Barbara Cooley's Paris Journal 2008

Paris Journal 2008

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Yesterday we had another day free from work, so we went on a “Cooley marathon walk,” as Jim H. likes to call it.

We started with the standard walk through the Luxemburg Gardens, then when we were halfway through the Gardens of the Observatory, we noticed activity all along the street that bisects these gardens, rue Michelet.

It turned out to be a rummage sale sponsored by the Left Bank Community Association. I had read in Le Parisien that people here are feeling the pinch, that their buying power has been reduced significantly in recent years so much that some are turning to unusual methods, such as selling belongings, to raise money.

That’s what this rummage sale was all about. We walked slowly and looked at all the tables with costume jewelry, paintings, shoes, clothing, and junk. I found it depressing because it was clear to me that almost every one of these people was selling off personal stuff. For example, if a woman sat behind a table, the table would be full of costume jewelry, shoes, and scarves that suited her just perfectly. On a rack near the table would be clothes and coats that obviously fit her and were her style.

Tom, however, was unaffected by any such feeling of sadness. He loves to shop. The one table both of us found to be interesting was not staffed by a desperate member of the middle class. Instead, it was staffed by Denis Herman and his Iranian girlfriend or wife. Denis is a university researcher (graduate student, I believe) in middle eastern studies who spends some time in Iran. He had several small Persian rugs, saddle blankets, and kilims that he’d bought in Iran for the purpose of selling here and helping with his school expenses.

We were particularly interested in two very fine kilims from Sena, which is a city in a Kurdish part of Iran. One of the kilims was old, and the other new. Both were in top condition.

But they were both expensive and, given the deflated dollar, we were finally able to move on without buying.

We walked on in the direction of the Observatory and then veered off onto the avenue Denfert Rochereau, past the enormous St. Vincent de Paul public hospital and the Marie Therese hospice.

At the Place Denfert Rochereau, which must be one of the biggest intersections I’ve seen other than Étoile and a few others, we switched to the avenue René Coty, a surprisingly pleasant avenue that aligns with boulevard Raspail. We’d never been on this avenue before.

The Avenue René Coty has a promenade plantée in the middle of it. The trees along the promenade are all tall, mature plane trees, and the effect is calming.

We saw a formidable set of steps leading up to the rue des Artistes, and we could not resist. We climbed the steps just to take a look at this charming street, which does have the look of a place where artists live, or once lived.

We finally reached the Parc Montsouris, which was one of our two goals for the day. We started walking through the park, and then noticed an adorable little street to our right, outside the park, so we exited the park and went up the rue Deutsch Nansouty to the Square de Montsouris.

This “Square” is really a small cobblestone street that goes up a hill toward the reservoirs on Montsouris. It is lined with charming townhouses, some built as late as the 1930s, I think. There were several other charming streets like this off of the rue Deutsch Nansouty, and we explored them all.

When we reached the top of the hill and the entrance to Parc Montsouris at the boulevard Jourdan, we were very footsore and hungry. It was after 4PM and we had not had any lunch. So we entered the attractive café at the entrance to the Parc, called Le Chalet du Parc.

There were lots of university students smoking away on the terrace outside, and we were cold, so we went inside where it was very warm and peaceful. The special of the day was lapereau a la Provençale, a young rabbit cooked Provençal style, and I could not resist. I ordered it. Tom had a millefeuille de mozzarella, which turned out to be a nice salad with thinly sliced ham and mozzarella rolled together into several neat little rolls. Prices were cheap enough for college students.

For those of you who have never eaten rabbit, I’ll tell you, it is no big deal. It tastes like chicken. Young rabbit is even more like chicken.

The homemade Provençal sauce with tomatoes, shallots, garlic, black olives and tasty herbs was excellent. The dish came with far more sautéed potatoes than I could ever eat, so Tom helped. Here’s a photo:

The lunch special included a dessert, which I was not interested in, but I ordered it for Tom: tarte aux pommes – one of those delicious thin apple tarts with thin slices of apple arranged in perfect symmetry on a disk of pastry, drizzled with a caramelized sugar sauce. Tom said it was excellent.

After this late lunch rest, at about 5:30PM (yes, we linger over meals the way the French do), we decided to look at the Cité Internationale Universitaire, a huge complex of housing for students at the University of Paris. All of the buildings we could see along the boulevard Jourdan were of a certain age, and so had some charm. I’ve read in the newspapers in recent years about buildings somewhere in the Cité that were constructed in the 1960s, and now must undergo very expensive asbestos mitigation.

However, what we saw was stately and appropriate for a great University. We saw students lounging on the grass in the quads between handsome buildings. There was an imposing and grand entrance across from the RER train station.

We entered the Parc Montsouris, finally, at the entrance closest to the train station. By then, it was about 6PM, time for all the families with their kids to start heading for home to clean up and prepare dinner. And there were thousands of them. You’d think this was Central Park in NYC. There were so MANY people using this park on this lovely Sunday.

We walked with the masses along the main paved walkways through the park. We saw the lake, with its ducks. We saw many thousands of kids with their moms and/or dads. Such a display of fecundity!

After that experience, Le Parisien will have a hard time getting me to believe that the government of France needs to encourage French families to have more children. I think they are doing just fine.

We walked all the way home.

Speaking of walking through parks and seeing kids, I forgot to mention that a couple days ago, when we were walking through the Luxemburg Gardens – Saturday evening, I believe – we saw some college students gathered around a friend who was playing the viola de gamba. Of the six sizes of gamba, I’d say this was a bass viol. He was playing pieces of classical music for his friends, and he was playing well. We sat on a nearby bench to listen. He was very, very good.

One of his friends went to a nearby older couple and asked for a request, which he attempted to play. I tried to sneak in a photo without them noticing, but just after the shutter clicked, he saw me and smiled and made a grand gesture with his arm, hamming it up for the camera. Unfortunately, my digital camera was not quite ready for another shot. Here’s the blurry one I did get:

Tom, who spent more than 30 years teaching college students, knows something about them. He said, “Imagine – being popular because you are so good at playing the bass viol!” The implication of his statement is that this would be less likely to happen in the US. He should know.

Ah. But here we are in Paris. For two more weeks.

Speaking of practicing music, about a week ago or so when we were walking along the left bank of the Seine at night, after the dinner hour, we heard brass instruments. I looked and looked, and then I saw a group of people across the river, their brass instruments gleaming in the sodium vapor lights, down on the cobblestones on the edge of the water on the right bank, practicing. They were just below the Louvre, and across from the area just west of the Academie Française. This brass band could practice there without disturbing anyone living nearby, because nobody lives at the Louvre or the Academie. And the acoustics were pretty good. They were playing mostly march music and some classical. It was fun to pause and listen to them.

In a densely populated city like this, one must be very considerate of one’s neighbors. The Parisians are pretty good about this. We are, too. Tom brought his practice pad and drumsticks with him, but he really hasn’t used them hardly at all. And I haven’t been singing. The neighbors would not appreciate it, I’m sure.

But we miss the music, friends and family, and we can feel that when the time comes in two weeks, we will be ready to go home to the swamp.

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Monday, September 15, 2008