Up early. Do some light cleaning, just in case the check-er out-er didn't get the message, and enters the apartment with another key. Pack my lunch, and out the door for Montparnasse-Bienvenue, where I will catch the TGV to Rennes. Able to get there, obtain my ticket from the window, and find my seat in good time. Even validated my ticket like a seasoned traveller.
Beautiful French countryside whizzing by. Short nap. Arrived at Rennes, and found the Gare Routiere even though the directions were a little off. On arrival to MSM, hope to find the travel bureau straight off. If not, there will be lots of wandering. I have loaded as much pertinent info as I could,on the iPad, but I feel as if it's still not enough.
Got a simplistic map at the tourist office, and made my way to the top. There were a few museums on the way, but I told myself that I would see them on the way down. When I bought my ticket, it was to find that the English tour (free, 1hr 15mim) had started at 11:00. Bought my ticket anyway, and decided to come back at 14:00 for the next tour. Wandered around the periphery of the abbey, and found a shady spot to have my alfresco lunch. Then I got restless, and decided to go it alone, with an audio guide. I thought that since the were so many stairs, I'd better get cracking. Normally, I hate stairs. In fact, when I have only a floor or two to go, I generally take them two at a time to get it over and done with more quickly. However. With 900 steps, I thought that I'd better give myself plenty of time.
Wandered through the walled lower part, just in awe. Reached the tourism office, and found that the tour started just on the Grand Terrace on the other side of the chapel. Good thing I'd started early. I wandered through the rooms, listening to the audio guide, and hurried back, against the flow of tourists, until I returned to the terrace.
MSM is certainly a magical and mystical place. I can only imagine what it must have been like to cross the mudflats as a pilgrim. And to see the island surrounded by water prior to the building of the causeway? That would have been a fantastical experience. From the terrace, it was possible to see tiny people who had gone out onto the flats, hopefully with a guide, as I understand that there are some deaths each year due to people misjudging the tide, and getting stuck in quicksand.
Guide was wonderful, if somewhat a bit testy at the general noise level. She said that the construction work is projected to be finished in 2016. Then, it wil be possible to see the place as an island again.
Bought two watercolor pictures. One for me, in blues; one with sheep, for the beanie boys. Took a little moment to walk a bit on the mud flats. My initial intent was to dangle my feet in the nearest water. But the. I discovered how slick the mud was. Slick, and mushy, and thick. Suddenly I had a vision of slipping, and getting that mud all down my backside, and I found myself angling back toward the causeway. Nothing like a little anticipated humiliation to curtail adventures. Then again, I did have to spend a few minutes scraping the mud off of my sandals. I intend to throw the sandals away before going to the airport, but they've got to hand on until then. They? Me! I've got to hang onto them until them, and no mud was going to ruin it for me!
Four hours to get back to Paris. A long time for someone with a lot on her mind, as she contemplates leaving Paris, and returning to real life and responsibility. I was twitchy the entire way. Sometimes able to rest, but mostly watching the French countryside whizzing by.
When I get back to the apartment, it is to find that the checker has definitely been here. The blankets on the couch are in disarray, the things I had in the laundry are unceremoniously dumped on the floor, and towels are slightly out of place. To add injury to insult, Magalie said that he found the place very dirty, and suggested that I clean it up to avoid a cleaning fee. Silly, but my feelings were hurt. The thing is, I did straighten up, but also was rushing around to pack for the day out, and had some piles of things that I needed to repack after I returned. Anyway, I can imagine that the guy was frustrated that I wasn't there (having not received my email), but now I will always think of him as a jerk. Besides, if I didn't need to be there in the first place, it would have been very easy. He could have come Friday, when I would be virtually out of the apartment.
Things I would tell the agency that could be improved:
Have the second key available when I arrive, instead of making me return to the office to pick it up.
Have the apartment ready, with linens, on the day I arrive. Also, make sure that everything is in working order.
Have working Internet and cable.
A light above the stove, so that one can tell when food is properly cooked.
A towel rack in the washroom, to hand a hand towel
A shelf in the shower for soap, shampoo, etc.
Teaspoons
Cleaning supplies in the kitchen
Wednesday, June 27, 2012
Tuesday, June 26, 2012
Day 26
Shopping. Got a last minute message from Ayako that the pool was closed for cleaning. And not for the lifeguard strike? Ah well, I propose lunch today or tomorrow, and get out into Paris.
Over to Dehillerins. Except I can't make myself go in. So many beautiful things, which I don't really need, or even have baggage room to take home. I dither for a few minutes before continuing on. In the continuous drizzle. To Mora, x, x, x, x,. Buy roasted cocoa nibs (a whole kilo!), at G. Detou. And some foie gras (don't hate me), at the place we went to on the foodie tour. Contemplate some stacking glass containers, but restrain myself.
Then, since I have an hour to kill before checking in at the school to see if lunch is good today (it really is a hassle to not have cell/web/text services here), I take the metro out to the sweet shop with Henri Le Roux's caramels. Denise, the proprietor, is a character. Must be in her late 50's to early 60's, she speaks with a smoker's raspy voice, sports two schoolgirl braids, wears reading glasses, and dresses like a parochial student. Charming, and passionate about sweets. Everything is so tasty, but I limit myself to the caramels, and 4 jars of the CBS paste. Basically, I clean her out. Lucky I came today, and not tomorrow. I overhear the couple before me say that they'd gone to his store outside of Paris, and it was closed. For vacation? Anyway, Denise has an order in, but will not be able to get anymore stock until after they reopen! I marvel at my good luck.
Back at the school, Pranali and Ayako are ready for lunch. I see Christine briefly, and she says that the chocolates were "super!" it always makes me laugh to hear the French say it, always with the accent on the second syllable. Lunch at another cafe around the corner from the school. Apparently it's one that these two ate at with Venus and Sean. The onion soup is good, but very filling. I'm unable to finish my steak, and entice the other two to share my third course dessert, a creme brûlée!
After lunch, I go over to the Milk store, and copy/send my license to the conference organizer.
Back to the apartment, to drop off my goods, and inertia sets in. I continue the packing, to see if it will be necessary to buy another bag. I think I can get everything in. Especially as I will need to check a bag with liquid-y-ish consumables, I can use the stuff sac and my handy dandy large Marche Franprix bag to carry other stuff in. Good grief, the chocolate is heavy!
And then, I get the idea to go to Mont St. Michel. I'd wanted to go every since Patti had told me about it years ago, but had been letting the idea go, bit by bit, throughout the trip. I found a few websites with online registration, and registered on one. Then, getting nervous, I called ... an American telephone number! Turns out that the tour had been sold out for two months. So, I searched online, and decided to go by myself. Who knows the next time I will have an opportunity?
After successfully booking my ticket, I thought it important to buy food for a picnic lunch. Looks like weather will be warm, bright, and humid, and that food on the island is outrageously expensive. I dawdle, and miss the Kaysor bakery. So sad. I make do with the Franprix.
When I get home, as I'm putting groceries away, I realize that I will be on the train, when the person comes to check out the apartment! I don't even know why this is necessary, but it looks like the rental agency have changed policy, and want to be able to check the apartment before the tenant leaves. I email Magalie, apologize, and ask if it's possible to do Thursday morning at 08-0900. I hope it's okay, and that it doesn't take too long, as the conference starts at 09:00 on Thursday.
I also look up info on Cafe Constant. It is just across the Champs de Mars from where the conference is, and I plan to eat there both nights. It is a lazy decision, but also a delicious one, as the food is amazingly tasty.
Over to Dehillerins. Except I can't make myself go in. So many beautiful things, which I don't really need, or even have baggage room to take home. I dither for a few minutes before continuing on. In the continuous drizzle. To Mora, x, x, x, x,. Buy roasted cocoa nibs (a whole kilo!), at G. Detou. And some foie gras (don't hate me), at the place we went to on the foodie tour. Contemplate some stacking glass containers, but restrain myself.
Then, since I have an hour to kill before checking in at the school to see if lunch is good today (it really is a hassle to not have cell/web/text services here), I take the metro out to the sweet shop with Henri Le Roux's caramels. Denise, the proprietor, is a character. Must be in her late 50's to early 60's, she speaks with a smoker's raspy voice, sports two schoolgirl braids, wears reading glasses, and dresses like a parochial student. Charming, and passionate about sweets. Everything is so tasty, but I limit myself to the caramels, and 4 jars of the CBS paste. Basically, I clean her out. Lucky I came today, and not tomorrow. I overhear the couple before me say that they'd gone to his store outside of Paris, and it was closed. For vacation? Anyway, Denise has an order in, but will not be able to get anymore stock until after they reopen! I marvel at my good luck.
Back at the school, Pranali and Ayako are ready for lunch. I see Christine briefly, and she says that the chocolates were "super!" it always makes me laugh to hear the French say it, always with the accent on the second syllable. Lunch at another cafe around the corner from the school. Apparently it's one that these two ate at with Venus and Sean. The onion soup is good, but very filling. I'm unable to finish my steak, and entice the other two to share my third course dessert, a creme brûlée!
After lunch, I go over to the Milk store, and copy/send my license to the conference organizer.
Back to the apartment, to drop off my goods, and inertia sets in. I continue the packing, to see if it will be necessary to buy another bag. I think I can get everything in. Especially as I will need to check a bag with liquid-y-ish consumables, I can use the stuff sac and my handy dandy large Marche Franprix bag to carry other stuff in. Good grief, the chocolate is heavy!
And then, I get the idea to go to Mont St. Michel. I'd wanted to go every since Patti had told me about it years ago, but had been letting the idea go, bit by bit, throughout the trip. I found a few websites with online registration, and registered on one. Then, getting nervous, I called ... an American telephone number! Turns out that the tour had been sold out for two months. So, I searched online, and decided to go by myself. Who knows the next time I will have an opportunity?
After successfully booking my ticket, I thought it important to buy food for a picnic lunch. Looks like weather will be warm, bright, and humid, and that food on the island is outrageously expensive. I dawdle, and miss the Kaysor bakery. So sad. I make do with the Franprix.
When I get home, as I'm putting groceries away, I realize that I will be on the train, when the person comes to check out the apartment! I don't even know why this is necessary, but it looks like the rental agency have changed policy, and want to be able to check the apartment before the tenant leaves. I email Magalie, apologize, and ask if it's possible to do Thursday morning at 08-0900. I hope it's okay, and that it doesn't take too long, as the conference starts at 09:00 on Thursday.
I also look up info on Cafe Constant. It is just across the Champs de Mars from where the conference is, and I plan to eat there both nights. It is a lazy decision, but also a delicious one, as the food is amazingly tasty.
Monday, June 25, 2012
Day 25
It's a Monday, and most of the museums I want to visit are closed. Lazy, I spend the morning in bed, watching youtube clips of SYTYCD. I finally get out of bed, and out of the apartment to explore Paris. What did I do? I can't even remember. I will have to go back over my receipts to see if I bought anything that can trigger a memory.
Read lots of David Leibovitz's blog. I wonder if he is as likeable in person. It certainly seems like many people kiss up to him to get favorable reviews on his blog. But maybe I'm too cynical.
To Les Halles. Muji store. Saw swimming pool. Played on one of the public pianos, part of a mobile art/music exhibit. Could only remember parts of the Love Story theme song, and Fur Elise. It's been a looooong time.
Ah, one memory is that I went to the supermarket and bought food to cook. Some mushroom soup with which to cook my lentils, as well as a carrot.
Messaging about nurse license for ECMO conference. Check into email for work and school. Skype is a wonderful thing.
Read lots of David Leibovitz's blog. I wonder if he is as likeable in person. It certainly seems like many people kiss up to him to get favorable reviews on his blog. But maybe I'm too cynical.
To Les Halles. Muji store. Saw swimming pool. Played on one of the public pianos, part of a mobile art/music exhibit. Could only remember parts of the Love Story theme song, and Fur Elise. It's been a looooong time.
Ah, one memory is that I went to the supermarket and bought food to cook. Some mushroom soup with which to cook my lentils, as well as a carrot.
Messaging about nurse license for ECMO conference. Check into email for work and school. Skype is a wonderful thing.
Sunday, June 24, 2012
Day 24
Up early-ish to go to Vanves again. Strangely lethargic. Got there around 08:00, and wandered. Did end up buying five,small, blunt-ish knives for cheese. Then, I became anxious, and felt like I should go to church. So, down to the metro I went. At the Champs Élysées Clemanceau stop, there were lots of people waiting. That's never a good sign. Waited for about 20 minutes until the first train came. So, I missed the sacrament , but heard the speakers, and was glad to hear it in French, and caught a lot of the meaning, even if I was very tired. The last speaker was maybe the bishop, maybe the stake president? But he was definitely American. He seemed to speak French well, but his "R's" gave him away.
I hung around a little afterward, undecided as to staying for the rest of the services. However, the ward seemed, not hostile, but also not welcoming. So, I left. Wandered toward the Carnavalet, then decided that I'd rather have lunch before entering. Walked over to the Place des Vosges, and ended up seeing the Maison de Victor Hugo. Temporary exhibit on his black and white drawings. Wish I could have understood more, but it was mostly in French. Mostly, I am seduced by his words. It has always been this way for me. First the mind, then the personality, then the body. Unless the body is amazing. But mostly it's the mind. Then again, Hugo kept a mistress for decades. I wonder what her life was like. The guide described her as always being in the shadows. A half-lit life. I wonder if it was worth it for her? I also wonder what Mrs. Hugo thought.
Lunch at Nectarine around the corner. Had the coq au vin. Looks like they did it with red, instead of white. Learn something new everyday. And now, fortified, I think I am ready for l'addition and the Carnavalet!
Got the audio guide, which was very much worth it. I have never been one to study history much, but it is fascinating, and makes me wish I had paid more attention earlier on. Ran into Sydney, who also had her audio guide headphones on, and we laughed with each other in the only way that two foreigners in a strange land can.
I just find the setup in the Carnavalet so charming. From the recreated rooms of famous people, to the paintings that are so quintessentially Parisian. I meant to return to see the Atget exhibit, but I now fear that that won't be likely. The problem with the temporary exhibits, judging from my experience at the Maison de Victor Hugo, is that they are all in the local language. And while I enjoy artwork, I like to know the history and motivation behind the artist.
People I would like to find out more about include Paul Leautaud, Jeanne Louiseau, Fouquet (the artist/architect), Caroline Remy, Henri Rochefort, Jean Jaures, Jules Valles, Louise Michel, Hector Horeau, Rousseau and Voltaire,
Back in the bookshop, I again couldn't get myself to buy any books. It may be too late, but I'm still thinking about the one for the diptych exhibit.
I hung around a little afterward, undecided as to staying for the rest of the services. However, the ward seemed, not hostile, but also not welcoming. So, I left. Wandered toward the Carnavalet, then decided that I'd rather have lunch before entering. Walked over to the Place des Vosges, and ended up seeing the Maison de Victor Hugo. Temporary exhibit on his black and white drawings. Wish I could have understood more, but it was mostly in French. Mostly, I am seduced by his words. It has always been this way for me. First the mind, then the personality, then the body. Unless the body is amazing. But mostly it's the mind. Then again, Hugo kept a mistress for decades. I wonder what her life was like. The guide described her as always being in the shadows. A half-lit life. I wonder if it was worth it for her? I also wonder what Mrs. Hugo thought.
Lunch at Nectarine around the corner. Had the coq au vin. Looks like they did it with red, instead of white. Learn something new everyday. And now, fortified, I think I am ready for l'addition and the Carnavalet!
Got the audio guide, which was very much worth it. I have never been one to study history much, but it is fascinating, and makes me wish I had paid more attention earlier on. Ran into Sydney, who also had her audio guide headphones on, and we laughed with each other in the only way that two foreigners in a strange land can.
I just find the setup in the Carnavalet so charming. From the recreated rooms of famous people, to the paintings that are so quintessentially Parisian. I meant to return to see the Atget exhibit, but I now fear that that won't be likely. The problem with the temporary exhibits, judging from my experience at the Maison de Victor Hugo, is that they are all in the local language. And while I enjoy artwork, I like to know the history and motivation behind the artist.
People I would like to find out more about include Paul Leautaud, Jeanne Louiseau, Fouquet (the artist/architect), Caroline Remy, Henri Rochefort, Jean Jaures, Jules Valles, Louise Michel, Hector Horeau, Rousseau and Voltaire,
Back in the bookshop, I again couldn't get myself to buy any books. It may be too late, but I'm still thinking about the one for the diptych exhibit.
Saturday, June 23, 2012
Day 23
00:40. Train station is empty. And cold. This has quite possibly been the stupidest decision I've ever made in my life, to believe the guy at the Fountainebleau ticket counter. "Bien sur, il y a de taxis après l'opera. Vous pouvez arriver a Paris touts vite!" Duh. Especially since I hadn't any taxis near the chateau in broad daylight. Oh, I'm a smarty, I am. And while I'm not generally a violent person, I kinda want to punch that guy in the face. And myself too (but much less) I find a little cubby between two back to back vending machines, and it has a little step that I can sit on. Cramped, but I don't feel the wind so acutely here. Plus, I feel like it makes me less visible. The problem is that my legs feel very squished. And it's cold. Two African French guys wander onto the platform, also dismayed at having missed the train. I am so not interested in talking to anyone, and am curt. I can hardly ever be charming when I am sitting in a cubby. The guys go away, which is a relief.
01:48. Right now, I am wishing all kinds of things. That I had ordered a Crimson cashmere sweater. (Why didn't I? They only cost 300€ each. Oh, maybe that's why.) That I had changed my pants. That I had bought and worn some jeans. That I had left the opera at 23:00. That I had not been so set on seeing the opera in the first place. I just wanted to. So I did. Ha! I wander in search of a place where I can stretch my legs, that isn't too cold. I go down into the underpass between the two platforms, and it is empty and well-lit. I enjoy the solitude for a few minutes, until the guys find the spot as well. Hmmmmm. Still not in the mood for conversation. I take myself out onto the other side, and sit at the covered and lit bus benches. I write in my paper journal, so that I'm not advertising that I have an expensive tablet. It gets cold. I mean, it gets cold-er. So I start pacing in front of the benches. I get strange stares from party people who are dropping off friends to pick up their cars at the station. Or at least I imagine they are strange stares. I know if the situation were reversed, I would do the same. Or, at least, I'd feel it. I do at least try to be discreet.
02:30. Wandering around, trying to keep warm. Pass by a timetable and see that the first train back to Paris comes at 05:30. That means only three more hours to go. Wander some more. Or was that the schedule for weekdays? A second check reveals that it was, but first Saturday train also comes at 05:30. The thing is, this showing of Aida is the most physically uncomfortable I've ever been while being entertained. This includes standing at that club while watching The Super Furry Animals with Renee et al. Yes, the operatic singing was amazing (even if the choreography/dancing was terrible), but ... really? I might have done it to see Les Miserables, but not for Aida. It wasn't magical enough to make me forget my discomfort.
03:30. Can't see the guys in the underpass, so I return. And make up phrases and logos for parties I plan to throw. S'atelier. Soirée Sandra. Savoir Sandra. A nice visual riff on Parler Parlour. Supper @ Sandra's. Soirée @Sandra's. Scene @ Sandra's (this one is my favorite! To be used for play reading parties).
04:45. The sky is beginning to lighten. The most beautiful morning sky ever, in my eyes. This reminds me of that poor chap who dies in _Howard's End._ At least the part where he talks about walking through fields all night. Not the poetic revelation he hoped for, but he made it through. And really, the situations aren't that similar, and I don't want to die because I have a weak heart, and because an angry old man whips me and tosses a bookcase on me. But I am making it through.
05:00. Youngish girl asks me if I speak English. Not because I look particularly French, but because I am the only woman on the platform. Of course. The first train for Paris comes at 05:30. If you have a credit card with a chip, you can buy a ticket over at that machine. No problem.
05:30. The SNCF train arrives. The most beautiful train I've ever seen, taking me away from my least favorite train station in the world.
06:05. Approaching Gare de Lyon. The sky is already brighter now that it was at 14:00 yesterday in Paris. Can't wait to fall into bed.
Wake up around 11:00, and am restless, even if I am tired. I return to North Hollywood in a week. Get. My act together, take a quick shower, toss a water and some butter in my bag, and I am out the door. Quick stop at Eric Kaysor for a baguette, and at the frommagerie for some mimolette, and then I'm on the metro to Marche de Puces at Vanves. It's relatively late when I arrive, and about a third of the vendors will have left by the time I finish. But I have a lovely time wandering through and looking at all the curiosities. Lots of silverware, plates, and eating utensils. Knick-knacks galore. I see a few cheese knives that look interesting, but they are all too large for the cheese/fruit/meat plates that I want to use them for. I see some interesting old cameras. Some for photos, and some for filming movies. I'm a little tempted, but not enough to buy. An old sewing machine that folds into its own box. An old and damaged typewriter.
Finally, with my bag empty, but my wallet full, I take the metro back to the school. Of course, I missed the Parler Parlour, which started at 11:00. But I arrive before Pranali. Of course. She arrives a little late, and needs to go and print the ticket to Vaux le Vicomte that her mother bought for her online. So bizarre to me that she doesn't have a credit card, but maybe it's for the best. So many US college students aren't able to manage their finances wisely with regard to plastic. College students? Make that US adults in general.
There is not time to go to the grocery store to flesh out my baguette for lunch, but we make it to Gare de Lyon, and on to the train in just enough time. Just. And we're off. I worry since I neglected to validate my pass before boarding the train (what would it have profited to validate, but miss the train?), and pray that the conductor doesn't come by. In fact, the conductor does pass, and stops when the man sitting opposite flags him down. But all the conductor does is make a notation on the man's ticket, seemingly at the man' request. Maybe it's what one does when one forgets to validate? I wonder, but am not curious enough to inquire. The man has a mane do lightly grizzled curly red hair, tied back into a ponytail. He also has a large bouquet of flowers wrapped up carefully for the trip. I wonder who will be the recipient of the
Arrive at Melun, and are pointed toward the cafe across the street, where the Vaux navette picks up passengers. An older couple is there, reading the sign, and blocking anyone else. A guy drives by in a car, and after some negotiation, the couple gets in. The guys offer us a ride to Vaux as well, for 5€. No, merci. Navette comes a few minutes later, and we're the only ones on it for the duration. After a bit, we come to a small, inviting road that runs between two orderly lines of trees. The scene seems very familiar. We arrive at the chateau a few minutes later, and even from the outer gate, it looks beautiful. We enter with our tickets, and take a light lunch of salads (augmented by the baguette and mimolette) in the little self-serve cafeteria. The sun plays hide and seek with the clouds, and we alternately don and doff our sweaters.
After looking over the pamphlet, I decide to go through the gardens, then do the carriage house, and finally the chateau at the end. We can't enter the chateau until 20:00 anyway, since we have the candlelight tickets.
The gardens are beautiful. Due to Le Notre's genius, it seems to extend forever. And yet, while in one section, it is nigh impossible to see the next. So, one is repeatedly surprised at the revelation of new areas, just when one had thought one had arrived at the end. When one finds oneself at the grotto, it is to realize that the only way forward is to go around the ends of the horizontal canal. It's quite an undertaking. Finally, having made one's way around, one can start the climb to Hercules' statue, where one can gaze at the gardens and the chateau in all their combined glory. Took a little time to stretch out on the grass, but the sun was mostly hiding, and the ground was a little damp. Or, as Amy would say, with the utmost disdain, "moist." So, we returned the way we'd come, and set up camp on the chateau-side of the canal. I actually took a nap, as the sun had mostly gotten over its shyness. Ahhhhhhhh. Woke up a little after 19:00, and we headed in to see the equipage.
Fascinating to see names attached to gorgeous carriages. Especially when I recognized the names from carriage types that Jane Austin wrote about. No barouches, but the exhibit recalled a lifetime of reading. And then, on to the chateau.
The audio guide had the delightful charm of a charming additional dimension to a fabulous visit of the chateau. Unlike some of the other guides I've used, this one had lots of interesting information on who used what rooms, why they were important, and foibles and strengths of their lives. The chateau itself it quite beautiful, and full of stories to tell. From the vanity, power, and demise of Fouquet; the beneficence of the Pralins, the restoration under the Sommiers. Additionally, the castle was lit primarily with candles. Even most of the chandeliers were lit with tapers, and not by electric lights. It almost makes me eyes hurt to think of how dimly those in ages past lived in their homes, but I'd say that there were definite compensations for the wealthy.
The visit of the chateau itself took 2 hours, which time seemed to whiz by. We exited around 22:00, and walked around to the back to view the gardens in their candlelit glory. Made we wish for an old-fashioned lithographed map of the gardens, but there were no such things offered at the gift shop. I did end. Up getting some postcards, and a little place card holder in the shape of a squirrel (Fouquet's emblem), to put in my shadow box. It was a wonderful day, and I regretted arriving after the 14:00 admission time for those with candlelight access.
As we exited the gift shop (wanted to make sure that we got seats on the navette ... No more train station nights, please), we heard booms. We started running toward the front of the chateau, and lo and behold, there were fireworks! Glorious! We had seen some set up above the grotto, but had been uncertain because it wasn't the proper week for fireworks. Or maybe they were doing it specially for the Soir des Muses dinner? Whatever, I was particularly delighted to have seen them, even from a distance. Especially since we had missed them the Saturday prior.
Happy ride back to Melun, and then to Paris. Joyeaux Anniveersaire, indeed!
01:48. Right now, I am wishing all kinds of things. That I had ordered a Crimson cashmere sweater. (Why didn't I? They only cost 300€ each. Oh, maybe that's why.) That I had changed my pants. That I had bought and worn some jeans. That I had left the opera at 23:00. That I had not been so set on seeing the opera in the first place. I just wanted to. So I did. Ha! I wander in search of a place where I can stretch my legs, that isn't too cold. I go down into the underpass between the two platforms, and it is empty and well-lit. I enjoy the solitude for a few minutes, until the guys find the spot as well. Hmmmmm. Still not in the mood for conversation. I take myself out onto the other side, and sit at the covered and lit bus benches. I write in my paper journal, so that I'm not advertising that I have an expensive tablet. It gets cold. I mean, it gets cold-er. So I start pacing in front of the benches. I get strange stares from party people who are dropping off friends to pick up their cars at the station. Or at least I imagine they are strange stares. I know if the situation were reversed, I would do the same. Or, at least, I'd feel it. I do at least try to be discreet.
02:30. Wandering around, trying to keep warm. Pass by a timetable and see that the first train back to Paris comes at 05:30. That means only three more hours to go. Wander some more. Or was that the schedule for weekdays? A second check reveals that it was, but first Saturday train also comes at 05:30. The thing is, this showing of Aida is the most physically uncomfortable I've ever been while being entertained. This includes standing at that club while watching The Super Furry Animals with Renee et al. Yes, the operatic singing was amazing (even if the choreography/dancing was terrible), but ... really? I might have done it to see Les Miserables, but not for Aida. It wasn't magical enough to make me forget my discomfort.
03:30. Can't see the guys in the underpass, so I return. And make up phrases and logos for parties I plan to throw. S'atelier. Soirée Sandra. Savoir Sandra. A nice visual riff on Parler Parlour. Supper @ Sandra's. Soirée @Sandra's. Scene @ Sandra's (this one is my favorite! To be used for play reading parties).
04:45. The sky is beginning to lighten. The most beautiful morning sky ever, in my eyes. This reminds me of that poor chap who dies in _Howard's End._ At least the part where he talks about walking through fields all night. Not the poetic revelation he hoped for, but he made it through. And really, the situations aren't that similar, and I don't want to die because I have a weak heart, and because an angry old man whips me and tosses a bookcase on me. But I am making it through.
05:00. Youngish girl asks me if I speak English. Not because I look particularly French, but because I am the only woman on the platform. Of course. The first train for Paris comes at 05:30. If you have a credit card with a chip, you can buy a ticket over at that machine. No problem.
05:30. The SNCF train arrives. The most beautiful train I've ever seen, taking me away from my least favorite train station in the world.
06:05. Approaching Gare de Lyon. The sky is already brighter now that it was at 14:00 yesterday in Paris. Can't wait to fall into bed.
Wake up around 11:00, and am restless, even if I am tired. I return to North Hollywood in a week. Get. My act together, take a quick shower, toss a water and some butter in my bag, and I am out the door. Quick stop at Eric Kaysor for a baguette, and at the frommagerie for some mimolette, and then I'm on the metro to Marche de Puces at Vanves. It's relatively late when I arrive, and about a third of the vendors will have left by the time I finish. But I have a lovely time wandering through and looking at all the curiosities. Lots of silverware, plates, and eating utensils. Knick-knacks galore. I see a few cheese knives that look interesting, but they are all too large for the cheese/fruit/meat plates that I want to use them for. I see some interesting old cameras. Some for photos, and some for filming movies. I'm a little tempted, but not enough to buy. An old sewing machine that folds into its own box. An old and damaged typewriter.
Finally, with my bag empty, but my wallet full, I take the metro back to the school. Of course, I missed the Parler Parlour, which started at 11:00. But I arrive before Pranali. Of course. She arrives a little late, and needs to go and print the ticket to Vaux le Vicomte that her mother bought for her online. So bizarre to me that she doesn't have a credit card, but maybe it's for the best. So many US college students aren't able to manage their finances wisely with regard to plastic. College students? Make that US adults in general.
There is not time to go to the grocery store to flesh out my baguette for lunch, but we make it to Gare de Lyon, and on to the train in just enough time. Just. And we're off. I worry since I neglected to validate my pass before boarding the train (what would it have profited to validate, but miss the train?), and pray that the conductor doesn't come by. In fact, the conductor does pass, and stops when the man sitting opposite flags him down. But all the conductor does is make a notation on the man's ticket, seemingly at the man' request. Maybe it's what one does when one forgets to validate? I wonder, but am not curious enough to inquire. The man has a mane do lightly grizzled curly red hair, tied back into a ponytail. He also has a large bouquet of flowers wrapped up carefully for the trip. I wonder who will be the recipient of the
Arrive at Melun, and are pointed toward the cafe across the street, where the Vaux navette picks up passengers. An older couple is there, reading the sign, and blocking anyone else. A guy drives by in a car, and after some negotiation, the couple gets in. The guys offer us a ride to Vaux as well, for 5€. No, merci. Navette comes a few minutes later, and we're the only ones on it for the duration. After a bit, we come to a small, inviting road that runs between two orderly lines of trees. The scene seems very familiar. We arrive at the chateau a few minutes later, and even from the outer gate, it looks beautiful. We enter with our tickets, and take a light lunch of salads (augmented by the baguette and mimolette) in the little self-serve cafeteria. The sun plays hide and seek with the clouds, and we alternately don and doff our sweaters.
After looking over the pamphlet, I decide to go through the gardens, then do the carriage house, and finally the chateau at the end. We can't enter the chateau until 20:00 anyway, since we have the candlelight tickets.
The gardens are beautiful. Due to Le Notre's genius, it seems to extend forever. And yet, while in one section, it is nigh impossible to see the next. So, one is repeatedly surprised at the revelation of new areas, just when one had thought one had arrived at the end. When one finds oneself at the grotto, it is to realize that the only way forward is to go around the ends of the horizontal canal. It's quite an undertaking. Finally, having made one's way around, one can start the climb to Hercules' statue, where one can gaze at the gardens and the chateau in all their combined glory. Took a little time to stretch out on the grass, but the sun was mostly hiding, and the ground was a little damp. Or, as Amy would say, with the utmost disdain, "moist." So, we returned the way we'd come, and set up camp on the chateau-side of the canal. I actually took a nap, as the sun had mostly gotten over its shyness. Ahhhhhhhh. Woke up a little after 19:00, and we headed in to see the equipage.
Fascinating to see names attached to gorgeous carriages. Especially when I recognized the names from carriage types that Jane Austin wrote about. No barouches, but the exhibit recalled a lifetime of reading. And then, on to the chateau.
The audio guide had the delightful charm of a charming additional dimension to a fabulous visit of the chateau. Unlike some of the other guides I've used, this one had lots of interesting information on who used what rooms, why they were important, and foibles and strengths of their lives. The chateau itself it quite beautiful, and full of stories to tell. From the vanity, power, and demise of Fouquet; the beneficence of the Pralins, the restoration under the Sommiers. Additionally, the castle was lit primarily with candles. Even most of the chandeliers were lit with tapers, and not by electric lights. It almost makes me eyes hurt to think of how dimly those in ages past lived in their homes, but I'd say that there were definite compensations for the wealthy.
The visit of the chateau itself took 2 hours, which time seemed to whiz by. We exited around 22:00, and walked around to the back to view the gardens in their candlelit glory. Made we wish for an old-fashioned lithographed map of the gardens, but there were no such things offered at the gift shop. I did end. Up getting some postcards, and a little place card holder in the shape of a squirrel (Fouquet's emblem), to put in my shadow box. It was a wonderful day, and I regretted arriving after the 14:00 admission time for those with candlelight access.
As we exited the gift shop (wanted to make sure that we got seats on the navette ... No more train station nights, please), we heard booms. We started running toward the front of the chateau, and lo and behold, there were fireworks! Glorious! We had seen some set up above the grotto, but had been uncertain because it wasn't the proper week for fireworks. Or maybe they were doing it specially for the Soir des Muses dinner? Whatever, I was particularly delighted to have seen them, even from a distance. Especially since we had missed them the Saturday prior.
Happy ride back to Melun, and then to Paris. Joyeaux Anniveersaire, indeed!
Friday, June 22, 2012
Day 22
My last day of French class. Quite sad to see it, as the class has helped me improve my French, and gave structure to my days. Apparently I was quite lucky to get in while Christine was teaching. From what A says, Christine teaches at Lutece Langue in between the classes she teaches at the Sorbonne. In fact, after next week, Christine won't be teaching at LL because she will be doing a summer session at the Sorbonne.
Alan still grates, but not as much as on the first day. He seems well educated, and is not mean, but he just exudes a patriarchal type of air that I find off-putting. Maybe it was that he was so domineering and pushy on the first day, when we had team discussions on what we would take and do if we were stranded on a deserted island for three months. Anyway, he didn't come to lunch, and didn't ask me about this blog, so I don't have to change what I've written. I would have, since I hate to hurt people's feelings, but I like feeling like it's not an issue.
I gave Christine the chocolates, and she gave me a French/continental farewell. I love those. Since she had given Gillian her email, i also asked her for her contact info. Christine gave me her email, with an admonition to write her, in French!
To lunch with Pranali, A, and Gillian, at one of those cafes that surround the Pompidou. I think it's so exciting that A and Gillian have taken such dramatic moves to broaden their lives. A for moving from Japan to France to marry her husband and take (at least) a few years to live here, and decide what to do with the rest of their lives. It seems like their options are wide open, as her husband is trying to learn Japanese, and already speaks French, Spanish, and English. And Gillian and here husband for moving here from Manchester, and giving it at least two years. Although I think it would be difficult to uproot one's life from the motherland, I also think that it would be quite the adventure. Gillian asked me if I thought I would be able to move to Paris and work, and I don't think I would be able to. I think that the technical aspects would not be any different, but the communication would be very difficult. Besides all the charting, there is the need for concise communication between hospital staff, as well as the need to educate the patients and their families. I feel like I have gotten worlds better at this, but I have a hard time imagining being able to do it in French.
Just writing this, I am reminded that the idea to learn French predates the trip to Morocco. Actually, the seed of the idea was planted when I watched the movie, "As Good As It Gets." Diane Keaton's character goes into a French bakery in the Hamptons, and speaks with the proprietors in (seemingly) flawless French. Her daughter proudly explains to Jack Nicholson's character that her mother decided to learn French one day, and became fluent after dedicated study. I don't think I will ever become fluent, but maybe I can become proficient enough to travel in French-speaking countries easily, without having to resort to English. Or maybe I will become fluent sometime before I die. C'est possible!
After lunch, wandered through BHV. They had indeed restocked their decorative number tiles, and I arranged two different styles to see how I liked them. I dithered around for a bit. Then decided to splurge and just go for it. Also wandered around some of the other floors. Some of the decorative wall stencils were 40-50% off, but not the tall iron streetlight that I like. I just can't bring myself to pay 45€ for it.
Back to the apartment. I'd planned on changing into my warm slacks, but the sun was so strong that I couldn't. Probably a mistake. Packed a quick lunch that was completed by a baguette from Eric Kaysor. After partaking of baguettes from the supermarket, I am fully convinced of the superiority of Kaysor. It makes me curious about the last Parisian boulanger to win the baguette prize. The monetary reward is only 4000€, but the winner gets loads of press, and will keep Hollande in baguettes for the next year.
Took a very crowded SNCF train out to Fontainebleau-Avon. It was so crowded, that I took the second to last seat in the car I boarded. The last was taken in no time, and we were off. Many of the locals seemed to zone out to their iPods, or just doze with their chins in their chests. I can certainly understand the impetus to get headsets that cover the entire ear. They look cool, and probably give great sound. But I saw a Law and Order episode a while ago, in which a woman was assaulted while taking money out of an ATM, and she never saw the attacker because she was so aurally-isolated by her huge headset. Ever since then, the only place I can wear headsets is where I feel totally physically safe.
Arrived in FA, and found out that the last train to Paris leaves the station at midnight. At least, I hope I read the sign right. Anyway, this means that I might be able to take the train back, instead of taking a taxi all the way back! I kept an eye out for taxis, but I didn't see any on the bus ride to the chateau. Maybe they come out on spectacle nights? Or maybe I will just have to hoof it back quickly after the show? I think it ends at 23:40, which would give me 20 minutes. Or maybe I will have to take a taxi back any way. Or maybe I will just end up sleeping on the doorway of the train station. So many possibilities.
Picnicked on a bench in the forward courtyard. Mimolette cheese from the Maubert frommagerie, my Kaysor baguette (perfection!), sel de mer butter, eggplant spread, and water. A simple repast, but delicious.
Headed into the opera area around 8:30. Although my seat is in the third row from the rear, it's still pretty good. The only problem is the swarming gnats. I was typing away on the iPad, when I became aware of a swarm right in front of my face! Eeekurghblech! They don't stay for long after I start waving, but ... Eeekurghblech!
When I looked back at my photos, I found out that the Aida poster I'd taken a photo of was for the pleine air performance over at Chateau Vincennes. It would have been much more convenient and accessible, but I wonder if the weather would have been so bad that they would have cancelled the performances on those particular days. I'll have to look back and verify the dates, after I see how I return to Paris tonight. Or tomorrow.
Around 21:00. Opera starts. Looks promising. But the seats are very uncomfortable, and I'm already cold.
Around 22:30. Intermission. Supposed to only be 15 minutes. If the end on time, maybe I can make it to the train station to take the last train to Paris? Maybe I should leave my seat and stand on the sidelines so that I can exit quickly. Naaahhhhh.
23:30. They still haven't put Radames in the tomb yet. This is starting to look bad. Wish I had stood at the side. Standing for a little bit wouldn't have been that bad.
23:50. Finally able to extricate myself from my row of seats. As quickly as possible, I try to make my way over the cobblestones in the courtyard. Only one taxi, and it looks like its reserved and being held. Oh no. Maybe there will be more taxis at the train station? I book it.
00:00 Happy birthday to me.
Alan still grates, but not as much as on the first day. He seems well educated, and is not mean, but he just exudes a patriarchal type of air that I find off-putting. Maybe it was that he was so domineering and pushy on the first day, when we had team discussions on what we would take and do if we were stranded on a deserted island for three months. Anyway, he didn't come to lunch, and didn't ask me about this blog, so I don't have to change what I've written. I would have, since I hate to hurt people's feelings, but I like feeling like it's not an issue.
I gave Christine the chocolates, and she gave me a French/continental farewell. I love those. Since she had given Gillian her email, i also asked her for her contact info. Christine gave me her email, with an admonition to write her, in French!
To lunch with Pranali, A, and Gillian, at one of those cafes that surround the Pompidou. I think it's so exciting that A and Gillian have taken such dramatic moves to broaden their lives. A for moving from Japan to France to marry her husband and take (at least) a few years to live here, and decide what to do with the rest of their lives. It seems like their options are wide open, as her husband is trying to learn Japanese, and already speaks French, Spanish, and English. And Gillian and here husband for moving here from Manchester, and giving it at least two years. Although I think it would be difficult to uproot one's life from the motherland, I also think that it would be quite the adventure. Gillian asked me if I thought I would be able to move to Paris and work, and I don't think I would be able to. I think that the technical aspects would not be any different, but the communication would be very difficult. Besides all the charting, there is the need for concise communication between hospital staff, as well as the need to educate the patients and their families. I feel like I have gotten worlds better at this, but I have a hard time imagining being able to do it in French.
Just writing this, I am reminded that the idea to learn French predates the trip to Morocco. Actually, the seed of the idea was planted when I watched the movie, "As Good As It Gets." Diane Keaton's character goes into a French bakery in the Hamptons, and speaks with the proprietors in (seemingly) flawless French. Her daughter proudly explains to Jack Nicholson's character that her mother decided to learn French one day, and became fluent after dedicated study. I don't think I will ever become fluent, but maybe I can become proficient enough to travel in French-speaking countries easily, without having to resort to English. Or maybe I will become fluent sometime before I die. C'est possible!
After lunch, wandered through BHV. They had indeed restocked their decorative number tiles, and I arranged two different styles to see how I liked them. I dithered around for a bit. Then decided to splurge and just go for it. Also wandered around some of the other floors. Some of the decorative wall stencils were 40-50% off, but not the tall iron streetlight that I like. I just can't bring myself to pay 45€ for it.
Back to the apartment. I'd planned on changing into my warm slacks, but the sun was so strong that I couldn't. Probably a mistake. Packed a quick lunch that was completed by a baguette from Eric Kaysor. After partaking of baguettes from the supermarket, I am fully convinced of the superiority of Kaysor. It makes me curious about the last Parisian boulanger to win the baguette prize. The monetary reward is only 4000€, but the winner gets loads of press, and will keep Hollande in baguettes for the next year.
Took a very crowded SNCF train out to Fontainebleau-Avon. It was so crowded, that I took the second to last seat in the car I boarded. The last was taken in no time, and we were off. Many of the locals seemed to zone out to their iPods, or just doze with their chins in their chests. I can certainly understand the impetus to get headsets that cover the entire ear. They look cool, and probably give great sound. But I saw a Law and Order episode a while ago, in which a woman was assaulted while taking money out of an ATM, and she never saw the attacker because she was so aurally-isolated by her huge headset. Ever since then, the only place I can wear headsets is where I feel totally physically safe.
Arrived in FA, and found out that the last train to Paris leaves the station at midnight. At least, I hope I read the sign right. Anyway, this means that I might be able to take the train back, instead of taking a taxi all the way back! I kept an eye out for taxis, but I didn't see any on the bus ride to the chateau. Maybe they come out on spectacle nights? Or maybe I will just have to hoof it back quickly after the show? I think it ends at 23:40, which would give me 20 minutes. Or maybe I will have to take a taxi back any way. Or maybe I will just end up sleeping on the doorway of the train station. So many possibilities.
Picnicked on a bench in the forward courtyard. Mimolette cheese from the Maubert frommagerie, my Kaysor baguette (perfection!), sel de mer butter, eggplant spread, and water. A simple repast, but delicious.
Headed into the opera area around 8:30. Although my seat is in the third row from the rear, it's still pretty good. The only problem is the swarming gnats. I was typing away on the iPad, when I became aware of a swarm right in front of my face! Eeekurghblech! They don't stay for long after I start waving, but ... Eeekurghblech!
When I looked back at my photos, I found out that the Aida poster I'd taken a photo of was for the pleine air performance over at Chateau Vincennes. It would have been much more convenient and accessible, but I wonder if the weather would have been so bad that they would have cancelled the performances on those particular days. I'll have to look back and verify the dates, after I see how I return to Paris tonight. Or tomorrow.
Around 21:00. Opera starts. Looks promising. But the seats are very uncomfortable, and I'm already cold.
Around 22:30. Intermission. Supposed to only be 15 minutes. If the end on time, maybe I can make it to the train station to take the last train to Paris? Maybe I should leave my seat and stand on the sidelines so that I can exit quickly. Naaahhhhh.
23:30. They still haven't put Radames in the tomb yet. This is starting to look bad. Wish I had stood at the side. Standing for a little bit wouldn't have been that bad.
23:50. Finally able to extricate myself from my row of seats. As quickly as possible, I try to make my way over the cobblestones in the courtyard. Only one taxi, and it looks like its reserved and being held. Oh no. Maybe there will be more taxis at the train station? I book it.
00:00 Happy birthday to me.
Thursday, June 21, 2012
Day 21
The summer solstice. To celebrate, the city of Paris has La Fete de Musique. Music all over the city, for free, all through the night. I received an email newsletter with links to popular sites, etc, but thought that it would be too crowded. Plus, I heard that even though the metro will run all night long, that it's a bit of a nightmare trying to get anywhere hear Notre Dame.
After class (during which I was able to tell Christine that I tried and loved the creme du marronne; she offered to get me more, but I said that I had found it at the Monoprix), I finally screwed up my courage and went to the Patrick Roger store to buy some chocolates. It seemed indeed a formal affair. Or maybe it was because there was only one other person in there, and it was very quiet. The aroma was intoxicating. The carved hippopotamus was quite impressive. And the chocolates were lovingly encased in turquoise boxes that made on think of Tiffany's with a kick. I thought to buy a box of chocolate covered almonds, then worried that someone in Christine's family would be allergic to nuts. It's horrible that there are so many food allergies, especially the ones that can be deadly. Anyway, I ended up buying the arrangement right next to the almonds. Same size box. But 40€ ... !
Returned home to deposit the chocolates (in the pretty bag, Yoko would be so proud), and couldn't get up the energy to get up and go. Plus, it started to rain. Hard. So, I scrapped my plan to return to the Carnavelet, and took a nap. When I woke up an hour later, the sun was shining. It was too late to visit the museum, but thought I'd check out the necklaces in the shop on Rue de Pont Louis Phillipe. This street leads north from the Ile St. Louis into the Marais, and has a plethora of charming shops. There's that word again. Charming. I seem to be using it a lot these days. But it's quite apt. Anyway, I remember walking along this street four years ago, as I walked to Mimi's apartment for our potluck dinner. I found the shop, and actually bought a necklace. Not the one I'd been eyeing before. Really, it was too busy. But another one that was a little simpler, and more "me." Then, as I continued north, I found a store with some felted wool floral scarves. They reminded me so much of the felted wool shop in Kathmandu that I had to stop and take a look. Charming! Or, charmonte! I bought two!
Continued north, and finally arrived at the Place des Vosges. The wind made the park feel a tad bit chilly, but it the shaded areas were peaceful enough, and benches were available, so that I made myself at home and wrote a bit. Then, I heard a choral group warming up. Not the best I've ever heard, but enough the piqué my interest. Then they started singing, and I made my way to the center of the garden to hear them sing. A college group, from what I understood. The director was a youngish, earnest-looking guy. He only sang enough to give the group their pitches, but his voice seemed clear and true. Quite enjoyed the group , and was sad when the music was over.
Words cannot express my general contentment at being in this garden. The sun is shining (intermittently, as the clouds are pushed this way and that by the wind), and the leaves of the trees, newly washed by the earlier rain, filter the light delightfully. All this contentedness makes me wonder why I don't do this while back home in LA. No wireless in the park? Too involved in trying to get good grades? Too tired from a rough combination of work and school? Just too lazy? The next few months are going to be rough, but the end is in sight. If all goes according to plan, I will finish school in February.
Of course, one could argue that I spent most of my 20's and 30's just enjoying myself, and that if I had applied myself back then, I wouldn't feel so pressured now. Ah well, I'm getting to where I should be.
Returned to the apartment to drop things off. On the way, saw a large crowd listening to a jazzy band at the national archives. Saw an even large group listening to a rock band playing at the Arab Institute. My plan was to drop things off, the head over to the Louvre, and see of any musicians or singers were performing in the courtyard hallways to the east of the pyramids. At least that was my plan. But it was late, and I was tired. So, I stayed in and put my feet up. Ahhhhhh ...
After class (during which I was able to tell Christine that I tried and loved the creme du marronne; she offered to get me more, but I said that I had found it at the Monoprix), I finally screwed up my courage and went to the Patrick Roger store to buy some chocolates. It seemed indeed a formal affair. Or maybe it was because there was only one other person in there, and it was very quiet. The aroma was intoxicating. The carved hippopotamus was quite impressive. And the chocolates were lovingly encased in turquoise boxes that made on think of Tiffany's with a kick. I thought to buy a box of chocolate covered almonds, then worried that someone in Christine's family would be allergic to nuts. It's horrible that there are so many food allergies, especially the ones that can be deadly. Anyway, I ended up buying the arrangement right next to the almonds. Same size box. But 40€ ... !
Returned home to deposit the chocolates (in the pretty bag, Yoko would be so proud), and couldn't get up the energy to get up and go. Plus, it started to rain. Hard. So, I scrapped my plan to return to the Carnavelet, and took a nap. When I woke up an hour later, the sun was shining. It was too late to visit the museum, but thought I'd check out the necklaces in the shop on Rue de Pont Louis Phillipe. This street leads north from the Ile St. Louis into the Marais, and has a plethora of charming shops. There's that word again. Charming. I seem to be using it a lot these days. But it's quite apt. Anyway, I remember walking along this street four years ago, as I walked to Mimi's apartment for our potluck dinner. I found the shop, and actually bought a necklace. Not the one I'd been eyeing before. Really, it was too busy. But another one that was a little simpler, and more "me." Then, as I continued north, I found a store with some felted wool floral scarves. They reminded me so much of the felted wool shop in Kathmandu that I had to stop and take a look. Charming! Or, charmonte! I bought two!
Continued north, and finally arrived at the Place des Vosges. The wind made the park feel a tad bit chilly, but it the shaded areas were peaceful enough, and benches were available, so that I made myself at home and wrote a bit. Then, I heard a choral group warming up. Not the best I've ever heard, but enough the piqué my interest. Then they started singing, and I made my way to the center of the garden to hear them sing. A college group, from what I understood. The director was a youngish, earnest-looking guy. He only sang enough to give the group their pitches, but his voice seemed clear and true. Quite enjoyed the group , and was sad when the music was over.
Words cannot express my general contentment at being in this garden. The sun is shining (intermittently, as the clouds are pushed this way and that by the wind), and the leaves of the trees, newly washed by the earlier rain, filter the light delightfully. All this contentedness makes me wonder why I don't do this while back home in LA. No wireless in the park? Too involved in trying to get good grades? Too tired from a rough combination of work and school? Just too lazy? The next few months are going to be rough, but the end is in sight. If all goes according to plan, I will finish school in February.
Of course, one could argue that I spent most of my 20's and 30's just enjoying myself, and that if I had applied myself back then, I wouldn't feel so pressured now. Ah well, I'm getting to where I should be.
Returned to the apartment to drop things off. On the way, saw a large crowd listening to a jazzy band at the national archives. Saw an even large group listening to a rock band playing at the Arab Institute. My plan was to drop things off, the head over to the Louvre, and see of any musicians or singers were performing in the courtyard hallways to the east of the pyramids. At least that was my plan. But it was late, and I was tired. So, I stayed in and put my feet up. Ahhhhhh ...
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