jo-shaneparis19

[jo-shaneparis19]

Vincent and le cimetière du Père-Lachaise

20/09/2019: It was our last full day in Paris and an early start this morning saw us catching the Metro from Saint Michel to Réaumur - Sébastopol on the pink No.4 line and from there the olive green No.3 line ending at Gallieni, but getting off at Père Lachaise. We found ourselves resurfacing within the asphalted, tree lined pedestrian refuge on the corner of Boulevard de Ménilmontant, which ran parallel to Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. The large and busy intersection also accommodated Avenue Gambetta, and Avenue de la République, which led to Rue Saint-Maur, the street we were looking for to get to Atelier des Lumières. We chose to head down the hill along Rue du Chemin Vert and arrive from the other direction.

Making sure we didn't get lost.

We first come across the Lumières thing in 2015 when we done the French thing with the kids, randomly stopping for a night in a B&B in Saint-Bonnet-du-Gard on our way to see the nearby Roman aqueduct, Pont du Gard. The next day we were on our way to Antibes via the aqueduct and asked our host for some sight seeing tips. He had heard some good reports on Carrières de Lumières and mentioned that it might be worth a look. We took his advice and didn't regret it. When Jo found Atelier des Lumières had opened in Paris we didn't hesitate to book in. The fact that it was near le cimetière du Père-Lachaise was a bonus, not

arriving that early but early enough to make time for a cuppa at a little café across from the theatre, L'atelier Gusto which, when we went inside was quite busy. It was small though. We grabbed a coffee and a tea bag and froth and sat on the footpath. Not long after we were queuing to enter the Lumières. host for some sight seeing tips. He had heard some good reports on Carrières de Lumières and mentioned that it might be worth a look. We took his advice and didn't regret it. When Jo found Atelier des Lumières had opened in Paris we didn't hesitate to book in. The fact that it was near le cimetière du Père-Lachaise was a bonus, not arriving that early but early enough to make time for a cuppa at a little café across from the theatre, L'atelier Gusto which, when we went inside was quite busy. It was small though. We grabbed a coffee and a tea bag and froth and sat on the footpath. Not long after we were queuing to enter the Lumières.

Culturespaces boss, Bruno Monnier came across the building in 2013 and after creating the Carrières de Lumières art centre in Les Baux-de-Provence had the idea of creating a Digital Art Centre in Paris. Hence Atelier des Lumières.

Similar to our last experience, the exhibition immersed us into the paintings of Vincent van Gogh by projecting images of the artist across the entire surface of the foundry. It retraced the intense life of the artist, although some interpretation was needed, particularly the last ten years of his life.

The exhibition evoked Vincent's highly emotional, chaotic and poetic character, a constant interaction of light and shade, the warm hues succumbing to the sombre.

After we had had enough we walked back up Rue du Chemin Vert where after a short break we sussed out Cimetière du Père-Lachaise. Upon entering the cemetery via Porte des Amandiers, the entrance adjacent to the Metro stop, we bought a map and climbed the stairs to the grave sites. The first thing was to head up Avenue de l'Ouest, to sit down and formulate some sort of plan. There were plenty of graves to look at but none so far of note. Many family sepulchres and individual tombs lined the streets and one could see the money that someone, at some point of time dedicated to the family memorial and afterlife. Many, even the good ones, had a lean due to subsidence over the years but others, tilted due to trees being planted way too close. The trees had been cut down to stop the lean from getting worse but that was it.

The forty three hectare cemetery is the largest in Paris and takes its name from Louis XIV's confessor, Père François de la Chaise. The Jesuits acquired the land during the sixteenth century and built a hospice and cemetery on it during the late sixteen eighties, to where la Chaise regularly retired until his death. It was then called Mont Louis. Things changed after Robert-François Damiens tried to assassinate Louis XV with a pen knife but failed miserably. He went on to be the last man in France to be drawn and quartered, a demise that you would think was not top of the list of most Parisiennes. After the attempt, and the inference that the Jesuits were somehow involved, they were expelled from the property. It was subsequently reacquired by Napoleon and renamed it from le cimetière de l'Est, since renamed and still Père Lachaise.

The map gave us an idea of where to go, but no matter which direction, the narrow, cobbled streets were lined with many trees and headstones or phone box sized constructions containing many remains of families of note within the area. Many of the tombs were of people that we had heard of but were not sure why. We plotted a path to the left, along Avenue Circulaire before heading to the right, up Avenue Cail to Rond-Point des Travailleurs Municipaux where we came across our first two long deceased persons of interest, the French Romantic artist and leader, Eugène Delacroix as well as the nearby French novelist and playwright Honoré de Balzac. Both of these characters dropped off of the perch over a hundred and fifty years ago. Long enough to be called a local?

As we were walking around, Jo was listening to Rick Steves' podcast for some info so she probably was more informed than her ignoramus husband. After a rest at the crematorium, they headed through a couple of back streets until they arrived at the first one they knew, and one of the ones that they had come for, Oscar Wilde. Although, like the others, also a playwright, novelist, poet, editor, critic, he was not French. The Irishman's luck changed after he tried to sue his boyfriend's father and during the case his homosexuality was revealed. He was himself arrested and tried for gross indecency and sentenced to a couple years of hard labour for sodomy. His missus left him and took the kids, his health was poor and his reputation ruined. The rest of his days were spent bludging off of friends and living in cheap Parisienne hotels.

Alas, I am dying beyond my means. Tomb of Oscar Wilde. He too dropped off the perch prematurely, in one of the very hotels he called home

Turning into Avenue Circulaire, we found the graves on our right and memorials on our left (in Jardin du Souvenir). This changed to memorials both sides soon after. Two memorials of note in this area were the Charm El Cheikh et Venezuela, a memorial to the victims of West Caribbean Airways Flight 708 was taking holiday makers home from Panamato the French Caribbean island of Martinique killing all one hundred and sixty on board. The other was Victimes de l'attentat du DC10, a memorial to the victims of UTA Flight 772 which was blown up mid-flight on route from Brazzaville in the Congo to eventually Charles de Gaulle. The one hundred and seventy on board perished when the plane crashed into the Ténéré desert in Niger.

Across from the memorials was the rather unassuming grave of Gertrude Stein with the headstone covered in pebbles.

As a young writer, she travelled around Europe until dropping out of medical school and settling in Paris until her death in Neuilly-sur-Seine in 1946, over forty years later. Paris was the centre of the literary world during the twenties and thirties and Gertrude was part of it, helping to shape the artistic movement that demanded a novel form of expression and a conscious break from the past. Every Saturday night the city's brightest artistic lights, the New Moderns, would flock to her salon at 27 rue de Fleurus where they would eat, drink and share ideas.

She was an advocate for the avant garde, and her soirees would attract the likes of Henri Matisse, Pablo Picasso, F. Scott Fitzgerald and Ernest Hemingway.

The final resting place of Ginny "A rose is a rose is a rose" Stein, matron of the bohemian set known as the Lost Generation. Her lifelong partner, Alice B. Toklas, is also buried here, her epitaph on the back of the headstone. The pebbles represent Jewish prayers

Not much further on was a significant memorial. Just past Avenue Pacthod, past emaciated statues representing holocaust victims and resistance fighters that were marched off to the concentration camps by the Nazis, and a few steps off of Avenue Circulaire was a sign, Aux Morts de la Commune. 21-28 Mai, 1871. It was on stone wall partially covered in vegetation. Mur des Fédérés or the so called Communards' Wall marks the spot where the quixotic Paris Commune came to a violent and chaotic end.

Following the invasion of France by the Prussians in 1870, the country fell quickly. All, that is except Paris who staunchly resisted the German siege of the city for six months over a bitter Parisienne winter. Unfortunately the French politicians were collaborating with the Prussians and the following year the French Army invaded Paris. In the meantime several patriots formed an opposition group and called themselves the Paris Commune. It was both revolutionary and socialist and pitted French citizens against French soldiers. The resultant street fighting ended in a reported ten thousand deaths with the final resisters making their last stand at the wall but were finally overcome and the ring leaders arrested. The last of the Paris Commune were executed and buried at the base of the wall.

On May 28 the last 147 communards were lined up against the wall and shot. Buried in a mass grave where they fell, at the base of the wall.

The map then led us up a few side streets and to the plot of Edith Piaf and Charlie Hebdo cartoonist, Bernard Verlhac, murdered by Muslim brothers Saïd and Chérif Kouachi at the magazine's slaughter of 2015. This then led us, eventually along Chemin Molière et la Fontaine, not stopping at either grave, past old mate Léon Noël and eventually to Statue de Casimir Perier, a type of pedestrian roundabout just above our targeted dead one, Jim Morrison. An interesting grave on the way caught our attention due to the number of train tickets on his grave. It was the grave of Gilbert Morard, technician, senior official with the SNCF and known for his work on the French fast train, the TGV.

That was just about it. Back to the statue in the roundabout and then a shortcut through the graves to Chemin Denon led us to Chopin and then onto Avenue Principale for a quick look at Haussmann and Rossini before exiting just down from where we entered. A brief walk up Boulevard de Ménilmontant to where we started and we settled on a refreshment on the corner, if you could call it that, at Au Rond-Point where a couple of drinks and a small cheese platter gave us the energy to catch the Gilbert's Metro back to the apartment. We decided to finish our time in Paris by eating at the restaurant that served us a great lunch a few days ago but not before a detour on the way to a Scottish pub. We had had a beer at plenty of Irish pubs in the past but never a Scottish one and noticed this one tucked away in a side street earlier. This was our chance so we took it. Off to the Highlander before dinner.

Tomorrow we travel to Denderleeuw.

[jo-shaneparis19]

Another Night at the Opera

19/09/2019: We left just after ten to walk to Musée de l'Armée, Invalides. The national military museum of France located at Les Invalides not far from the Eiffel Tower. Jo put the address into her phone and off we went, down Rue Saint-André des Arts, Rue de Buci and right into Boulevard Saint-Germain. From there it was into some back streets until after over a half hours walk, we ended up leaving Rue de Grenelle and into Place des Invalides.

The Hôtel National des Invalides not only houses the Musée de l'Armée but also hosts many of the French Republic's ceremonies. The Église Saint-Louis des Invalides, the veteran's chapel was built upon the Hôtel's completion and the royal chapel was built shortly after that, the dome being Paris' tallest structure until the Eiffel Tower was erected. Napoleon turned the building into a pantheon of military glories around 1800 and was buried there some years after his death, being exhumed from his grave on Saint Helena under the instruction of King Louis Phillipe.

Construction of the actual complex, initially called Cité des Invalides, commenced in 1670 after the Sun King, Louis XIV, aware that his soldiers were the primary guardians of France's greatness, decided to erect a building for those who had served in Europe's greatest army. Acting as a hospice, barracks, hospital and factory, the Hôtel was opened four years later, accommodating over four thousand boarders including aged and unwell soldiers.

We paid for tickets and entered into the large Cour d'honneur enclosed within. It was a magnificent area that glared under the gaze of the sun, Libéral Bruant's dormers atop of the pale facades reflecting the rays to everyone within the square. There were two notable features of this area, firstly the large collection of over seventy French bronze canons from the seventeenth, eighteenth and nineteenth centuries and the other was the interesting sundials strewn around the place, namely above Côte du Nord and the facades of the two Musée de l'Armée entrances. We then chose the eastern museum entrance to start off.

Canon lined Cour d'honneur with Musée de l'Armée on both sides, Cathédrale Saint-Louis-des-Invalides ahead and Église Du Dôme - Tombeau Napoléon Ier beyond

The first rooms were curiosity rooms and they certainly drew our attention to the pieces on display. The first room was the Vauban Room which had a dozen or more cavaliers from the Consulate to the Second Empire. They were all in the uniform of the day and all on their well and truly stuffed steeds.

The next room contained many scale models of military pieces, among them canons and canon barrels, supporting wagons designed to carry munitions and bellows mounted on wagons to support the forgers and blacksmiths. The other room contained hundreds, if not thousands of miniature toy soldiers. They ranged from thick cardboard figurines made by adults, to tin, lead and finally plastic. The final room contained musical instruments, mainly wind and percussion instruments as you would expect with military bands.

Moving to the Louis XIV to Napoleon rooms gave us an inkling of French military involvement from the Battle of Roctoi, when Louis XIII kicked the bucket and a five year old Sun King took over to the Franco-Prussian War of 1870.

Napoleon I on his Imperial Throne by Jean Auguste Dominique Ingres. Painted in 1806

The area consisted of several rooms including the from the Battle of Rocroi to the Revolution, depicting Louis XIV's policy of conquest leading to the formation of the first permanent French Army, the Revolution to the first Restoration representing the collections regarding Napoleon following the revolution with the weapons and corps that contributed to his conquests in Germany, Prussia, Austria, Spain, Russia, France and so on and from the Hundred Days War to the Franco-Prussian War.

At the end of the courtyard was the Veteran's Chapel and beyond that a rather expensive and unimpressive lunch at the canteen.

Next on the agenda was at the rear of the complex. Napoleon's tomb was held within Dôme des Invalides. Being the church where royal mass took place during the reign of Louis XIV, Napoleon I moved in during the eighteen hundreds. He was buried on Saint Helena Island in 1821 but King Louis-Phillipe moved him under the dome forty years later.

Tomb of Napoleon I

We then returned through to the main courtyard where we entered our last and possibly best exhibit. From Saint Louis to Louis XIV section displayed the weapons and armour of knights, princes and warriors from the thirteenth to the seventeenth centuries. The rooms were full of ornate suits of armour, shields, armour to protect the horses' head and chests in battle, pistols, muskets and so on. All ornate and in excellent condition.

A few suits of armour

That was it for us as time was running out. Back to the apartment to prepare for Madame Butterfly.

It was our second straight night at the opera and we were looking forward to it. Thinking that we would save time we ordered an Uber to get us to Opera Bastille but there was so much traffic that we turned a thirty minute walk into a forty five minute drive but we finally arrived, confused by the many roadwork barricades around before being dropped off safely. The footpath was full of patrons queueing to enter with not long before the start of the performance and we were getting concerned but shortly after another door opened allowing everyone to file into the foyer and to their respective seats.

Opera Bastille

Like the previous night, we had good tickets for this one as well. From the foyer a couple of flights of stairs got us to the balcony section and to a couple of great seats, only a few rows back and one tier up. Once settled in the first ten to fifteen minutes entertainment were taken up by the orchestra warming up. It was quite interesting as our seats allowed us a good view.

Watching the band get organised

First act went to plan, a wedding. American Pinkerton, on temporary assignment in Japan, plans to marry Cio-Cio-San, a young geisha with whom he is infatuated. The marriage broker organises it and the guests arrive but after two public officials declare Cio-Cio-San and Pinkerton married, her uncle storm out after they discover that she has converted to Christianity.

After the extremely long break, an announcement was made that the set was jammed and they couldn't move it. The rest of the show was performed in concert mode rather than opera. They just stood there an sang. Not much else they could do. Some people got up and left, we stayed and duly fell asleep. The night ended up being okay but nothing special. After the conclusion we headed back to the apartment on foot, looking for a café or bar but everything was closed or closing.

Looking at Pont de la Tournelle from Pont de Sully. The shadows of Notre Dame in the background

That was it. Tomorrow the graveyard.

[jo-shaneparis19]

A Night at the Opera

18/09/2019: Tonight we are getting a bit of culture, namely opera at Palais Garnier but first it was Sacré-Cœur at Montmartre.

The usual start today, up the street early for croissants, an easy breakfast followed by heading out to Montmartre via the Metro around 11am. We caught the wrong train though. Some English dude told us to get off and catch the next train back. Second time lucky, Shane said there was a funicular to take us up the steep climb to the basilica. From Sant Michel we travelled on Line 4 to Barbès – Rochechouart. There was a funicular around somewhere but we couldn't find it. We must have gone the wrong way. The way we chose seen us walking along Boulevard de Rochechouart before turning right and ending up walking up the steep climb that was Rue Muller. This turned into a stairs that was called Rue Maurice Utrillo. We veered left, avoiding the stairs and walked up the pathway through the leafy gardens of Square Louise-Michel, below Sacré-Cœur. With a few stops on the park benches Jo's jelly legs eventually made it to the top of the park where three fountains all spilling into a common pond overshadowed a viewing area over Paris. Unfortunately, the fountains were in a state of disrepair and the pond bone dry. The next set of steps took us up to the viewing platform above the fountains and the third set of steps to Rue du Cardinal Dubois, the road crossing directly below Sacré-Cœur, all the way ignoring the usual selfie stick, souvenir peddlers and sellers of kid's wooden letters on wheels.

We stopped here for a while and looked around. It was quite a view but not too many Parisienne landmarks could be easily identified but with some with the help from the panorama map with site seeing arrows on the platform balustrade we spotted some.

We avoided Rue Maurice Utrillo and took the path instead

Toy seller

This basilica was constructed only recently, as recently as the late eighteen hundreds. But apparently, from the "dawn of time" Montmartre or the Mount of the Martyrs has been a place of worship. The Druids kicked it off through to the Roman temples of Mars and Mercury and the Church of Saint Peter, the oldest in Paris, rebuilt in the 12th century next to the Royal Abbey of Montmartre by Louis VI and his wife Adélaïde de Savoie.

Saint Geneviève, who lived in the fifth century introduced Saint Denis to the locals. He went on to be the first Bishop of Paris and also the first martyr. Well done Geneviève. Christians triumphed “not by fighting, but by dying”. Three hundred years later the chapel that was built on the mound following Denis's martyrdom fell apart and another was built. Mont des Martyrs was so named to commemorate all of the unknown Christians that were martyred during the persecutions. After a few more destructions and reconstructions over the centuries, what you see is what you get.

By climbing yet another set of stairs we headed into the basilica. Upon entering the nave we found that sightseers were separated from worshippers by blocking off the centre aisle. This wasn't the case on the outside ones. This service was interesting as sermon was taking place, several nuns provided the music while people prayed. This continued after the service as well. The apse and altar were particularly interesting, with a large blue and gold image of Jesus the centre piece of the domed ceiling with what could only be described as wise men or disciples on either side. With the columns holding the joint up not totally connected with walls, a walk around the back of the altar gave a great and differing perspective of what was going on above.

From the nave to the altar

Disciples or angels or something

Upon leaving the basilica, Shane decided to climb the dome. Jo didn't. She instead attended Mass and lit a candle for Cecilia and another dear friend, Pierre Boudan who passed away two weeks earlier. She then placed a lock to commemorate Cec and their time in Paris only a year earlier.

Two hundred and seventy steps and numerous rests after paying for the privilege, the climb was finished and Shane was at the top. It was not a straight forward climb as several roofs needed to be scaled via there were spiral stairs to the roof tops, stairs over the ridges and them back down again and then more spiral stairs. Quite tiring. Once at the top there were good views all around.

From the very top to the very bottom

You can only look at a view for so long, and as Steve Newman once said, "All views are boring after a while." he wasn't far wrong yet we still pursue them. Ten minutes at the top was enough and five minutes after that we were both together again, down on Parvis du Sacré-Cœur and next to the tourist train. The next thing was a toilet so we descended the stairs to Rue du Cardinal Dubois and found what we thought was a restaurant and bar next to the funicular. It was neither but a shop with minimal stock. A sign out the front spruiking a bar was not yet in effect. We were a couple of weeks early. The main thing was that for the obligatory fifty cents, the toilet was available.

While Jo was in the toilet, Shane looked around outside, paying attention to the funicular and the benefit of catching a ride. It may have saved some energy on the way up but definitely not on the way down. It only went a few flights of stairs and then a walk to the bottom after that. As well as the funicular research he also found a watering hole in the shape of an Irish pub immediately below the top shop. When Jo resurfaced we both headed into the bar for a beer and a free toilet. We found a spot in the sun by a window and took it easy for a while.

Cheers, big ears

From there it was back down to a packed street level where we walked amongst the crowd until we found Barbès – Rochechouart Metro for the trip back. On the way to the basilica the streets were full of hair dressers and beauty people, on the way back the streets were full of fabric sellers. Colours galore.

By not long after seven we were walking to the opera, La Traviata at Palais Garnier. Knowing that the opera house was near the apartment that we stayed in last year, we crossed the Seine on Pont des Arts and headed through the Louvre forecourt. There was a lot of work going on around the place resulting in footpaths being closed and detours through Louvre courtyards that we hadn't been before. We just followed the crowd and ended up in Cour Napoléon et Pyramide du Louvre next to the glass pyramid. Once we crossed Rue de Rivoli we headed up Avenue de l'Opéra and within ten minutes we were there.

After showing our tickets to security we bought a programme for fifteen euro and queued for champagne and water. There was just enough time as we weren't that early so after downing our champers we headed off to our boxes, Shane to the right second row (loge de face 31-35, Place 14), Jo to the left second row (loge de face 32-36, Place 14). For those uncultured it means Front box via doors 32-36, seat 14 which was the end seat in the second row. What we didn't realise when booking, not that they gave us a choice, was that we thought that Place 14 would sit us in the same box. Not the same seat on different sides of the theatre.

The crowd filing into their loge de face

The theatre was splendid with strange stage setup and band warming up. The box was quite cramped though. Jo had a good view but Shane had some big boof head in front and couldn't see. As the box filled a tall dude with a Jimmy Hendrix afro sat down a couple of seats away and one row back. He pitied the person behind him as he wouldn't have seen a thing.

The set was on a large circular base that would spin around as required. It was quite high, maybe five to six metres with an external corner on one side and a large circular convex shape on the inside. It was like putting a square prism on a circular rotating base, removing a circular prism from its centre and cutting it in half diagonally. Quite clever as no time was lost changing sets as the opera was designed around building a set on the reverse side of the set being used. The two external faces of the set were for small props and largely a video backdrop whereas the internal semi-circular face was for when more substantial props were required.

The rectangular part of the stage, the other side convexed

Verdi's La Traviata debuted in 1853 and was highly controversial for its day. Unlike her literary peers, heroine and courtesan Violetta was smart, sensitive and from good breeding stock but was plagued by bourgeois hypocrisy and ill health. The opera explores her undying love for Alfredo, the son of a well-to-do provincial family and the threat to the couple’s shallow morality. La Traviata is the most frequently performed opera today and directed by Aussie, Simon Stone.

The main star, Zuzana Marková in the Act 1 party scene

Following the three or four acts that were performed, Violet finally drops off of the perch and fades away into the smoky haze that must have represented heaven. Excellent night.

On conclusion we walked back the way we came, through the Louvre and over Pont des Arts for a quiet one before bed.

The long trek back home. The Palais over our shoulder

Tomorrow, Madame Butterfly and Opera Bastille.

[jo-shaneparis19]

Renewing the Vows

17/09/2019: Shane was up at six thirty and it was still well and truly dark. An hour later he headed up Rue Saint-André des Arts to Pauls on the corner of Rue de Buci and Rue de Seine for a half dozen croissants. Our 36th anniversary breakfast was the croissants with tea and coffee. We started to get ready at nine.

Paris is a dog popular city, its inhabitants walking their canines for all to see and all on a leash of course. The issue is that the attitude amongst the dog owners is that their pets can shit and piss anywhere so a continual game of dodge the doggy doo is going on. Bikes everywhere run through the dog poop and suddenly its four foot long instead of a couple of inch wide pile. Add this to the fact that blokes piss anywhere they want after dark and in the early morning air, the stench of the urine adds a level of difficulty to the senses when daybreak is imminent. One can smell but can't yet see.

Dog Shit Street

The walk to Luxembourg Gardens took us back past Pauls and up Rue de Seine toward the Sénat, except for the name change to Rue de Tournon, we were essentially in the same street. All we needed to do was to pick up the posy as agreed. Entering the shop led us to what the young bloke had described yesterday. We encountered a vast array of flowers and plants everywhere, some traditional but many a bit abstract, weedy looking to fill the gap amongst the good stuff. There were different people working and when we asked about the flowers, French bewilderment. No one spoke much English at all and after several minutes of hand gestures we realised that we would get nowhere. We were starting to think that we would need to somehow order an emergency bunch but in the nick of time the young bloke turned up after a delivery and sorted it all out. The posy was out the back and ready to go. It cost five more than quoted, maybe because Jo asked for a ribbon to be tied around the stem as they were a posy for the vows, not to go into a vase. We were happy to pay what they requested and kept on up to the senate building where we would cross Rue de Vaugirard and enter the park to the left.

Originally built for Marie de' Medici in the similar style to Palazzo Pitti in Florence, her native home. She became regent to her son, Louis XIII, after the death of Henry IV and amassed enough power to build the place. It was extended and adapted to legislative buildings following the revolution and today it houses the Sénat

Beyond the Porte Odéon and the gardens layout map just inside, we walked along typically tree lined Parisienne gravel path, Luxembourg Palace on the right, beyond a high security fence with armed police and shady grassed areas and with statues to our left. Being well and truly early, we took our time walking through the trees, happening across a lovely flower lined fountain and pond, la fontaine Médicis where we took a few photos. A couple of Chinese couples were impressed by the posy and offered to take photos of the two of us with the fountain beyond. They had ulterior motives though. One of the husbands wanted to hold the flowers while he and his missus had their picture taken. She was trying to hold them but he wasn’t giving them up. She said something in Mandarin and gave him “the look”. He duly handed them over to her to hold, prompting a big smile. They left quite happy.

Us and la fontaine Médicis

Pressing on, we reached the steps next to the pond which led to Porte Saint Michel where we were to meet our photographer. To burn up the last half an hour before our meeting, we crossed the street and headed into Le Cercle Luxembourg for a cuppa. By eleven thirty we were back across the street and discussing the photo shoot with Aristeidis, our Greek photographer.

Starting with photos around a small garden of colourful flowers and bushes next to Porte Saint Michel we moved on for a series of poses (walking, staring into the wilderness type stuff) and ending up back at la fontaine Médicis. Aristeidis then herded us toward the pond and beyond to the tennis courts where we were to meet Elma, our celebrant. She had chosen a grassy area just near the small Statue of Liberty (La Liberte Eclairant le Monde or Liberty Enlightening the World) where we exchanged our vows. Elma spoke in a strong accent and promoted us to say the I Do's before we then exchanged what we had written. Very emotional. Not long after but not before being chatted by the ranger for one last shot, we were off having said our farewells.

Us and Elma

After we were finished at the gardens we exited back onto Rue de Vaugirard and towards something Jo wanted to see last time we were here but never got the opportunity, Église Saint-Sulpice, the huge cathedral that had that mad albino monk running around try to solve the Da Vinci Code mystery. Then a wander around Place Saint-Sulpice, pigeons everywhere and a good look at the impressive Fontaine Saint-Sulpice, lions snarling, before moving on to look for a feed.

The odd bell towers of Église Saint-Sulpice and the fountain of the same name

A couple of blocks away we hit Rue du Four which in turn led to Boulevard Saint-Germain. The unmistakable smell of musty clothes as we walked past the Kilo Shop told us we were heading in the right direction. We had walked past it earlier. Two more blocks and we entered the narrow laneway called Cour du Commerce Saint-André. Our target was a café before we landed back at our apartment, there were a few in the laneway but one stuck out. Le Procope seemed innocuous as none of the alfresco seats were taken. Jo had heard that it was pretty good so we went inside where it was much busier. Waiting a short time before we were attended to, the waiter led us through the restaurant to a window seat on the street front. The maître d' noticed Jo’s posy and being told about our vows was well impressed, placed the flowers in a vase and put on the window sill.

A lot busier than on the footpath but still plenty of room

Le Procope was founded in 1686 as verified by the sign hanging above the entry from Rue de l'Ancienne Comédie. The street itself was named after Comédie-Française which once occupied a theatre across from the original kiosk. The founder by which the then café was named, Francesco Procopio dei Coltelli sold lemonade and coffee and due to its proximity to Comédie-Française. Its sprucing up with crystal chandeliers, wall mirrors and marble tables, became a popular haunt that drew in the likes of actors, writers, musicians, poets, philosophers, revolutionaries, statesmen, scientists, dramatists, stage artists, playwrights, and literary critics. Around fifteen years after he opened the place, Francesco renamed it Café Mange Mereds. Apparently by the late seventeen hundreds the café was "an ebb and flow of all conditions of men, nobles and cooks, wits and sots, pell mell, all chattering in full chorus to their heart's content". The café was awash with literary and philosophic life during the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries but by 1872 the place was closed. By the nineteen twenties the restaurant was reopened and after a time was renamed Café Procope which sort of cut holes in its claim to be the Paris' oldest café. It was done up in the nineteen eighties to what it is now.

Plaque on the front wall - "Café Procope. Here founded Procopio dei Coltelli in 1686 the oldest coffeehouse of the world and the most famous centre of the literary and philosophic life of the 18th and 19th centuries. It was frequented by La Fontaine, Voltaire and the Encyclopedistes: Benjamin Franklin, Danton, Marat, Robespierre, Napoleon Bonaparte, Balzac, Victor Hugo, Gambetta, Verlaine and Anatole France".

After the maître d' returned with the menu, Shane got chatted for having a water bottle on the table and had to remove it. Something to do with status. He then gave us a set menu that looked pretty good. 28.90 Euro each. Jo buffalo mozzarella, roast chicken supreme with mushy sauce, summer truffles and baby vegetable and crème brulee. Shane, an artichoke salad and trout meunière with faked almonds and charlotte potatoes. Almond with crystalised apricot fire tart for Shane. It was a lot better and all round experience than the expensive meal last night. A couple of drinks and a small carafe of wine. Excellent meal for a reasonable price. Less than ninety euro.

Following our late lunch it was time to rest before we left for our dinner at Les Deux Magots. This place was also steeped in history. Being just a stroll away, we took our time walking to Les Deux Magots for our dinner. The place was expected to be busy which it was, on the outside only. After speaking to the waitress regarding our booking we were offered a la carte with the multitude that were seated on the footpath or in the small marque on the side street, all chatting and fagging away. With congestion not being our scene, we chose to sit inside where we could talk, hear ourselves think and be more comfortable. Where all the old people sit. There was plenty of room and splendid decor everywhere. Staff in black and white with aprons and everything served on a tray. The walls were decorated with the famous who frequented the joint over the years, Hemmingway, Picasso and such.

In the late eighteen eighties, Les Deux Magots became an alcohol serving café, attracting the local literary elite for some serious interaction including Verlaine, Rimbaud and Mallarmé to name a few. By the nineteen thirties the café played an influenced plenty of Parisian cultural life, being frequented by artists and writers including amongst others, Triolet, Aragon, Gide, Giraudoux, Picasso, Léger, Prévert, Hemingway. Plenty of other hung around as well

The Parisian legend (and apparent tourist trap), Les Deux Magots, or "two Chinese figurines" morphed from a fabric and novelty shop that once existed there. It was originally located just around the corner in Rue de Buci but moved to Place St-Germain-des-Prés in 1873. The two statues that adorn the café now stand as witnesses to that era. Two of the originals above

We found the food not too expensive as compared with other places around town and it was presented and tasted pretty good. Having said that we weren't that hungry after lunch only a few hours earlier. After dinner we walked back the way we came. Through the door near the busy outside dining area which was much more popular than where we were sitting. Thank god. We also got a good view along Boulevard Saint-Germain, checking out Église de Saint Germain des Prés under lights. A small park to the side of the church was mostly in darkness due to the trees and from what we could see, closed to the public. The darkness highlighted a well lit enamelled portico on the wall of the next building but as impressive as it was, it seemed to be located in a strange place. Maybe it was just overgrown and quite a sight in its day. The rest of the trip was looking in the shop windows down Rue de Buci and back to the local dining hub, still packed. The only one shut was Paul's Patisserie but they opened at a sparrow's fart.

Helmut paid cover girl Henriette (fake nipples and all due to Tumblr's nudie policy) $75 for the shoot in the early eighties as part of his "Big Nudes" series. Her picture sold at Christies in 2005 for over $300K

What a great and memorable day, renewing our vows and eating at two very famous cafes frequented by many characters that are more famous than us.

Tomorrow, La Traviata and Palais Garnier.

[jo-shaneparis19]

To Paris

16/09/2019: Shane was up early to look at the Concorde that they passed last night in the taxi. It was mounted next to one of the terminal link roads and much closer than anticipated. We thought that we were staying at a Mercure a couple of kilometres further out and the hike to see it would be an effort. Jo initially declined the walk but when she found out it was quite close we both went back. All that was required was to exit the Mercure, turn left on the access road, walk a couple of hundred metres, turn right and follow the link road. The footpath took us a further few hundred metres under a motorway or two and it was immediately on our left.

Over fifty years ago this legendary aircraft made its first test flight and within a few years was crossing the Atlantic, New York to Paris, in three and a half hours, at twice the speed of sound. Not only could it reach speeds of well over two thousand kilometres per hour but fly at sixty thousand feet. Almost thirteen hundred kilometres per hour faster than the Jumbos and eight thousand metres higher. It came at a cost though. With the internal fuselage dimension at just over two and a half metres and four seats to a row, not only was it very cramped but horrendously expensive for the privilege. The exceptional quality and style of food service, travel times and ticket cost meant that the Concorde was only for the rich and famous.

The aircraft hit a major hurdle not long after its introduction when concerns with the plane's noise and sonic boom, payload and the introduction of the 747 led to the cancellation of virtually all orders for Concorde. As a result only twenty Concordes were built, seven each were purchased by Air France and British Airways. The others were prototypes and development models.

The final nail in the coffin came in 2000 when, along with the September 11 attacks on New York, an Air France Concorde crashed just after take off from Charles de Gaulle Airport leading to a slump in demand. Three years later it was all over.

Impressive machine but very dated. Comfort not a priority. F-BVFF took off on December 26th, 1978, continual service until its retirement on June 11th, 2000.

The walk made us hungry so breakfast was on. Staying in the middle of nowhere meant we were captives so the Mercure's breakfast it was. Upon entering the restaurant it was as expected, typical all you can eat. Sydney, Dubbo, Paris. Always the same formulae, always ordinary. We may have got a break though as when we walked in nobody was on the desk but when we left one of the staff took our room number. Three quarters of an hour afterward we checked out and the breakfast wasn't on the bill. Might get lucky.

We gave the pinball a go while waiting to check out

Once we squared up, the concierge ordered a cab for us so we called Francois' phone to notify him of our arrival in half an hour. It turned out that Francois was on holidays and his sidekick answered. We gave him the half hours’ notice and it took an hour. We don't think he was happy when we turned up but he showed us through the apartment, tried to get around Doris the cleaner, who was frantically trying to get the vacuuming done, explaining that the last tenants had left late and they were short of time but the musty smell said to us that the place had been locked up for a while. The first of our card rejections happened here. Old mate got out the wifi credit card machine and it rejected our card. Pompous pricks look at us as if it were our problem but most of the time it's their dodgy machines. Luckily we half expected this and had enough cash to cover the rent. Also luckily he didn't request a bond as the rental agreement mentioned.

We were staying at 12 Rue Séguier, in the Latin Quarter and as soon as we had the apartment to ourselves we headed out to look around. The number one priority for us was to check out Notre Dame after the fire that just about wiped it out a few months back. Our location was excellent, one block from Saint Michel corner and the magnificent statue on the wedged corner of Rue Danton and Boulevarde Saint Michel.

Fontaine Saint Michel

Notre Dame was a mess, although the authorities were all over the salvage of what was left. Luckily the bell towers were saved but the rest was under scaffold. We couldn't cross the Seine as the entire pathway was barricaded as were the bridges that serviced them. We stayed on Quai de Montebello, taking our time absorbing what was in front of us. The front seemed okay but we couldn't tell from our angle. The entire roof over the nave was gone and what was left under some sort of tarpaulin or something, the roof over the transept may have been partially saved. We couldn't tell as there was some serious scaffold all over it, the centre of which took the shape of the roof that was no longer there. The scaffold may have been to provide a safe demolition, minimising further damage to the structure. The spire went so one would imagine that there wouldn't be too much else left. Both gable ends on the transept survived. A saving grace but as much as the North Rose Window was visible but covered, the South Rose Window was covered in scaffold so may have been under preservation. All four turrets that bounded the gables were all intact. The flying buttresses around the altar and ambulatory were supported by purpose made timber truss bracing, the front buttresses were yet to be done.

Notre Dame under serious renovation

Upon reaching Pont de l'Archevêché, we crossed the Seine for a look at the rear of the cathedral and to our right was a quaint, shady, triangular park called Square de l’Île-de-France. The trees lining the gravel pathway provided plenty of shade for all within. Seating provided a rest place and somewhere to eat for people wanting a quiet lunch. From the park's western gate we proceeded down the opposite side of the cathedral, squeezing our way past the parked construction vehicles and what crowd there was looking for a sticky beak. It would be fair to say that the traders in Rue du Cloître-Notre-Dame, the street on the opposite side would be struggling to make a living considering the damage, the construction area zoned off by the barricades and the lack of tourists. Us two sticky beaks had had enough by then and wandered back via the Préfecture de Police and the Palais de Justice de Paris, resting in one of our favourite parks on the way, Place Dauphine.

North Rose Window covered up

Having rested but never tiring of the beauty of Place Dauphine, we left Île de la Cité and headed back toward our apartment, walking up Rue de Buci and looking to get some supplies at Carrefour market. Stocked up the kitchen and out again, this time we looked for a florist and found one on the way to the gardens, La Maison Beaufrere in the seemingly closed down market place that we visited on the food tour a few years earlier. There was a young bloke there who could speak enough English for us to communicate. The place wasn't far off shutting and was rather devoid of flowers. Jo managed to communicate what she wanted for the vows and he seemed to understand. For thirty euro a posy of flowers would be ready to pick up tomorrow morning at ten. The deal was done.

Back to Rue de Buci. The entire street was very busy but a spruiker, the alpha male of L'Atlas that would eventually be our waiter made room for us. We were jammed into a tight space on the footpath, right on the corner. After a few minutes we decided it wasn't for us so moved inside and out of his apparent sphere of vision, seemingly ignored. He did have a very busy area and full of patrons so probably just forgot about us. After a while we asked another waiter if we could be served but he only told Alpha Man that we weren’t happy. Next thing he turns up, gives us a menu and shortly after, asks us for our order.

Things weren't cheap, water ten euro, wine well over fifty. The meals were similarly over priced. We could have walked away but felt hemmed in. Shane ordered calves liver, it came out as a huge piece of rare offal. He ate it but had not eaten it so raw. Jo's meal was similarly unimpressive. It was our first night in Paris proper and we paid the price for taking the easy option, anywhere that's close.

A very busy L'Atlas

A not so squeezy table for two

It was then back to the apartment to settle down, for tomorrow was our vows.

[jo-shaneparis19]

Getting There

13-15/09/2019: The whole process of leaving to travel to Europe this year was to happen with a trip to Sydney on Saturday afternoon for a late evening flight. It actually started the night before as since Luke couldn't see his father on Father's Day, he suggested a barby on the Friday night. All of the family except for Thomas attended. He was working on a damaged bridge at Narrabri. Brett and Justine also managed to make it. Friday afternoon dragged on and still no Luke so before Shane headed in to pick up Brett and Jus, he told Beau, Mitch and Isaac to get the fire going so it was well established before dark. By the time we were all back together, the fire was powering, the sun was down and the beer was flowing. Luke suggested the barby so Luke could cook. Jo sent out snags and made some salads but by the time the hot plate was cleaned, it was too hot. Luke didn't think so and threw all the sausages on with the result being that everyone enjoyed a meal of burnt offerings. The night, as usual was highly entertaining and was all over by midnight.

Beau trying to save the sausages

Saturday morning was a bit scratchy. After a seven o'clock coffee at Good Brothers with Ray, Shane finished packing at just under the weight limit and was ready to go by not long after lunch. After arranging with Luke and Rachael to run us into the Honeysuckle terminus the night prior, they turned up with not too much time to spare so we loaded the luggage in the back, said our goodbyes and headed into the station. We avoided the carriage with old mate yelling to himself and found that the next one had plenty of room to store our luggage. The train was the newer sort so as uncomfortable as it was (as compared to the old silver trains), the cripple section done the trick for storage.

Luggage guru. Trying to stop them from rolling around

The trip to Central and through to the airport was uneventful. We arrived more than three hours early so found our check in counters and waited. A half hour later we were near the front of the queue and getting our boarding passes. After dinner at a Chinese joint we walked a distance to the Malaysia Airlines gate and boarded the aircraft, towards the back near the toilets. Right on time, by just after ten we were in the air and on our way to Kuala Lumpur, cattle class.

Our Business Class tickets for the other flights gave us a fast pass for quick route to and through customs as well as priority tags on our luggage. No waiting at the carrousel.

A cramped and uncomfortable trip over was complimented by the food quality, although some was okay, other offerings less so. A few of the airline's antiquated and censored movies and other entertainment kept us busy for a while. Trying to sleep upright filled in much of the gap. By five the next morning we were in Kuala Lumpur International for a four and a half hour stop over.

Mmmm…. Pizza!! Hot pizza–the food of kings. With no hand towels to clean our greasy fingers

As soon as we were off the aircraft we were looking for the elusive lounge. We were now in Business Class territory, but since Oman Air never had a lounge, the Kuala Lumpur Golden Lounge covered for them. It was huge and due to the early hour, quite empty. Starting with pastries, tea and coffee up near the back, we worked our way down to a small alcove near the windows with cheese and biscuits. But more importantly an area to stretch out and rest a bit. The lounge covered everything, family rooms, showers and rooms with beds where one could stretch out, ideal for a lengthy layover. The three and a half hours only converted to about one and a half by the time we got there and had to leave for the next flight so we stayed put in the chairs and relaxed.

Recovering from almost nine hours of economy

Within what seemed only minutes, we were on our way again to the next leg of our trip, the flight to Muscat. This time we were golden children with purple priority passes. Just carry it in your hand and if anyone seen it they would point you to the quickest and easiest route anywhere. Pretty handy. We queued up at the gate for a while before being called out with the oldies and parents. Straight onto the plane and hardly settled in, the stewardess came around with a tray of juices and nuts and were quickly pouring champagne to sip on while the economy passengers boarded. Once we were taxiing, we were asked what drink we would like after take off. Another champagne and a Bloody Mary please. As we were about to take off, what was left of our drinks and snack bowls were removed before the stewardesses strapped themselves in. As soon as we were in the air and the seat belt light off, around came our drinks along with delicious dates and small shots of coffee from impressive silver pots. This was living.

Down the hatch

Following the dates and champagne and coffee and snacks there was a bit of a hiatus while the staff brought around the menu and wine list. With meals like seared tuna with herb poached prawns and seared snapper with soy beurre blanc, how could one go wrong. We stretched out the chairs for a little television while the tucker was being prepared. It was then down to having a good lie down until arrival in Oman. We could easily get used to this.

Bursting at the seams and about to start snoring

We were flying into a dangerous part of the world with Trump and Iran chest beating over nuclear proliferation, oil and sanctions. With oil tankers being attacked or commandeered and American drones being shot out of the sky, one would hope that it would be safe to fly over the Gulf of Oman which was the case. The next flight travels close to the Strait of Hormuz.

Jo had the window seat so got all of the views. Not that she had any in Kuala Lumpur due to inclement weather and low cloud. Muscat was different though, typical Arabian desert landscape. There didn't seem to be much vegetation until the mountains appeared through the haze in the distance. Hues of gold then covered the countryside, mottled by a rash of white buildings that thickened until they dominated the landscape. After almost seven hours in the air we landed in Muscat just after lunchtime, their time.

Approaching Muscat International Airport. Ali Bin Majid's palace adjacent to Al Khoudh recharge dam, one of Oman's forty three dams designed to hold back floodwaters and recharge the aquifers beneath. They also enable the aquifers to push back salt water intrusion from the Gulf of Oman in dry conditions

Food laid on everywhere, that was the problem with business class. As we left the aircraft and enquired our way toward the Sinbad Lounge, the newness of the terminal was refreshing when compared to others that we have been to. It wasn't very busy though. When we did eventually reach the lounge it was much smaller and much busier than the last one. Still plenty of good food on offer. The schedule didn't permit too much relaxation as we only had two hours between landing and taking off so a quick beer and a wander through to the terminal before heading to the departures gate number eight.

Qaboos bin Said al Said and his airline, The New Wings of Oman. Entrance to the Sinbad Lounge

This flight was different than the first. We were on a newer larger aircraft which it seemed was modified to maximise Business Class seating. Everything so far had gone swimmingly but little did we know when we received our boarding passes in Sydney that we would be in Row 15, the last one. As we neared the aircraft door, everyone in front were being directed to the left, towards the front of the plane. We were directed right to the last row of Business Class. It seemed that the Omanis decided to try to squeeze just one more row in for a few extra bucks. It was us and a few other poor sods that missed out on the champagne and snacks while the plebs boarded as they were all filing past us to get to their seats. We were well pissed off. When we did finally get our champagne, the plane started to taxi down the runway so we only managed a few sips before they took them off us due to take off being imminent. They told us they would replace them once we were in the air. Okay, we thought.

Row 15, just in front of the plebs

Take off was smooth, the plane whistling up to its nominated altitude without effort. Then the kids started whinging, seemingly upset with the whir of the jet engines, driving us nuts for a while. The whines were somewhat quelled by entertainment provided by the couple beside us. Once at altitude they first asked the stewardess if they could move seats, which they couldn't and then for some pyjamas which duly arrived in bags. They mucked around a bit trying to get into the toilet to change but immediately upon the seat belt light going off, an old geyser raced to the toilet with a magazine. He was in there for fifteen minutes and she wasn't too keen to follow him straight in. She did but and the look on her face was one of pending regret. They both managed to get into their jimmy jams before settling in with a champagne each. Which was better than us. The squeaky wheel gets the oil.

After take off we found another issue. As most of Business Class were up the front, so were the cabin crew, serving them. It took ages before we saw anyone but when we did it was to order dinner. Shane ordered seared tuna and lobster main. While old mate was taking the order he asked what drink he wanted, Bloody Mary please. The steward soon left but was buzzed back soon after. "I want it now, not with dinner if you don't mind". He got the message and service was fine for the rest of the trip. The champagne from boarding vanished as well.

On Jo's side what we expected, happened. As we were at the back and they favoured the front, everyone ordered the lobster so when Jo ordered there was none left. She was okay with it but we were certainly the poor cousins. After another excellent meal we were left to stretch out for a couple of hours snooze, only to be disturbed continually by the people in cattle class trying to use the business class toilets. We think that by making a fifteenth row of Business Class in search of profits, they have taken a couple of toilets that were once for everyone but now left the plebs short of dunnies. They also used the aisle to make our area a walking path to stretch their legs. The stewardesses were continually closing the curtains and trying to keep the people out of our area. We will be requesting that we don't have row fifteen on the return trip.

Bar the heavy landing at Charles de Gaulle, the journey was pretty good. With business class we were priority but you wouldn’t have thought so. As soon as the plane pulled up and with the curtains that separated us and the plebs still closed, our priority disembarking was under threat as after Jo stood to get the luggage out of the overhead locker a woman with a toddler burst through the curtain trying to get a head start. Others were ready to follow until the hostess physically pushed them back, gave them all a mouth full ending in a “you will wait until I tell you to come forward”, followed by a closed curtain, an apologetic smile and a gesture to move forward while she stood her ground. We think that she had had enough of trying to keep the masses from her privileged section.

Our bags came out quickly and we were soon in a cab to the Mecure just down the road. Although we were quite relaxed all the way and well rested, we were still tired so once at our hotel it was time to relax before hitting the sack.

Ready for bed. We'll give that pinny a go tomorrow

Tomorrow, Paris and Apartment Séguier.