Note: In case you missed Paris, scroll down or click the links to the right to read about our meanderings.
First off, the flight to Nice was breathtaking... I’d never seen theAlps from the air. So after flying over the western slope, I realized I need to go snowboarding there sometime soon. It was a good impression to start our southern escape.
First off, the flight to Nice was breathtaking... I’d never seen the
The color change, from the Parisian gray to the Nicoise blue was very welcomed. After checking to our hotel, we walked to the beach...
... looked around ...
and came to the conclusion that we couldn't make any sandcastles...
We threw some rocks into the water then headed towards the old town for lunch, which eventually consisted of pizza and the glaring sun in our eyes. Afterwards, we went to the market, where I bought some lavender for moms and Juli got some oranges and really tasty wine grapes. Days later, Juli threw away the fresh lavender, but that's another story for another day. I spent a few minutes trying to get what I thought would be a neat photo, although all I really did was annoy Juli. It didn't really turn out as I thought.
Bikes were a good idea. We rode down the beach to the eastern edge of the commercial beachfront. Juli spotted the hilltop “chateau” (actually, just a few stones on the summit of steep hill overlooking Nice). We decided to ride to the top, knowing majestic views would greet us. Before embarking on the somewhat arduous jouney, we sat on the seawall and absorbed some calming vistas: two girls talking casually, an older man gazing unpurposefully at the horizon...
two boys perched on the rock below, pondering their next dive…
The jagged clifs of the northern hills alternated with the soothing azure blues of the
The culmination of our ascent brought us more similar sights, merely less obscured by trees and stretching further to the horizon.
We rode down the hill on a different path, one with steps. This made for the occasional bumpy, yet fun, ride. Juli walked her bike down the first few steps, although with a little encouragement, she quickly got the hang out it.
Riding down through the old port area, we reached a dead end and had to walk our bikes up a steep flight of stairs next to a pub where some old nicoises were hanging out. Our next stop was Cap de Nice – a quiet little peninsula hiding a collection of majestic ocean views...
and condos perched on the steep cliffs...
Juli was riding her bike at about the terminal velocity of molasses - some guy jogging even passed her - but not to be outdone, she pointed out some impressive houses, gardens, and views. We intended to ride to Villefrance-sur-Mer, although the sun was beginning to set and our stomachs were voicing their opinion, too.
The sun began to set. We sat quietly in awe.
Sleep came early that night.
Note: If you haven't read Paris: Days 1 and 2, try to scroll down and read that one first. It would be odd to start right here.
Tuesday.
I didn't sleep well on Monday night. Perhaps it was the wine at Val's, the dry air in the room, or the just the lingering effects of jet lag, but I wasn't the happiest camper on Tuesday morning. Thankfully, Juli slept well so she playfully yanked me out of bed and got me going. We walked up to the Seine where I got a baguette, Juli laughed and took pictures as I ate.
Montmartre and breakfast at the diner in Amelie: I had more bread, plus freshly squeezed orange juice, while Juli had coffee and a pastry. The experience was less than anticipated, mainly due to the un-Amelie looking interior, although I guess that was a predictable outcome. Darn movies, always tricking you.
Sacre Coeur, as always, was beautiful.
On the way there, I had some difficulty explaining directions to this old French guy because I couldn't remember the word for 'straight'. Juli got harassed by some middle aged guy at the artists square in Montmartre. On one hand, it was funny seeing her run away, but on the other hand, it was sad to see that the guy looked about 20 years old than he probably was.
I really wanted to go to my favorite sandwich shop in Paris, Linis. Last time I was there I ordered a pastrami on rye and ate it Parc Monceau on a lovely early September afternoon. Regrettably, this was more of a typical chilly fall day, although the blue sky and slightly warming sun made an appearance now and then. We never found Linis, but the walk was nice enough.
The 8th is one of my favorite arrondissements. I encouraged Juli to shop at the most luxurious of stores. During our walk, she finally gave in and stopped in at Anne Fontaine. Much to my unsurprise, the visit went well, the clothes were amazing. Anne Fontaine is a Brazilian designer who's clothes are mainly in white - very elegant, yet stylish and flowing, in fact, quite graceful. Here's one of my favorite pieces.
The sun still had a few things to illuminate in the early afternoon.... like the stately buildings on the edge of the right bank.
But the clouds soon gathered. This is looking eastward down the Seine from Pont des Arts.
The wind kicked up and it grew chilly. We decided to head to the L'Orangerie to see Monet's "Lillies", but it was closed for a special event. I saw some interesting words on a wall that made me think about perspectives... solitary ones, shifting ones, antiquity and modernity.
Since Juli had never been to the Musee d'Orsay, we opted for that beautiful, although sometimes familiar, collection of art. I was particularly inspired by the works by Pierre Bonnard, some of which reminded me of the recent exhibit at the Philips Collection here in Washington, an exhibit which sparked my attraction to Bonnard.
It grew late in the day. The sense of familiarity overcame me, and while we roamed through Paris, I felt I was standing still, seeing things again. I needed something new, images I hadn't yet absorbed, a new stimulation.
A brisk walk through the 6th into the 14th and Montparnasse brought us to the Fondation Henri-Cartier Bresson. I had first discovered Cartier-Bresson during a trip to Chicago in late summer 2005. He is a classic, famous, yet if increasingly forgotten French photographer from the mid-20th century.
"Il n'y rien en ce monde qui n'ait moment decisive." - Henri Cartier-Bresson
The collection was breathtaking. Named "Sketchbooks", the collected works and photographs were from his earlier years in Mexico, Spain, the US, and post-liberation France. The photo series of the street-based identification, trial, verdict, and punishment of a French informant was stimulating. So often the idea of justice can be expressed quickly, hastily, then forgotten, the phases expressed in momentary succession, an immediacy which is the function of an oppressed people now transformed into a liberated mass. Those who resisted now found themselves, their actions, their desires, re-stratified in the structure of the state, its power, its will.
As I gazed at the photos of the young Mexican girl from 1932, time seemed to slow down. Her youth, capturedin an instant. A moment infinitely transposed upon a fleeting time that was.
After the Fondation, we had a memorable dinner at La Rotunde in the 14th. We both chose the menu... I started with goat cheese, basil, and tomato wrapped in a thin, transparent crust, the main course was sea bass with potatoes, simply amazingly prepared. The flavors flowed like a waterfall upon our unsuspecting tastebuds. The wine was soothing. Some time passed.
We thought about the moments:
of suffering
of liberation
of understanding
... And remembered Apollinaire, how the future will bring a more perfect beauty than ever made from symmetry.
The night finally brought us a sound sleep, although I still woke at 5 am. We left early to catch a flight to Nice. In all, Paris was more than anticipated, more than I remembered, and absolutely amazing... in the pensive, honest way that autumn usually present things.
Tuesday.
I didn't sleep well on Monday night. Perhaps it was the wine at Val's, the dry air in the room, or the just the lingering effects of jet lag, but I wasn't the happiest camper on Tuesday morning. Thankfully, Juli slept well so she playfully yanked me out of bed and got me going. We walked up to the Seine where I got a baguette, Juli laughed and took pictures as I ate.
Montmartre and breakfast at the diner in Amelie: I had more bread, plus freshly squeezed orange juice, while Juli had coffee and a pastry. The experience was less than anticipated, mainly due to the un-Amelie looking interior, although I guess that was a predictable outcome. Darn movies, always tricking you.
Sacre Coeur, as always, was beautiful.
On the way there, I had some difficulty explaining directions to this old French guy because I couldn't remember the word for 'straight'. Juli got harassed by some middle aged guy at the artists square in Montmartre. On one hand, it was funny seeing her run away, but on the other hand, it was sad to see that the guy looked about 20 years old than he probably was.
I really wanted to go to my favorite sandwich shop in Paris, Linis. Last time I was there I ordered a pastrami on rye and ate it Parc Monceau on a lovely early September afternoon. Regrettably, this was more of a typical chilly fall day, although the blue sky and slightly warming sun made an appearance now and then. We never found Linis, but the walk was nice enough.
The 8th is one of my favorite arrondissements. I encouraged Juli to shop at the most luxurious of stores. During our walk, she finally gave in and stopped in at Anne Fontaine. Much to my unsurprise, the visit went well, the clothes were amazing. Anne Fontaine is a Brazilian designer who's clothes are mainly in white - very elegant, yet stylish and flowing, in fact, quite graceful. Here's one of my favorite pieces.
The sun still had a few things to illuminate in the early afternoon.... like the stately buildings on the edge of the right bank.
But the clouds soon gathered. This is looking eastward down the Seine from Pont des Arts.
The wind kicked up and it grew chilly. We decided to head to the L'Orangerie to see Monet's "Lillies", but it was closed for a special event. I saw some interesting words on a wall that made me think about perspectives... solitary ones, shifting ones, antiquity and modernity.
Since Juli had never been to the Musee d'Orsay, we opted for that beautiful, although sometimes familiar, collection of art. I was particularly inspired by the works by Pierre Bonnard, some of which reminded me of the recent exhibit at the Philips Collection here in Washington, an exhibit which sparked my attraction to Bonnard.
It grew late in the day. The sense of familiarity overcame me, and while we roamed through Paris, I felt I was standing still, seeing things again. I needed something new, images I hadn't yet absorbed, a new stimulation.
A brisk walk through the 6th into the 14th and Montparnasse brought us to the Fondation Henri-Cartier Bresson. I had first discovered Cartier-Bresson during a trip to Chicago in late summer 2005. He is a classic, famous, yet if increasingly forgotten French photographer from the mid-20th century.
"Il n'y rien en ce monde qui n'ait moment decisive." - Henri Cartier-Bresson
The collection was breathtaking. Named "Sketchbooks", the collected works and photographs were from his earlier years in Mexico, Spain, the US, and post-liberation France. The photo series of the street-based identification, trial, verdict, and punishment of a French informant was stimulating. So often the idea of justice can be expressed quickly, hastily, then forgotten, the phases expressed in momentary succession, an immediacy which is the function of an oppressed people now transformed into a liberated mass. Those who resisted now found themselves, their actions, their desires, re-stratified in the structure of the state, its power, its will.
As I gazed at the photos of the young Mexican girl from 1932, time seemed to slow down. Her youth, capturedin an instant. A moment infinitely transposed upon a fleeting time that was.
After the Fondation, we had a memorable dinner at La Rotunde in the 14th. We both chose the menu... I started with goat cheese, basil, and tomato wrapped in a thin, transparent crust, the main course was sea bass with potatoes, simply amazingly prepared. The flavors flowed like a waterfall upon our unsuspecting tastebuds. The wine was soothing. Some time passed.
We thought about the moments:
of suffering
of liberation
of understanding
... And remembered Apollinaire, how the future will bring a more perfect beauty than ever made from symmetry.
The night finally brought us a sound sleep, although I still woke at 5 am. We left early to catch a flight to Nice. In all, Paris was more than anticipated, more than I remembered, and absolutely amazing... in the pensive, honest way that autumn usually present things.
We arrived in downtown Paris just after 1 pm. Following a bit of confusion in the airport, we made our way down the RER to Metro Luxembourg and walked down rue Soufflot to our hotel. Resting on the south side of Place de Pantheon, the hotel was a contrast of urban style with a French countryside feel. The impressive views stretched to Sacre Coeur .
After checking in and changing, we took a circuitous route down through the less touristy neighborhoods in the Latin quarter. The shadows on this building gave it character.
Embarked on a nice, long walk through the Luxembourg Gardens...
past St Sulpice and St Germain-des-pres, across Pont des Arts, through the grounds of the Louvre…
… down rue de Rivoli, back to Pont Neuf...
... down the quai, past Notre Dame, and finally to the Ile de Saint Louis. A glass of the beaujolais noveau at a local brasserie was well deserved. If anything, it felt good to rest our weary legs.
We napped for much of the early evening, then ate a very late dinner at a bistro near place St Michel. Since the internal clock was all screwed up from the travel, we were in this half asleep yet energetic state, so a discotheque seemed like a good call. We walked all the way from St Michel to the Champs area, but only found a few late night bars. We randomly ran into a couple guys from Toulousse and Biarritz, John and Jerome. Seemingly unable to get rid of these guys, we ran into them again about an hour later, so we just went with fate and drank with them for a few hours, which, by the way, ended up being until 5 am. These guys were pretty funny. Their crazy cell phone videos and random stories made the 9 euro Heinekens a bit more tolerable.
Monday was cloudy and rainy. A visit to the colorful and modern Centre Pompidou seemed like a perfect way to combat the dreariness of a gray Parisian landscape. The architecture of that place is super interesting, very open, modern, and flowing, serving a stark (yes, stress the word stark) contrast to the aging structures surrounding it. Some of the more notable works:
- Yves Klein’s exhibit “Corps, Couleur, Immateriel”. Yves once said, “My canvasses are no more than the ashes of my art.” At times, art can also be the ashes of ones thought, but I’m not sure what that really means.
- George Braque’s “Le gueriden, automne” (1911)
- And Juli’s dream… an installation by Claude Leveque, “Valstar Barbie” (2003). An entire room, shaded vibrant pink, complete with a pulsing music emanating from the flowing cloth walls and lit up floor. An enormous pink stiletto as the centerpiece. It was quite an experience of femininity, although maybe it was a femininity completely derived from masculinity. Who knows.
After the Pompidou, Juli was craving some shopping time. But we weren’t in the best area for it, because even though there were tons of shops, it was more touristy and not very authentic. Regardless, she still found some new brown boots that made her look cute and Parisian. Battling the rain, we then found a little pasta and soup shop. Juli had pesto and mushrooms, while I had the tuscan veggie, both with a single serving bottle of wine. Those single serving bottles are a good idea – they should have them over here. Some cute French girls walked in and spoke with lots of tonation and gestures.
Being home now, that’s one thing I miss. The sound of beautiful French girls conversing with each other.
Thankfully, our next stop would only bring more of that as Juli’s friend Val had invited us to dinner. She has a cute little apartment in the lower 16th, right by the Seine. Drinking Manzana, an apple liquor, while nibbling on some olives, we discussed the latest happenings in the girls’ lives, and our trip thus far. After about a half an hour, several of Val’s friends joined us - Sophie, Eham, and Anne. By the way, Eham is purely an phonetic spelling of her name.
My thoughts on the girls...
Valerie: intelligent, political, confident, strong… long, flowing brown hair.
Sophie: thoughtful, dry humor, sophisticated... with memorable, glowing eyes and smile.
Eham: outgoing, friendly, French/Moroccan, genuine.
Anne: feminine, flirty, funny, very open.
The dinner was magnificent and a definite highlight of the trip. Starting off with olives, bread, apple liquor, and introductory conversation, we moved onto salad and a seafood-filled crusty biscuit. The main course was pork with lemon, mustard, and potatoes. Val topped every imaginable and unimaginable expectation with an incredibly rich and dense chocolate cake.
The conversation varied widely among things. We talked about Juli during study abroad, Anne’s latest man who’s name translated into ‘bamboo’, Sophie’s love of skiing in the Alps, Val’s Swedish ‘friend’, Val’s job and law school, US politics and health care system, the concepts behind why people vote certain ways, the revestral mice study (red wine, obesity, and longevity). I brought up my love for Godard's films, some of the French thinkers I enjoy like Foucault, Deleuze, poets such as Apollinaire...
Anne, Eham, and I had a few cigarettes on the balcony and talked about my love of things French. I brought up Fontainebleu and you should have seen Sophie’s eyes light up… It was a beautiful image, one that's permanently imprinted on my memory. She spent some time there under her child and teenage years.
She had endless memories from there, from her youth... my only memory of Fontainbleu is a late-19th century photograph by Gustave Le Gray.
As we taxied past the Eiffel Tower, which was lit up with thousands of white lights, my thoughts wandered.
Politics is the conversation of the people.
Love is the conversation of hearts.
After checking in and changing, we took a circuitous route down through the less touristy neighborhoods in the Latin quarter. The shadows on this building gave it character.
Embarked on a nice, long walk through the Luxembourg Gardens...
past St Sulpice and St Germain-des-pres, across Pont des Arts, through the grounds of the Louvre…
… down rue de Rivoli, back to Pont Neuf...
... down the quai, past Notre Dame, and finally to the Ile de Saint Louis. A glass of the beaujolais noveau at a local brasserie was well deserved. If anything, it felt good to rest our weary legs.
We napped for much of the early evening, then ate a very late dinner at a bistro near place St Michel. Since the internal clock was all screwed up from the travel, we were in this half asleep yet energetic state, so a discotheque seemed like a good call. We walked all the way from St Michel to the Champs area, but only found a few late night bars. We randomly ran into a couple guys from Toulousse and Biarritz, John and Jerome. Seemingly unable to get rid of these guys, we ran into them again about an hour later, so we just went with fate and drank with them for a few hours, which, by the way, ended up being until 5 am. These guys were pretty funny. Their crazy cell phone videos and random stories made the 9 euro Heinekens a bit more tolerable.
Monday was cloudy and rainy. A visit to the colorful and modern Centre Pompidou seemed like a perfect way to combat the dreariness of a gray Parisian landscape. The architecture of that place is super interesting, very open, modern, and flowing, serving a stark (yes, stress the word stark) contrast to the aging structures surrounding it. Some of the more notable works:
- Yves Klein’s exhibit “Corps, Couleur, Immateriel”. Yves once said, “My canvasses are no more than the ashes of my art.” At times, art can also be the ashes of ones thought, but I’m not sure what that really means.
- George Braque’s “Le gueriden, automne” (1911)
- And Juli’s dream… an installation by Claude Leveque, “Valstar Barbie” (2003). An entire room, shaded vibrant pink, complete with a pulsing music emanating from the flowing cloth walls and lit up floor. An enormous pink stiletto as the centerpiece. It was quite an experience of femininity, although maybe it was a femininity completely derived from masculinity. Who knows.
After the Pompidou, Juli was craving some shopping time. But we weren’t in the best area for it, because even though there were tons of shops, it was more touristy and not very authentic. Regardless, she still found some new brown boots that made her look cute and Parisian. Battling the rain, we then found a little pasta and soup shop. Juli had pesto and mushrooms, while I had the tuscan veggie, both with a single serving bottle of wine. Those single serving bottles are a good idea – they should have them over here. Some cute French girls walked in and spoke with lots of tonation and gestures.
Being home now, that’s one thing I miss. The sound of beautiful French girls conversing with each other.
Thankfully, our next stop would only bring more of that as Juli’s friend Val had invited us to dinner. She has a cute little apartment in the lower 16th, right by the Seine. Drinking Manzana, an apple liquor, while nibbling on some olives, we discussed the latest happenings in the girls’ lives, and our trip thus far. After about a half an hour, several of Val’s friends joined us - Sophie, Eham, and Anne. By the way, Eham is purely an phonetic spelling of her name.
My thoughts on the girls...
Valerie: intelligent, political, confident, strong… long, flowing brown hair.
Sophie: thoughtful, dry humor, sophisticated... with memorable, glowing eyes and smile.
Eham: outgoing, friendly, French/Moroccan, genuine.
Anne: feminine, flirty, funny, very open.
The dinner was magnificent and a definite highlight of the trip. Starting off with olives, bread, apple liquor, and introductory conversation, we moved onto salad and a seafood-filled crusty biscuit. The main course was pork with lemon, mustard, and potatoes. Val topped every imaginable and unimaginable expectation with an incredibly rich and dense chocolate cake.
The conversation varied widely among things. We talked about Juli during study abroad, Anne’s latest man who’s name translated into ‘bamboo’, Sophie’s love of skiing in the Alps, Val’s Swedish ‘friend’, Val’s job and law school, US politics and health care system, the concepts behind why people vote certain ways, the revestral mice study (red wine, obesity, and longevity). I brought up my love for Godard's films, some of the French thinkers I enjoy like Foucault, Deleuze, poets such as Apollinaire...
Anne, Eham, and I had a few cigarettes on the balcony and talked about my love of things French. I brought up Fontainebleu and you should have seen Sophie’s eyes light up… It was a beautiful image, one that's permanently imprinted on my memory. She spent some time there under her child and teenage years.
She had endless memories from there, from her youth... my only memory of Fontainbleu is a late-19th century photograph by Gustave Le Gray.
As we taxied past the Eiffel Tower, which was lit up with thousands of white lights, my thoughts wandered.
Politics is the conversation of the people.
Love is the conversation of hearts.
