Paris Journal 2013 – Barbara Joy Cooley Home: barbarajoycooley.com
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The weather in
Paris has been good for reading and writing, but not so good for
walking. I went out during a pause in the
rain to go to the Marché Saint Germain and the bakery; there was no rain, but
a stiff wind took its place. It is just cold
enough that we had to turn the radiators on in the apartment, but only at the
lowest setting of the thermostat. The
hot water flowing through the pipes and radiators makes a pleasant white
noise. Another
pleasant noise that we hear daily is the actress, when she comes into the
courtyard with her three children. We
hear them all as they make their way into the stairwell and up the
stairs. The children are almost always
happy; their mother is sweet, loving, and patient, even when one of the
children is not happy. She’s not
acting when she’s with them; this is the real thing – pure love. The literary
critic’s TV is silent. Has he turned
over a new leaf? I feel sorry
for the people living in these two buildings because of the state of the
courtyard; it is all torn up. Drainage
pipes must be replaced. Who knows how
long it will be until it is all put together again. For us, this is only temporary. In just ten days, we return to Florida. We experience
true Fall weather in Paris in September.
This is about as much cold as I can take. The days are far shorter now. I would not
want to be in Paris on the shortest day of the year. Paris is so far north that the sun probably
sets at 4:30 in the afternoon on that day – I’m guessing. On the shortest
day of the year, the gnomon in the church of Saint Sulpice has one of its
“events,” when the sunlight goes through a small opening in the south
transept window and at noon, it hits the brass line near the top of the
obelisk. The other main
event for the gnomon is on the longest day of the year, when the noontime sun
comes through that same opening but instead hits the brass line at the other
end, on the floor of the church, much closer to that transept window. That brass line
is called the “meridian,” but it is not to be confused with the Paris
meridian that Louis XIV established.
That’s to the east of the church. So the gnomon
is a way of telling time – at least, noon time. The original motivation for its creation
was so that the priest could be sure the bells were rung at the appropriate
time, at mid-day. So he asked a
clockmaker named Sully to construct the gnomon. Sully only
managed to set the brass meridian line in the church floor, and then he
died. The Paris Observatory had to
finish the job, in 1729. The gnomon only
gives us mean time, however. To compute
true time, one has to apply an equation of time (which is really a
“correction,” not an “equation”), because of variations in the earth’s path
around the sun every year. Mean time
can vary from true time by plus or minus up to 16 minutes. Yet when that
spot of sun crosses the meridian in the church, that is noon in that
particular place. If you want to know
official French time, you’d have to apply the deviation according to the
equation of time, then add a half second, then add 50 minutes and 39 seconds. That gives you Central European Time. And of course
we all know that in the summertime, you must add an hour for daylight savings
time. So how do you
know what the deviation according to the equation of time is on any
particular day? The easiest way is to
consult an almanac. There are
gnomons in a few churches in Italy, in addition to this one in Saint
Sulpice. But since we now have modern,
powerful telescopes, we don’t need gnomons.
Still, the gnomon is an interesting device to see. Here we are,
with the Panthéon and Foucault’s Pendulum southeast of the apartment,
demonstrating the rotation of the earth.
And the gnomon of Saint Sulpice to the north, demonstrating the
earth’s orbiting the sun. And due
south, at the far end of the Luxembourg Gardens and the gardens of the
explorers, is the Paris Observatory. Truth is, that
is only the historic Observatory.
Today, the main operations of the Observatory are in the suburb of
Meudon. That is one of the world’s
largest astronomical centers. Again, it was
Louis XIV who instigated the start of this scientific institution. The construction of the historic
Observatory was completed in 1671, so it is even older than the Royal
Greenwich Observatory that we once visited in England. The road
leading to the Paris Observatory, the avenue de l’Observatoire, engulfs the
two parks just to the south of the Luxembourg Gardens. I call them the explorer’s gardens, but one
is named for Marco Polo, and the other is named generally for “les grands explorateurs.” The weather
precluded our normal pre-dinner walk through these gardens last night. Instead, we left the apartment just in time
to walk to La Bastide Odéon. There’s a lot
to be said for ambiance and comfort in a Parisian restaurant. Some of that comes from the space; we are
not crowded at La Bastide Odéon. The
servers are more professional in appearance, dress, and manner than they are
at some of the other favorite restos we’ve been frequenting lately. La Bastide
Odéon has class. I’d forgotten to
request a table upstairs when I made the reservation. No matter; they recognized our name and
knew our preference. We were directed
to that same table for two upstairs that we know and love, the one with a
view of the Senat building. We shared our
favorite lobster salad, and then Tom ordered the lamb navarin, which came with perfectly cooked white beans. I ordered a fine roasted half chicken, with
small, round sautéed potatoes. I gave
Tom some potatoes in exchange for a couple bites of beans. Yumm. Tom ordered a
mirabelle clafouti for dessert. It was
terrific, and it came with a scoop of fig ice cream. A mirabelle is a type of golden plum. I like mirabelles even more than regular
plums. We walked home
through the cool, dark streets, noting how clean Paris seems after a few days
of rain. Now, here comes the sun. |
Thursday, September 19, 2013
Inside
the Saint Sulpice church. The tall
stone on the right is the obelisk of the gnomon of the church.
The
setting sun and the sharply trimmed rows of trees make for some interesting
striped patterns of light and shadow in the Luxembourg Gardens.
Enjoying
the lawn in the Luxembourg Gardens.
Bicycles
must be walked through the Luxembourg Gardens.
Lobster
salad at La Bastide Odéon,
above, and below, the lamb navarin.
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