookware shop on rue Montmartre.

Matt in mustard heaven, at the Maille shop at Place de la Madeleine.

The first time I’ve seen a cobblestone street being laid down, near Étoile. This replaces an earlier version that had been partly blacktopped.

We’ve encountered various model shoots and movie teams. This fellow gave us the best photo op.

A photo shoot in posh Parc Monceau.

The Parisianer

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Cartier-Bresson, Christian Marclay, flâneur, joie de vivre, l'art de vivre, La Perla, meals, Pompidou, The Clock, The Parisianer, weather

Wednesday was another museum day: chilly and rainy. No complaints, however, after the excellent stretch of good weather we had over the weekend.

As so often happens to a flâneur, my best experiences of the day were unexpected. The first was at the Hôtel de Ville (City Hall), which I visited to pick up some brochures. They had a free exhibit of 50 prints, drawn from a larger show last December that I had read about and regretted missing. The organizers asked 100 artists to draw covers for an imaginary magazine, The Parisianer, modeled on The New Yorker. Here are some I particularly liked, and there is more information at this link.

After stashing my loot I had a baguette thon crudités (tuna sandwich) at the local Boulangerie and headed over to the Pompidou Center for a show of the photography of Henri Cartier-Bresson. It was quite good, including a lot of early and rarely-seen works as well as his iconic images. The show was organized chronologically, so it also vividly presented the story of his life.

Once again, however, what really amazed me at the Pompidou was unexpected: The Clock (2010) by Christian Marclay. It’s a 24-hour collage of short clips from hundreds of films, mostly in English but several in French. Each clip includes an image of a clock or watch, or at least mention of the time, and the indicated time matches (with just a bit of artistic license) the actual time when the film is being shown. I had read about this but had imagined just a series of clock faces, which sounded vaguely interesting from a contemporary art perspective but not worth more than a few minutes of viewing. What I hadn’t appreciated was that the clips are long enough to offer tantalizing glimpses of character and dialogue and action, often at a crucial moment when time is of the essence. Each was itself a little nugget of cinematic history: trying to recognize the movies was fun, and it was a pleasure to be reminded of some wonderful or wonderfully awful films. But even richer was experiencing the way one’s mind tries to weave these disparate clips together into a coherent story, despite the manifest absurdity. This effect was enhanced by brilliant inter-cutting, and mixing sound from one clip under another. The experience was surreal and disorienting, but fascinating. Last, but not least, the synchronization of the film’s time with real-life time upends one’s usual experience of losing oneself in a film. At The Clock you always know exactly what time it is. I watched from 4:14 pm to 6:05, and I would be quite willing to go back for an additional hour or so if any of my June house guests are interested.

It was pouring at dinner time so I ate dinner at La Perla, in the next block. The food was reasonable and reasonably priced, but it didn’t remind me of Mexico, or even Texas. The welcome was warm, as it had been my first night, but I just read a book on my Kindle and didn’t partake in the convivial atmosphere. I stepped back into the rainy night without an au revoir and I’m not sure whether I’ll be as welcome another time.

Mot du jour: l’art de vivre. Zhizhong noted recently on Facebook that he never hears the French use the phrase joie de vivre, which is familiar in English. He speculates that it’s a romantic anglophone projection that has little to do with the reality of French life. The French do refer to l’art de vivre, which expresses the idea of finding a path through life which maximizes pleasure and minimizes stress and conflict, but the mildly tragic pose preferred by the French would never admit of anything so enthusiastic as “joy!”