Paris 2007, part 5/5

[lauraanne_gilman]

Sunday:

All the guidebooks and common sense tell you to stay away from the Louvre on Sunday (when stores etc are all closed). If you have a musee carte, however, sliding in via the Metro entrance at 9:59am allows you to avoid the crowds and lines, and get into the museum proper while other people are still going through the entrance scanner. I cruised the Italian sculptures on my way to my goal – winged victory. Words, even photos – cannot tell you how magnificent she is. I don’t know why, of all the magnificence in that building, this is IT for me, but there ‘tis.



Yes, I also saw the Mona Lisa, and was able to go right up to the rope and look as long as I wanted to. A masterpiece, in all senses of the word and phrase. The realism, and the shadowed curves and corners of her face, have to be seen to really be understood. Reproductions don’t do it. But standing there, looking at her, and you know that you are in the presence of the expression of genius.

Then, on the Venus de Milo, which did not move me anywhere near as much. Have to think about why.

By now it’s almost 11, and the halls are beginning to fill with tour groups, clogging every available inch of floor space. I flee.

Out into the Jardin de Tuileres, which is perhaps the perfect place for a Sunday stroll. Sunlight by the fountains, shade under the trees lining the paths, places to sit and people-watch, or grab lunch and people-watch… I walk all the way to the end, only to discover that my goal, the Orangerie, doesn’t open until 12:30.

Okay, I think. I can go over to the Orsay, use my Carte to kill some time….or, I think, I can go sit at one of the cafes in the Jardin and have a citron presse, and sit and chill. Which is what I do, for an amazingly pleasant hour. The waiter – somewhat brusque to the table full of tourists next to me - brings my presse and unobtrusively slides my bill under the table clip without disturbing my quiet.



12:30, and once again my muse carte gets me to the front of the line and in before anyone else. Musee de l’Orangerie. It’s not the reason I came back to Paris, but it was on the very short list.

The entire first floor is given over to three salons, each with four murals. Les Nympheas. The most breathtaking, heart-stopping… okay, if you’re as much of a pervy Monet-fancier as I am. Monet brings me to tears of sheer joy.



Downstairs is the rest of the collection. Picasso, Rousseau, Modigliani, Matisse, Renoir, etc. Renoir, as always, makes me smile – his portraits are of people who seem to be in on –- not the joke, but the laughter. I was also entertained by Soutine’s “Le garcon d’etage,” who is so perfectly pissy.

Less than an hour, all told, and no matter what else the day brings, I am content.

Which is good, because the place I wanted to try for lunch was closed, despite my being assured it was open 7/7. In fact, from the look of it (shuttered windows) it may be closed-gone. Oh well. I go to my improvised fall-back plan – a crisp and greasy croquet m’seur in a patch of sunlight, near a street performer playing some kind of Arabic music. Life’s restored to contentment.

A quick stop to pick up presents for the not-deserving-but-I-like’em-anyway, and back to the hotel because the headache I’ve been fighting all day is starting to overwhelm everything else. The concierge there is officially up for canonization, because when I tell him that I have a headache he comes out with some sort of fizzy medication that – ten minutes and a hot shower later – has cleared my head perfectly. I suspect it was some kind of nasty hangover remedy, but never got the name of it, worse luck.

I then contemplate what I want to do for my last night in Paris. Not walk far, is what I decide. So I go to a nice little place in the Place du Ste-Catherine downstairs, surrounded by local families taking an early outing, and a few older tourists. I tempt fate and my headache by ordering half a bottle of wine – pure vin de pays (table wine) but quite good. An entrée of pate du canard with prune soaked in armagnac. Good lord. And I finally satisfy my “must try something new each trip”” – no, not frog legs. Cassoulet. Yes, I’ve never had it before. Yes, it was really damn good, despite my aversion to beans as a rule. White beans and sausage and bacon, and not as heavy as I’d feared (I suspect they changed the recipe for warmer weather). I now have a great desire to try and making it myself, but will wait for Autumn.

As far as meals go, this one stands up against the fanciest of fancy restaurants. The tablecloth might be plastic, and the ambiance casual, but the food is prime. And the tab was quite reasonable.

My feet had mostly recovered by now, so it was off to Ile St Louis for one more scoop of glace. And yes, I get home without incident. Settle the hotel bill, and head off to bed at the really ridiculously early hour of 9pm – since I have a wake-up call for 5am to make sure I’m on time for my 9:50am flight….

Monday:

No surprise, no trauma, no delays. Proof that I can work the Paris metro both awake and asleep. Interesting, CDG – and all the food places therein – doesn’t seem to open until 8am. Knowing what I know of the Gallic temperament, I’m surprised they can get anyone there that early at all, honestly. But it was tough, waiting for my coffee….

As for the trip home – wow. The plane has only been flying for a few weeks, and the crew is still geeking over it. Comfortable seats, decent leg space, and an on-demand entertainment system! Almost 300 movies in half a dozen languages, shorts, games… all available whenever you want, on screens that are better quality than my laptop.

(also, the crew is geeky because rather than having to sleep sitting in jump chairs, they have narrow bunks tucked away to nap in.).

Despite the geeky joy, I end up sleeping most of the way home, and land to 85 degrees (!) in Manhattan. Slog my way to the folks, borrow a t-shirt from my mom, and whimper for Chinese food.

Tuesday I do laundry, and then wander off to meet scarlettina and girasole for lunch. After, I collect my luggage, and grab a train home, home, home and two very damn vocal felines….



So. Is it possible for a foodie to go to Paris on a budget – and not feel constrained or restricted?

Yes. If you don’t buy perfume. Oops.

(and yay for the federal government, who got me my refund safe and sound in the bank before the credit card bills hit…)

Hope you guys enjoyed, and took notes for when you go....