A storekeeper's dog, in the flea market. He was a friendly little thing. Ran around, and then lifted his leg by a floor sign.
My favourite market was the Marché Jules Vallès. This particular market sold old pieces of furniture, books, what have you. It was like an extended attic full of the flotsam and jetsam of many people’s lives. You could find anything in these markets, from an old keyboard, to clocks, to old porcelain statues missing a hand or a foot, to a kitchen stove and even an old Jaguar (yes, as in the car).
probably three-quarter size. I was reminded of my sister’s old violin, which she used as a child. It was originally in my grandfather’s house and missed its strings, was covered in dirt and (if I’m correct) also missed its neck rest. When we got it cleaned up, it was actually quite a good violin. My sister used it until she grew out of it and got her very own, full-sized violin. But it was her violin teacher who made the call that it was usable, not me.
The L’Orangerie is actually a very manageable museum. Aside from the water lilies, there is a small very select collection of paintings. The original collector was a Paris art dealer, Paul Guillaume, who bought many of the paintings. After his death, his wife continued his collection and then gave them to the state. There are Renoirs, Cezannes and Matisses.
Now the plan was that I would meet my friend at the Picasso Museum in the Marais area later that evening. So I thought I would take a look around the shops and buildings in the Marais area. The word “Marais” means “marsh” and so the buildings in this area were built on reclaimed marshland. Many were built by the rich and wealthy, in particular the beautiful Place de Vosges, famous for its symmetrical layout. Cardinal Richelieu stayed here in 1615. Maison de Victor Hugo (I didn’t go in though) is in one corner. Hugo stayed here for many years and wrote Les Miserables here. Indeed, the Marais is a charming area, with beautiful old houses and buildings. I wandered around these narrow old streets (quite different from other parts of Paris) and made my way to the Musee Picasso.
I thought I would be able to spend some time here. But the Musee Picasso appeared to be undergoing some renovation. There was scaffolding outside (this is why there is no photo) and inside, everything seemed a little less permanent in nature with what appeared to be temporary signs and I could not seem to find the more famous paintings as listed in my guidebook (I forgot to pick up the museum guide, a hazard of getting the museum pass). I did find a rather nice little AV theatrette showing a film of the master at work – he’s painting on glass, the camera is on the other side so you can see what he paints. I also quite liked the exhibition of photos of Picasso by many famous photographers – Man Ray, Cecil Beaton, amongst others. Anyway, somehow I finished it in double-quick time. Then it started to rain… of course that day I did not bring my umbrella… so I was stuck in the shop for some time. The rain died, I ventured out and since it was still rather early (I’d planned for a two hour visit to the museum but lasted only an hour there) I was very fortunate to bump into my friend in the street! We happily went back home to take a rest before dinner.
Dinner that evening was in the little neighbourhood restaurant around the corner from our apartment. We walked there around 7.20pm and found that it would not open till 8pm (that was when we found out that restaurants open about 8pm in France). On previous evenings, we must have reached the restaurants just after 8pm. So we wandered around and returned to the restaurant. We were the first customers in and spent some time deciphering the menu. The next group of customers (all 3 of them) walked in and ordered the beef fondue. So when we tried to order it, we were told that there was no beef left! Amazing. Did she have a huge lunch crowd? So we had to have fish instead (that was the only other item available on the menu). At least, we got to eat escargot. Ok, but not great. Well, we are talking about snails here. The owner’s cute little dog was running around in the restaurant – where are the environmental inspectors in France! Parisians indeed do love their dogs!
survived from the time. And certainly, the narrow, cobblestonee streets appear to be in good order. We walked down to Hotel de Ville and the neighbouring Eglise St-Ouen. Unfortunately the church was closed and we could not get in. But behind the church, we found a quiet park. It was lunch hour (maybe the reason why the church was closed) and many people were lying on the grass, enjoying the sun. This gentleman was definitely having a nap.
only spot open in the tourist office was the service point for Japanese tour groups. We also saw them in the streets, taking photos of the cathedral, and even at the next table to ours, sipping a cup of coffee. They were in the cathedral, too. I suppose it is because Rouen is such a convenient day out from Paris, and makes a nice accompaniment to a visit to Giverny. A "Monet day"!
the only chapel which had survived the bombs on that side of the cathedral and if it had been destroyed, likely the whole nave would have fallen in, and the whole cathedral destroyed. Here it is, with its wood-panelled walls and paintings still intact...
built besides the ruins of an older building (destroyed during WWII?). The church is roughly fan-shaped in area and has a whole wall of large, stained glass panels across the diameter of the hall. A flower bed outside marks the spot where Joan was burnt at the stake. On the other side of the church, is the marketplace. It seems a little incongruous but on the other hand, who knows? It could have stood there for many years before being rebuilt in a more modern manner...After dinner, we went back to the apartment - to finish washing our clothes. Because we had no drier, the apartment was covered with clothes after that.
Would I forget? This little fella was in one of the shops we visited in the market. No, he wasn't supposed to be there. But he was.
When we met Eric at the metro station earlier in the day, he told us that there was supposed to be a strike that day (actually I had heard about this whilst in Singapore, but forgot about it). He was concerned that his students would have difficulties getting to the assigned meeting spot as a result. But it looked as though the transport workers, at any rate, were working.
Later that evening, however, we went to Galeries Lafayette and found that the streets were unnaturally empty and some even barricaded. Then, we saw, a procession approaching. It turned out that the French public sector unions were striking over the increase in the number of years they had to work before qualifying for a full pension. The retirement age before getting their pension is 60 years, but they have to work for 40 years (now being raised to 41 years) before getting the full pension.
The protests were taking place in Central Paris, and this photo was taken just outside Galeries Lafayette. It shows the start of the procession - when we left the building some 1.5 hours later, there were stil a few stragglers passing by.
I'd bought a book - "Sixty Million Frenchmen can't be Wrong", by Jean-Benoit Nadeau and Julie Barlow. This book attempts to deconstruct the French psyche, to help us understand them better. The authors lived in Paris for 2 years and describe in their book how they would check the newspapers for the "forecast" on which roads would be closed due to protests taking place. According to the authors, these forecasts were generally very reliable. To quote a short extract from the book,
"What the French really excel at is protesting. Protests, marches and demonstrations are an essential element of the French social fabric. Rich or poor, bourgeois or working class, the French have no inhibitions when it comes to taking their views to the street, grabbing a sign, chanting slogans, forming human chains around towns, or cracking fireworks in front of bored riot squads. Protest, to the French, is not a mere expression of frustration. It is an important rite of public life"
According to the authors, the French culture and tolerance of protest has its roots in the French Revolution, when the people took to the streets. The French people take these protests in their stride, with probably only tourists bothering to photograph the strikers.
Just to complete the events of the day - after our busy morning at the cooking class, we walked up some 9 flights of stairs (20 stairs each) to the Sacre-Coeur. The place was thronged with tourists. The Sacre-Coeur does not allow any photos to be taken. This in a sense helped preserve the sense of tranquility and holiness in the church.
After our visit to Sacre Coeur, we wandered around Montmarte, did a little shopping and found ourselves in a little church, St Jean l'Evangeliste de Montmarte. It was a simple red brick building but had really beautiful stained glass windows within. It was after our visit to the church that we went to Galeries Lafayette.
Given that we'd had a big lunch that day, we had bread and soup for dinner. Thanks to the lack of serving spoons, we had to drink our soup with teaspoons. If ever you want to make your food go a longer way, that's one way to do it.
Photos here!
Market visit was not to a market per se but rather to a little series of shops on the street near the metro stop (Rue du Poteau). Our first stop was a horse shop. Now Eric prounounces horse “ors” so one of the Canadian ladies thought he was saying “ox”. But the horse heads on the sign gives it away. Eric says that the French are losing the taste for horse meat. There are now fewer horse meat shops in Paris than there used to be, and it is eaten largely by the old. Of course, the French do not eat the whole horse. Just three parts – the rump, tenderloin (and I forget the third). For hygiene reasons horse meat must be sold on its own and not with the other meats, hence these stand alone shops.
Next to the fishmongers (le poissonnerie), where we were going to get our mussels plus two large sea bream. The fishmonger de-scaled, de-boned and filleted the fish on the spot for us. Finally, the vegetable shop where we were shown around all the varieties of beautiful tomatoes, potatoes and so on – and where we also picked up bunches of white asparagus for our appetizer, in addition to loads of veggie and salad items - macha leaves or “lamb lettuce”, oranges, a tomato, potatoes, celeriac (celery root tuber – now I know what that looks like) plus lots of herbs - flat leaf parsley, tarragon, and a bouquet garni of thyme and bay leaves, and some strawberries and raspberries to accompany our dessert. And just before our arrival at our cooking school, we picked up some bread from an artisan boulanger, i.e. the baker bakes from scratch including milling his own cereal. No short cuts on food for the French.
The white asparagus was beautiful…. it was soft and melted in the mouth. I really loved its delicate flavour. It was accompanied by a green salad of mache or lamb lettuce, with chopped tomatoes and orange segments and a dressing of honey, balsamic vinegar, and olive oil. Incidentally, I must say that I know now the amount of waste that must be generated in the French restaurants. A good quarter to one-third of the asparagus is not eaten because it is too fibrous; this is gauged by bending the asparagus and seeing where it breaks. The Canadian lady asked Eric whether he composts; he confessed he did not as he would have to travel to the suburbs to do this and he only had a little motor car...
But the mussels were beautiful – tasted so fresh and cooked just right so that they were soft, succulent and juicy. They were accompanied by a mash of the celeriac and potato, and by little pearled vegetables. Incidentally, pearling the veggies also results in a lot of waste being generated, especially when done by unskilled hands who scoop out the little spheres at quite some distance from each other. I of course tried to maximise the number of pearls I got out of each courgette or turnip or carrot.
It was also so simple to make, that I am really encouraged to do this at home. Essentially the cake doesn’t cook all the way through – so the molten centre is really the original cake mix (egg, sugar, chocolate, butter and flour). Eric also told us the secret of really sweet strawberries – forget about what the outside looks like – what is important is whether the core of the strawberry is pink – that’s the sign of a sweet strawberry. The inner cores of the strawberries we get in Singapore are all white, so that’s the reason why they just are not so sweet.
