Two walks, a cathedral, and a chicken
Tara and I both stirred before 8 AM to the sound of rustling curtains and singing birds. The sky was a clear azure blue – not a cloud, not a wisp to seen above. While I dawdled, Tara ran downstairs to find breakfast –two croissants – we eagerly combined with butter purchased the day before. Slowly we readied ourselves and left the apartment just before 10 to find out what was out there.
Our first stop: Rue Cler, a short street with three bistros, two butchers, a wine shop and a greengrocer. While ogling in many directions to discover the source of the direction of fresh aroma after aroma, we found ourselves on the Seine, looking across at the right bank. We strolled down to the Musee de Orsay, where gaggles of tourists waited to pay entry. Passing them, we ventured away from the river. On Boulevard St Germain, we found a little boucher with an unavoidable rotisserie in the window. The chicken looked so well prepared and . . . happy . . . its meat was almost falling off the bone. Tara and I walked in and immediately purchased one, running it home to feast on with the rest of our bottle of viognier. A nap ensued.
After that nap, we ventured to Invalides, which has three small museums and is the resting place of Napoleon’s ashes. Like all medieval arms and armor exhibits, the first room is amazing and delightful – imagining being at court, seeing a joust, all of that – but after several hundred swords, muskets, flintlock pistols, plate armor, shields, and other weapons of local destruction, they all started blending together. No area made that more clear than a corridor between 16th and 17th century weapons that was filled with an armory of armor parts, as well as 65 fully posed knights armor.
We skipped the World War I and II museum and went instead to the top floor of one of the buildings, where they had meticulous scale models of late medieval fortified towns, as well as instructions on how those towns were eventually stormed and sacked by various armies. In that same building, in the basement, we watched a 20-minute hagiographic retelling of Charles du Gaulle’s life. Well, I saw a 20-minute hagiography – Tara fell asleep by the second scene.
Napoleon’s tomb is a strange experience – the space itself has remnants of baroque influence, as well as a pomposity that can only be described as gaudy. From the grand size of the tomb and sarcophagus to the sad (maybe bored?) statues to victory and liberty looking at the coffin, the experience in the tomb feels almost silly rather than solemn.
We made our way to the Latin Quarter, which was swamped with young people looking for food and laughing with their friends. I had an absolutely amazing crepe with Grand Marnier flambee. We walked over to Notre Dame cathedral, all lit up for the nighttime visitors. In the square, we heard French, Spanish, Portuguese, German, and English. Three college-age girls were talking loudly, one compelling another to take more pictures of the cathedral. She replied, “I’ve got enough pictures of Notre Dame; stop being so Notre Lame!”
We spent some time in the square, listening to Spanish guitar, watching a fire juggler, and discussing what it must have been like for a medieval peasant to come to Paris and see this cathedral for the first time. After dawdling there until 11 or so, we slowly walked back to the 7th and our apartment, walking in just a minute before midnight.
Our first stop: Rue Cler, a short street with three bistros, two butchers, a wine shop and a greengrocer. While ogling in many directions to discover the source of the direction of fresh aroma after aroma, we found ourselves on the Seine, looking across at the right bank. We strolled down to the Musee de Orsay, where gaggles of tourists waited to pay entry. Passing them, we ventured away from the river. On Boulevard St Germain, we found a little boucher with an unavoidable rotisserie in the window. The chicken looked so well prepared and . . . happy . . . its meat was almost falling off the bone. Tara and I walked in and immediately purchased one, running it home to feast on with the rest of our bottle of viognier. A nap ensued.
After that nap, we ventured to Invalides, which has three small museums and is the resting place of Napoleon’s ashes. Like all medieval arms and armor exhibits, the first room is amazing and delightful – imagining being at court, seeing a joust, all of that – but after several hundred swords, muskets, flintlock pistols, plate armor, shields, and other weapons of local destruction, they all started blending together. No area made that more clear than a corridor between 16th and 17th century weapons that was filled with an armory of armor parts, as well as 65 fully posed knights armor.
We skipped the World War I and II museum and went instead to the top floor of one of the buildings, where they had meticulous scale models of late medieval fortified towns, as well as instructions on how those towns were eventually stormed and sacked by various armies. In that same building, in the basement, we watched a 20-minute hagiographic retelling of Charles du Gaulle’s life. Well, I saw a 20-minute hagiography – Tara fell asleep by the second scene.
Napoleon’s tomb is a strange experience – the space itself has remnants of baroque influence, as well as a pomposity that can only be described as gaudy. From the grand size of the tomb and sarcophagus to the sad (maybe bored?) statues to victory and liberty looking at the coffin, the experience in the tomb feels almost silly rather than solemn.
We made our way to the Latin Quarter, which was swamped with young people looking for food and laughing with their friends. I had an absolutely amazing crepe with Grand Marnier flambee. We walked over to Notre Dame cathedral, all lit up for the nighttime visitors. In the square, we heard French, Spanish, Portuguese, German, and English. Three college-age girls were talking loudly, one compelling another to take more pictures of the cathedral. She replied, “I’ve got enough pictures of Notre Dame; stop being so Notre Lame!”
We spent some time in the square, listening to Spanish guitar, watching a fire juggler, and discussing what it must have been like for a medieval peasant to come to Paris and see this cathedral for the first time. After dawdling there until 11 or so, we slowly walked back to the 7th and our apartment, walking in just a minute before midnight.
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3:04 PM
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