Fin

Did we go to Pézanas the next day as I suggested in the last post that we would? Who knows now if it was the next day or two days or a week later? I'm writing a few weeks after the fact, since which we've been to Paris and returned home. We've been back in Canada for over a week now in fact. But we certainly did go to Pézanas, by tram and bus. Karen took her Gravol, I remembered my wallet and Karen's migraine pills, and it was a good day.

Pézanas, old town

I could say that Pézanas is over-rated and slightly disappointing, but that wouldn't really be fair since it's not often rated at all, and then not that glowingly. We didn't have particularly high expectations. It's just a pretty town, with some nice old medieval buildings and narrow streets, and a tenuous connection with the famous French playwright Molière - about which we cared little. It has also managed to attract a lot of artists and artisans, who have their shops in the old medieval district. 

Pézanas, old town

I think it must have been a weekend day that we went, probably Saturday, because there was a market on, mostly finished by the time we got there about 1 pm. And there were lots of obvious visitors about the place - not foreign tourists, French. We found a restaurant in the old town, a cool little place with a tiny courtyard open to the sky, with two storeys above us. It was a very new establishment apparently, and the prices were good. I had the usual steak frites, perfectly cooked, with a yummy caramel apple pie for dessert. Can't remember what Karen had. The pretty young waitress was upset at one point, we think by her boy friend, whom she had met out front. She was crying and scuttled away into the kitchen or down in the basement.

Pézanas, old town

We wandered about the town for a long time, poking into galleries and a few shops, never really finding anything that greatly compelled us. And then, late in the day, after five, we went back to the bus stop and caught our bus back to Montpellier and took the tram home.

Pézanas, old town

We went for lots of walks around Montpellier in the last days. The weather turned warm. One day, we started to bike to the sea, but got as far as Lattes and discovered that the tire of my VeloMagg bike was flat. We took the tram back to town. Luckily the tram route from Lattes, number three, is not that busy, so having the bikes on board was no problem. The next day or a couple of days later, we did make the ride to the sea, to Palavas-les-Flots. It was a lovely day, I got a good bike from VeloMagg and the cycling was easy. 

Montpellier, Promenade du Peyrou

We rode north along the seafront in Palavas, past the place where we'd stopped for drinks with Ralph and Pat, and then later with Pat and Sue, and found another little seaside bar where we had drinks. Then we cycled back to Montpellier. It started to rain as we were leaving Palavas. It seemed like quite a cool rain, but stopped after ten minutes; we were dry in another ten, and rode back into Montpellier in sunshine and warmth.

Palavas-les-Flots

We had one very warm day near the end in which we did little and spent time on our terrace - still not much sunshine there but mild enough. Quite a few games of Scrabble were played. I won the season series, resoundingly, this year.

Silly pictures taken from balcony on a warm day

And then, all too soon - or, actually, not before time as we were getting kind of bored and antsy - it was the eve of our departure. We went out for a last meal in the Eglise Saint-Roch area. We found a cute little place on a tiny street lined with restaurants, and sat outside. The waiter spoke perfect English and had spent time in the States. The owner, it turned out, had spent 12 years in Montreal, and said he was nostalgic for Canada. He came over a couple of times and talked with us at length, much of it about politics and how "hopeless" the situation was in France today. I think he mainly meant, how unsympathetic to small businesses, and to the south. He seemed a bit of a complainer, in fact, but entertaining to listen to. We barely got a word in edgewise.

The last supper (in Montpellier)

The next day, Gilles and Annie came in the morning as we'd arranged, and drove us to the airport. Montpellier airport is so easy. We waited an hour or so, then ambled through security. My bag was over the limit of 23 kg, but Karen's was under so the agent said it was okay. We got to Paris on schedule, found the airport train station, bought tickets and took the express train - pure chance that we got an express that only stopped once before Gare du Nord; it could as easily have been a milk run - and then took the Metro to a stop near our apartment in the Marais district. 

I had phoned Elizabeth, an associate of the owners, from the train station. She met us at the corner of our street, a charming, eccentric older English woman - well, not much if any older than us probably - who apparently lives in Paris full time. The apartment, a studio on a quiet street just off Rue de Bretagne, was perfect - all the modcons, cunningly shoe-horned into a small space, like a yacht. There is a market virtually next door, with fruit and veg and prepared food stalls and casual restaurants. The neighbourhood is very lively with lots of young folk on the streets.

Elizabeth took us on a brief walkabout, including through the adjacent market, and pointed out where things were - pharmacies, restaurants, grocery stores, her apartment. Afterwards we walked back the way we had come from the Metro and found a Monoprix at which we bought wine and breakfast stuff. 

Once we'd dropped our shopping at the apartment, we set out for a walk down to the river through the Marais district. Along the way, we stumbled on the National Archives Museum (and offices), a beautiful 17th century building, the Hôtel de Soubise, with gardens in glorious bloom. 

National Archives (Hôtel de Soubise)

We walked on to Notre Dame with the idea of checking out its gardens, which had been recommended in one of the books Karen was reading. We were absolutely stunned by the crowds around the cathedral. The plaza in front was choked and there was a long queue for entry. We remember this place, admittedly mainly from our first visit in 1970, as a fairly tranquil spot. It probably wasn't that by the time we came again in 1991, but it sure wasn't this zoo either. It's worse than St. Mark's Square in Venice. What must it be like in July?

Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris

Despite the crowds, I probably had a better look at the outside of the church, especially the stone carving, than I ever have. It's fantastic, both in content and quality.

Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris

The gardens along the south side of the church are very nice, but certainly not the undiscovered gem the book had suggested. It wasn't as crazy crowded as the front of the cathedral but there were lots of people there. There was also a statue of "Saint" John Paul. (As John Doyle would say, 'Don't get me started.')

Cathédrale Notre-Dame de Paris

Our vague plan was to walk along the river to the Jardin de l'école de botanique at the university. We started out going over the bridge near Notre Dame. Its railings are crusted with love locks. Where and when did this silly practice begin? We first saw it in Ortygia in Sicily, but have seen it many places since. Nothing like this however. I don't know how anyone finds a place to put their locks now. A wedding photographer was trying to work around the crowds of tourists. 

We walked through the sculpture garden on the other side of the river which includes mostly forgettable sculpture but very nice flowering trees on this mild spring day. We did make it to the botanical garden, but by then it was closed. Oh well.

Paris, Left Bank

We walked back through a very posh neighbourhood on Ile St. Louis, where we witnessed an odd little scene. I had stopped to take a picture of the beautiful doorway of a private institute or think tank or something - can't remember what it was. It was actually the elegantly decorated drain pipe beside the door that initially attracted me. A well-dressed elderly woman came along the street with her nine- or ten-year-old grandson (or so I assumed him to be). They stopped at the door to this Institute and there was an exchange between them that I couldn't make out. He seemed to want to knock on the door, but was hesitant. She seemed in the end to be encouraging him. 

Paris, Ile St. Louis

Once he'd knocked, he ran a little way down the street and she followed, walking quickly. Then they stopped and turned and looked back. Meanwhile, I'm standing in the street, taking pictures of the door. It opens and an attendant of some kind steps out, looks up and down the street, and then looks across at me. "Oui?" he says. I just shrug and nod with my head to where the little boy and his grandmother are standing watching. They exchange a few words with the attendant, which again I can't make out. End of scene. Weird. It would help, of course, if I could understand more French, but I like to think the elegant-looking grandma was teaching her grandson how to play nicky-nacky-nine-doors.

Paris, Ile St. Louis

It was a nice walk but wore us out. We found a sidewalk cafe a couple of blocks from the apartment and had a good but not inexpensive meal and watched the people on the street and in the restaurant. There was an interesting foursome at one of the street-side tables just on the other side of the window from where we were sitting. They were playing some kind of weird card game, using a deck that included number cards above ten, but that looked otherwise like regular playing cards. It was one young couple, a slightly older but still young single man, and a very handsome middle-aged black man. They kept ordering frothy mixed drinks.

We were exhausted and footsore by this time and went home and were soon in bed asleep.

Our plans for Paris were modest. We wanted to see the Musee d'Orsay and the Orangerie, and walk a lot. Sunday would be the Musee d'Orsay, since it's closed on Mondays. Sunday dawned cold and damp. We did some grocery shopping in the morning and then set out before noon, heading back to the river through the Marais, with the idea of finding the Paris flower and bird market near Notre Dame. We went this time via the Pompidou Centre. What a bizarre piece of architecture it is! 

Paris, Centre Pompidou

The flower market was okay. There were lots of pretty birds for sale, by vendors with temporary stalls - the birds are only here on Sundays. I thought some of the vendors looked a little sketchy. 'Psst. Wanna buy a budgie?' Later, back home, I read something in the paper about the illegal trade in song birds. Karen points out that these sellers must have been licensed by the city. Probably so, but you wonder. 

Paris, Île de la Cité, Marché des Fleurs 

We walked back across the river and through the Louvre. Karen hates the IM Pei glass pyramid. I think it's cool. The plaza around it was way more crowded than I remembered. We walked on, through the Tuileries, not very inviting on this chilly day, but still beautiful - if choked with tourists. No sign of boats on the ponds. Has that tradition died out? And when and why did they start pasturing goats here? This was such a lovely, tranquil spot that mild October of 1970 when we came first. Not anymore. 

Paris, Louvre

Paris, Jardin des Tuileries

Yes, this is a definite theme of my 2015 Paris visit. In fact, I started thinking about a new political campaign: Free Paris! Paris for the Parisians! I can see barricades manned by hip young communards. Hoards of enraged tourists in Walmart couture storm the barriers, but are skewered on the ends of sharpened umbrellas. 'First we take Paris, then we take Berlin.' Outsiders, to gain admittance, will have to sit an exam, testing knowledge and taste, and pay a large fee.

We found a restaurant not far from the museum and sat in a warm, glassed-in terrace. It was our bad luck, however, to draw Paris's most incompetent waiter. He was apparently new to the restaurant and hadn't yet mastered the computer system and automated handheld order-taking terminal. He failed to deliver one of the dishes we ordered - luckily as it turned out, because we really didn't need it. My steak, ordered à point (rare), was grey through. Not the waiter's fault, but I sent it back, flustering him further. Not our finest French restaurant experience.

The new or, for all I know, not so new, reality of being a tourist (terrorist?) in Paris is that you line up for everything. We waited in queue to get into the Musee d'Orsay for over 30 minutes. It rained for the last ten. (We had umbrellas; lots of others didn't. Who comes out on a cool, wet day in Paris without an umbrella or rain poncho?) 

Inside, it was, bar none, the worst crowd scene yet. It's a gorgeous museum with fabulous things, but they really need to do something about all the idiots they let in. Or they could make people take a basic class in museum and gallery etiquette before permitting them into the exhibit halls. That way, maybe you could weed out the people who walk along a foot from the pictures, never stopping, as if they're looking for something they can never find - like a picture they understand or with something they recognize in it - completely oblivious of the elderly art nerd whose view they constantly obstruct. It might also eliminate the ones who only stop long enough to photograph the painting with their cell phones, which they hold aloft as they walk, ever ready to snap. Do they look at the blurred grainy pictures when they get home? Sure, of course they do...stare at them for hours. Are inspired to create great art probably.

As John Doyle would say, 'Don't get me started.' Oops, too late.

Paris, Musee d'Orsay

The upstairs halls with all the big-name impressionists are a treasure trove but Karen and I gave up after a half hour. The crowds were just too thick (in both senses) and rude. I did make a couple of happy discoveries this visit, though. Two large Toulouse Lautrec canvases of fin de siecle Paris nightlife that I must have seen before, but which I don't remember. They look like they might have been painted on cardboard. 

Paris, Musee d'Orsay, Toulouse Lautrec

And some Odilon Redon wall panels, painted on commission for a rich industrialist when Redon was old. He's an often over-looked artist I really like. These large panels are hidden away in a section of the museum devoted to furniture and decorative arts. We stumbled on them while trying to escape the overcrowded Impressionist halls.

Paris, Musee d'Orsay, Odilon Redon

We walked back to the apartment by a different, but not terribly interesting route. You know you're really old when you end up back in your Paris apartment, footsore and weary, at 7:30 in the evening and realize you have no intention of going anywhere or seeing anything else that day.

Monday, our last day. We were headed back to the same area of Paris we'd been the day before, to the Musée de l’Orangerie, the museum that hosts the panoramic Monet water lilies paintings that Monet gave to the city. It also has a collection of modern art compiled by the famous early-20th century art dealer Paul Guillaume and his wife Domenica. 

We walked a different route. It took us through the Bourse area, where they're building a new shopping-Métro station complex and city park at Les Halles de Chatelet. I was quite taken with a giant stone sculpture of a head and hand, the head like a ball, the hand either pushing it along or cradling it (see below). It's called Ecoute, by Henri de Miller, and has apparently been in this location, Place René Cassin, since 1986. 

Paris,Place René Cassin, Ecoute by Henri de Miller 

Much of the rest of the route took us along the Rue de Rivoli, skirting the north side of the Louvre. We remember these arcaded blocks being full of art galleries and antique shops. There are still some galleries, but it's mainly shops selling tourist junk now. We cut through the Tuilieries, which was looking a little more inviting on this slightly milder, sunnier day.

There was a queue for the Orangerie, but we had purchased a combined ticket the day before for Musée d'Orsay and the Orangerie, so our queue was fairly short. The building, which was originally built as a winter warehouse for potted orange trees from the Tuileries, has been beautifully renovated fairly recently. Karen and I don't think we'd ever been to it before, although it has been here in one form or another since the 1920s. We certainly went more than once to the Jeu de Paume, just on the other side of the Tuileries. It used to house the Impressionist and Post-impressionist works that are now in the Musee d'Orsay. (The Jeu de Paume is today a photo art museum, which sadly, I didn't get to see this visit.) But the Orangerie, we don't think, we ever saw. Curious. 

The museum was busy, but being a Monday rather than a Sunday, nothing like as bad as the Musee d'Orsay. Monet intended the Water Lillies (Les Nymphéas) - two eliptically-shaped rooms, each with four curving panoramic panels - to be a respite for harried urbanites. It probably was at one time, before the tourists found it. Today, with 20 or 30 people milling around the rooms at once, it takes a major effort of imagination to project yourself back to Monet's turn-of-the-century Giverny garden. It was beyond my powers, but still worth trying.

Paris, Musée de l’Orangerie

The Guillaume collection is impressive: all the big names - Picasso, Cezanne, Renoir, Monet, etc. - and some interesting lesser ones like Soutine and Utrillo. By the time we got to it, though, the crowds had started to thicken, it being later in the morning or early afternoon by this time. We found ourselves getting impatient again and probably didn't extract as much from the experience as we might. There was also an interesting large special exhibit on an early-20th century Italian sculptor named Adolfo Wildt (1868-1931). Lovely stuff, some of it. He went through several sytlistic periods, which the exhibit painstakingly documents, only some of which I liked. Even Karen, not a sculpture enthusiast, was impressed.

Adolfo Wildt

When we came out of the Orangerie, I made the executive decision that we wouldn't waste all our energy walking back, by the same or a similar route, to the Marais. We wanted to do part of one of the walks in the book Karen got me for Christmas, the one in the Marais. So we tubed to Bastille, and found a restaurant on Rue du Rivoli, a brasserie, not very sophisticated, but inexpensive enough, and recharged our batteries. 

The self-guided walk took us through the grounds of the 17th century Hotel de Béthune-Sully (which now houses the Centre des Monuments Nationaux) - right across the street from our restaurant. The courtyard garden here really is a tranquil place. It's far enough from the tourist epicentre, that the buses don't come. 

Paris, Hotel de Béthune-Sully

From there, we passed into Place des Voges, which is lovely, but perhaps doesn't, or doesn't any longer, live up to its billing as the most perfect square in France. It's a little more tourist-y, but still a haven of calm compared to the Tuileries, Louvre, etc. The arcades are chocker-block with small art galleries selling mostly garish, big-effect art pitched to the rich people who live in the neighbourhood. It must cost a fortune to buy one of the apartments on the square.

Paris, Place des Voges

The rest of the walk was less interesting, but took us through some of the old Jewish quarter and past the Picasso Museum - which we were not going to go into on this day. We ended up back at the apartment, a short walk from the end of our tour, before four o'clock. We rested briefly, then set out again, again by tube, to Montmartre, where we were going to do another self-guided walk. It was a longish ride, with one transfer that involved walking about a mile and half underground. Only a slight exaggeration. The second train deposited us at the Abbesses stop, which happens to have one of the only surviving original art-deco Métro entrances.

Paris, Abbesses Métro stop

Despite our protestations about too many tourists, we always seem to end up at heavily touristed sites. This time it was the Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, which in fairness, is hard to avoid if you're wandering around Montmartre. It was a circus. On a Monday in April! We walked up the steps, admired the views, then headed into the little narrow streets, hoping to escape the tourist hoards. No such luck. The Place du Tertre, famous hang-out of "artists," was another zoo. The square was crammed with tents and booths showing the "art." Much of it was incompetent schlock, but some, sadly, was by obviously skilled artists who had just sold out. 

Paris, Basilique du Sacré-Cœur, 

It wasn't until we got well away from Place du Tertre that we started to enjoy the real Montmartre ambience: the narrow streets, the long stairways, the quirky store fronts, the street art. We particularly enjoyed the curving Rue des Trois Freres, with its nightclubs and funky restaurants. We ended up back at Abbesses and tubed to the apartment.

Paris, Montmartre

About the only flaw in our apartment, which we will definitely try and get again when we visit Paris, was that on this occasion, there was something wrong with the electronics of the ceramic cook top. We couldn't cook anything, except in the microwave. This was a semi-serious inconvenience, which we told the owners about by email - they were vacationing in Barcelona. When we got back to the apartment from Montmartre, there was an envelope sitting on the counter with €60 in cash inside and a note from Elizabeth, apologizing for the inconvenience, and suggesting we could use the money to buy a meal out. We didn't do that, having eaten dinner at lunch, but appreciated the gesture.

At this point, we were in for the night, early again - what a couple of fuddy-duddies! Packing was the main item on the agenda. The next morning our prearranged shuttle bus came to pick us up at the appointed hour and drove us through early-morning Paris to CDG. Air France was breaking in a new automated luggage check-in system, which meant there was no flexibility of being able to count our two bags together for the weigh-in. We had to transfer stuff from my big bag to Karen's checked bag and my carry-on. No big deal, but annoying. The customs and security line-ups - one right after the other - were the worst we've encountered, but we had lots of time.

The flight was decent. I watched two movies: Paddington (really quite charming) and Nottinghill (don't ask, I don't have a good answer - maybe I was on a kick of watching movies with London tube stops for titles.) We caught our Robert Q bus as planned and Mike Haas was there to pick us up, also as arranged. Moggy had made the apartment a right mess, and looked thin and unhealthy (he's coming around now). Other than that, it was good to be home.

And we've certainly timed things right this time. Spring is well launched - our third spring this year. Which is fine, because it's a season we love.

Au revoir France.