It seems a
crime to waste this kitchen and a Parisian market so Bill and I head out early
today to stock up at the local market.
It is a bit disappointing as most vendors are closed for Août (although
I am thrilled that I am able to have this conversation tout en Francais with
the poulet rôti man). Still, we stock up lavishly with girolles, fruit,
haricots verts, deux poulets, du fromage, et un peu du magret fumé, ooh la
la. We have about three times as much
food as we really need for dinner for four on a hot night, but the apartment
rental agency left us a bottle of rosé in the fridge and we have to have something
to eat with it.
You can go to
Paris and not visit a lot of things, like the Sacre Coeur or St. Denis, but you
can’t not visit the Louvre. That said, visiting
the Louvre in August is like visiting the Vatican during Easter Week. Our
passes jump the ticket line, but not security (the perfunctory glance given my
purse is not reassuring). And while you
may think you can escape the crowds by visiting the lesser lights of the
collection, like the Medieval rooms or something else unpopular, or art from The Louvre Close-Up[1], you won’t, really. Because at some point on your wanderings to
visit old friends “The Fishmonger” and “The Cheat,” you will be overtaken by
well-we’re-here-how-bad-can-it-be-we-really-should-just-take-a-peek-at (fill in
name of very famous art here). And
you’ll trudge off through about five miles of European art masterpieces on your
quest for Napoleon III’s apartments, or the Nike of Samothrace or the goal of
all the millions of people crammed into this museum, La Jocanda. On your way to her, you pass some Rubens and
Raphaels, and oh, there are a couple more Da Vincis. But these people do not care. They hold up a phone, snap a picture and are
on to the next target.
If you want a
picture of a great work of art that is in a museum, get a book for chrissake. Or, just stare at it for a while and memorize
it. But unless you are a really awesome
photographer, that fast, badly-lit, off-center photo of some old Italian or
Dutch guy or naked lady is just not going to look very good when you get
home. These people are hunters, bagging
art like poor Cecil the lion. I guess
the thrill is in the chase, not the actual art.
But I will say that while there is a fair amount of bumping and shoving
and inadvertent photo-bombing as you close in on the most popular pieces, no
one is grumpy or rude.
We get to
within about 20 yards of the lady, lift Izzy up for a look, then beat a hasty
retreat to the comparatively less-trafficked Greek statuary. On our way,
we do discover a delightful, and rare, modern addition: a Cy Twombley ceiling in a room of Greek
bronzes, and next-door a Georges Braques ceiling, recognizable to visitors to
Apartment 11D in Milwaukee, in the Henry II room.
If you are at
all smart, you will visit the Louvre in, like, November. Or February.
After lunch we
check out the La crypte archéologique du parvis Notre Dame which is basically a
small museum about the Roman and medieval foundations of Paris the entrance to
which is at the far edge of the plaza in front of Notre Dame. You can see some of the outlines of original
Roman structures that were here on the Île de la Cité, and on the Left Bank,
and learn how the Roman stones were repurposed for later construction. It is a little confusing, even with English
translations, but cool and dark and quite empty compared to the swirling vortex
of chaos above.[2]
Some of us
collapse at the apt. while Bill goes in (successful) search of dessert for
dinner.
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