Well, K&K don't arrive until next week, and I've used my solo time in typical fashion, cramming as much atmosphere as this addled brain can tolerate. What else could be expected? Paris is an enchantress. As soon as I stepped off yesterday's flight to Orly, at 7 a.m. local and God-knows what Pacific time, I knew my pent-up energy would not tolerate a day of restful time-zone adjustment. My program would be to spend the next 12 hours roaming the City, stopping to smell the roses and making it to dinnertime without napping. It's a kind of 12 Step force-feeding protocol for jet-lag withdrawal, accelerated to 1 Step. I'm now in Day 2 of the protocol, and will confirm success as soon as my eyes uncross.
After dropping off luggage at my quaint Montmartre hotel, I headed out, fortified with a new Paris Museum Pass, a "carnet" of ten Metro tickets and the wise counsel of Rick Steves at hand. Frequently reminding myself that napping was not in the protocol, I Metroed to the Place de la Concord, emerging from underground to a beautifully brisk and sunny Parisian morning. Since that guillotine was removed, the Place has a more spacious feel. Up the Champs-Elysees, the Arc de Triomphe beckoned. To my left, the Tuileries Garden. Poking its girdered top over the skyline, the Eiffel Tower. Welcome to Paree.
I filled the day revisiting some of my favorite places: walking along the quays of the Seine where young artists proudly displayed their latest sketches; checking out how many remaining Impressionist paintings at the Orsay are not on tour in San Francisco (the answer: lots); spending a couple of hours visiting Venus de Milo, her friend Mona and other associates at the incredible Louvre; luxuriating in the dazzling stained glass colors of the gothic Sainte-Chapelle; absorbing the impact of Notre-Dame inside and out; and, just walking the curved and cobblestoned streets of Paris. As stunning and diverse as the timeless buildings of this City may be, I paid particular attention to the otherwise ignored top levels of these architectural wonders, each displaying a singular ornate beauty of its own.
Mission accomplished. Last evening, a very restful sleep prepared me for today's morning jaunt to the Jewish Art and History Museum and then the garish Pompidou Center, a remarkably ugly structure of steel chutes, pipes and framework that houses France's great collection of modern art. Not my favorite artistic period, but worth the time. Some of the more adventurous pieces reminded me of an excursion to a modern art museum some years ago in the company of my mother. After several hours of forced culture, she quietly studied a free-standing sculpture of a man's necktie, turned my way, and observed, "I've been a good sport through all of this, but ... what the hell is that?" Regarding the Pompidou, I couldn't agree more.
At the moment I'm on a high-speed train en route to Normandy. Autumn in northern France is calm and colorful. Rolling hills are blanketed green following plentiful rain; trees are of a richer green, burnished with reds and gold. I'm pulling into the town of Bayeux now, where I'll be spending the next few days. More to follow.
Location:Northern France
Sounds enchanting!! Glad you're finally getting some rest!! Can't wait until the next description of your trip. I love and miss you-Arl
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