It is 6:55 a.m., we're sitting in the kitchen, having just finished our last Parisian breakfast of salmon on toast, coffee, blood-orange juice and Nutella bread. We're leaving for the airport in 30 minutes...
P and I have this saying, that it's always best to leave wanting more. Leave on a high note, and you'll always have a good feeling about a place. We're sad to go, our month here has been wonderful.
But we know we'll return someday, because we'll always have Paris...
Wednesday, May 14, 2008
Friday, May 9, 2008
Place des Voges
We have returned from our week in Rome, happy
to be back “home” in Paris. I am sitting on a bench in the tree-lined Place des Voges, where the grass is filled with young Parisians picnicking, and lazing about in the sun. Paris is turning on the charm for us, welcoming us back with a bright sunny day -- and it certainly feels nice to be back in such an elegant and civilized city. After an entire week of being together and being surrounded by others – as gracious as hosts they might be – we have agreed to take the afternoon to ourselves, by ourselves, and get lost on our own, doing whatever we want. And it turns out (for now) we both want to be in the same place, doing our own thing – I am writing, computer in my lap, with the park and the grass and the 17th century rose-colored buildings (where Victor Hugo once lived) encircling the square in my view every time I look up. And P, of course, is doing some sketching of the picnickers.
There’s a group of young schoolchildren – perhaps around 8 or 9 years old – who keep assembling themselves into groups of about ten and trying to take pictures. I hear a tiny voice yelling, “Un, deux, trois!” again and again, with a few commands in between telling her cohorts to be still, or come closer together. There is a little bouncing around, but overall the kids are well behaved, and seem to be used to having their entire class in the park for a picnic.
We were in the park for a few glorious, warm-sunny hours before relocating to a café for an espresso and crème brûlée. Again, I wrote and P drew. Sounds like a pattern forming, doesn’t it? After a few hours at the café, we strolled along through the Marais district. Most of you have seen the drawing and limited edition print P made of Paris – it is from this particular ancient neighborhood: tiny curving streets with cafés, restaurants, high-end boutiques, Jewish delis, gay bars, and some of the best gelato in the world, Amarino. No picture I take could do justice to how P captured it in his drawing. On this particular sultry day, I was lured into and out of the shops, while P balanced himself on a parking balustrade and did yet another drawing. As evening set in, we got take away French-style pizza (which was considerably better than a lot of the street pizza we got in Italy) and ate it sitting at a table, perched in the open-air window seat of a bar. We really had considered just having one glass of wine before going to the market to go home and cook dinner. But after two glasses of wine – and the weather was gorgeous, I tell you – we instead went to Les Halles and wandered around the pedestrian open-air market until we found the perfect sidewalk table, and watched the last bits of golden-orange sun reflected off the 17th century buildings fade over another few glasses of wine and half a baked chicken. We truly are powerless to a beautiful evening!
The day following was equally as delightful, but the heat kept us moving at a slower pace. After exploring the tiny village-feeling neighborhood of Butte-aux-Cailles and eating the Plat du Jour of Beef Bourguignon (delicious melt-in-your mouth traditional French pot roast) at a cooperatively owned restaurant (followed by coffees and homemade chocolate cake!) we slowly walked our way up to a the charming Rue Mouffetard, a pedestrian “market street” lined with butcheries, and cheeses shops and flower stalls, and clothing stores, and (of course) cafés , where we sat in a children’s park (the only shaded benches around to rest on) and marveled at the "Lord of the Flies" division of power wrestled amongst the kids under 6 years old on the playground.
The evening, yet again, was stupendous – perfect temperature, clear blue sky turning indigo as the sun set, and golden-peach light bouncing off the
buildings. As usual, we caught the sunset over the River Seine and couldn’t help but to take a handful of amazing shots of Notre Dame cathedral. I know it’s one of those iconic images that almost seems cheesy to photograph. But the light! And the blue sky, oh my! And to think that it was built in 1250, towering up to over 200 feet. It is impressive, even if a common tourist site. Again the beautiful night sang us its siren song, so we went for pizza, sitting in the plaza surrounding the Fountain des Innocents (built in 1549, on the site of a children’s cemetery, thus the name).
Yesterday was a “work” day for P – fans of his who currently split their time between Paris and San Francisco requested to have their portraits done while we were in town. We met them at a café near their apartment on the tiny little island in the middle of the Seine called Ile St. Louis. After their portraits were complete, they invited us up to their apartment (and what good San Franciscan would refuse an offer to nosily see someone’s home?) for a glass of wine. They have a beautiful modernized 17th century apartment on the 5th floor of a narrow-winding staircased walk-up. We stood on their step-out balcony, sipping our wine and watching the people strolling through the adorable village streets six stories below. After we parted company, we felt a celebration of a successful work day was in order, so we found our way to La Perla, a Mexican (!) restaurant we had passed before, and over the next few hours, accidentally order five Patron Silver margaritas between us. We ordered dinner too, but the French portions (tiny little burritos and two spoonfuls of salsa that came the with handful of chips) was paltry compared to the enormous amount of food shoveled into our
faces in an American Mexican joint! The walk home was necessary, happy and delightful, as we passed through the Marais, standing in line behind about 30 people at 11 o'clock at night, waiting our turn for an Amarino gelato to slurp down on the walk home.
And finally, today (Friday) was another beautiful spring day. It was warm, but overcast, which does not make a good day for photos, but a wonderful day for walking. We spent most of the afternoon in the 7th Arr. having visited a gallery that represents the amazing French artist, J.J. Sempé. We popped into a number of other great shops, including Deyrolle, an amazing entomology/zoology/curiosity showroom, with hundreds of bugs and dozens of stuffed and mounted animals (tigers, deer, goats, birds) for sale. They also have a vast collection of shells and botanical and biology charts and posters – we must have said, “Oh my god, look at THIS!” fifty times or more. I decided that I had to buy this beautiful hand-painted looking shell for my mother-in-law (she collects fishy and shelly and other water-themed items for their lake house). In my best possible French (not knowing the word for shell) I asked the gentleman who worked there, “Excuse me, sir, please, I would like to buy this thing from the sea, there.” He gave me a warm smile, and giggled, and said that at least my French was better than his English. And immediately went to the display of shells and pulled out the tray of the ones I was interested in, so me and P could choose the exact one we wanted. (For you Adam Gopnik “Paris to the Moon” fans, this is the neighborhood where he lived, captured in the pages of his memoir. And this particular store is where he and his son would while away the afternoons).
We strolled along the streets of the 7th, stopping at a café (of course, you see it’s one of our daily pleasures at this point) then making our way to the grand esplanade leading into the Hotel des Invalides, where we stopped to snack on the chicken pastry and apple turnover we had carried with us from the bakery this morning, before continuing on to see yet another “market” street, Rue Cler. A rarity for us, we took the metro back to our neighborhood, stopping to buy a delicious 5 euro rotisserie chicken. We ate it with sautéed carrots, zuccini, green pepper, onions and garlic with a side of pesto noodles. Since then, I’ve been sitting on the terrace, writing, sipping wine… another perfect day in Paris.
to be back “home” in Paris. I am sitting on a bench in the tree-lined Place des Voges, where the grass is filled with young Parisians picnicking, and lazing about in the sun. Paris is turning on the charm for us, welcoming us back with a bright sunny day -- and it certainly feels nice to be back in such an elegant and civilized city. After an entire week of being together and being surrounded by others – as gracious as hosts they might be – we have agreed to take the afternoon to ourselves, by ourselves, and get lost on our own, doing whatever we want. And it turns out (for now) we both want to be in the same place, doing our own thing – I am writing, computer in my lap, with the park and the grass and the 17th century rose-colored buildings (where Victor Hugo once lived) encircling the square in my view every time I look up. And P, of course, is doing some sketching of the picnickers.There’s a group of young schoolchildren – perhaps around 8 or 9 years old – who keep assembling themselves into groups of about ten and trying to take pictures. I hear a tiny voice yelling, “Un, deux, trois!” again and again, with a few commands in between telling her cohorts to be still, or come closer together. There is a little bouncing around, but overall the kids are well behaved, and seem to be used to having their entire class in the park for a picnic.
We were in the park for a few glorious, warm-sunny hours before relocating to a café for an espresso and crème brûlée. Again, I wrote and P drew. Sounds like a pattern forming, doesn’t it? After a few hours at the café, we strolled along through the Marais district. Most of you have seen the drawing and limited edition print P made of Paris – it is from this particular ancient neighborhood: tiny curving streets with cafés, restaurants, high-end boutiques, Jewish delis, gay bars, and some of the best gelato in the world, Amarino. No picture I take could do justice to how P captured it in his drawing. On this particular sultry day, I was lured into and out of the shops, while P balanced himself on a parking balustrade and did yet another drawing. As evening set in, we got take away French-style pizza (which was considerably better than a lot of the street pizza we got in Italy) and ate it sitting at a table, perched in the open-air window seat of a bar. We really had considered just having one glass of wine before going to the market to go home and cook dinner. But after two glasses of wine – and the weather was gorgeous, I tell you – we instead went to Les Halles and wandered around the pedestrian open-air market until we found the perfect sidewalk table, and watched the last bits of golden-orange sun reflected off the 17th century buildings fade over another few glasses of wine and half a baked chicken. We truly are powerless to a beautiful evening!
The day following was equally as delightful, but the heat kept us moving at a slower pace. After exploring the tiny village-feeling neighborhood of Butte-aux-Cailles and eating the Plat du Jour of Beef Bourguignon (delicious melt-in-your mouth traditional French pot roast) at a cooperatively owned restaurant (followed by coffees and homemade chocolate cake!) we slowly walked our way up to a the charming Rue Mouffetard, a pedestrian “market street” lined with butcheries, and cheeses shops and flower stalls, and clothing stores, and (of course) cafés , where we sat in a children’s park (the only shaded benches around to rest on) and marveled at the "Lord of the Flies" division of power wrestled amongst the kids under 6 years old on the playground.The evening, yet again, was stupendous – perfect temperature, clear blue sky turning indigo as the sun set, and golden-peach light bouncing off the
buildings. As usual, we caught the sunset over the River Seine and couldn’t help but to take a handful of amazing shots of Notre Dame cathedral. I know it’s one of those iconic images that almost seems cheesy to photograph. But the light! And the blue sky, oh my! And to think that it was built in 1250, towering up to over 200 feet. It is impressive, even if a common tourist site. Again the beautiful night sang us its siren song, so we went for pizza, sitting in the plaza surrounding the Fountain des Innocents (built in 1549, on the site of a children’s cemetery, thus the name).Yesterday was a “work” day for P – fans of his who currently split their time between Paris and San Francisco requested to have their portraits done while we were in town. We met them at a café near their apartment on the tiny little island in the middle of the Seine called Ile St. Louis. After their portraits were complete, they invited us up to their apartment (and what good San Franciscan would refuse an offer to nosily see someone’s home?) for a glass of wine. They have a beautiful modernized 17th century apartment on the 5th floor of a narrow-winding staircased walk-up. We stood on their step-out balcony, sipping our wine and watching the people strolling through the adorable village streets six stories below. After we parted company, we felt a celebration of a successful work day was in order, so we found our way to La Perla, a Mexican (!) restaurant we had passed before, and over the next few hours, accidentally order five Patron Silver margaritas between us. We ordered dinner too, but the French portions (tiny little burritos and two spoonfuls of salsa that came the with handful of chips) was paltry compared to the enormous amount of food shoveled into our
faces in an American Mexican joint! The walk home was necessary, happy and delightful, as we passed through the Marais, standing in line behind about 30 people at 11 o'clock at night, waiting our turn for an Amarino gelato to slurp down on the walk home.And finally, today (Friday) was another beautiful spring day. It was warm, but overcast, which does not make a good day for photos, but a wonderful day for walking. We spent most of the afternoon in the 7th Arr. having visited a gallery that represents the amazing French artist, J.J. Sempé. We popped into a number of other great shops, including Deyrolle, an amazing entomology/zoology/curiosity showroom, with hundreds of bugs and dozens of stuffed and mounted animals (tigers, deer, goats, birds) for sale. They also have a vast collection of shells and botanical and biology charts and posters – we must have said, “Oh my god, look at THIS!” fifty times or more. I decided that I had to buy this beautiful hand-painted looking shell for my mother-in-law (she collects fishy and shelly and other water-themed items for their lake house). In my best possible French (not knowing the word for shell) I asked the gentleman who worked there, “Excuse me, sir, please, I would like to buy this thing from the sea, there.” He gave me a warm smile, and giggled, and said that at least my French was better than his English. And immediately went to the display of shells and pulled out the tray of the ones I was interested in, so me and P could choose the exact one we wanted. (For you Adam Gopnik “Paris to the Moon” fans, this is the neighborhood where he lived, captured in the pages of his memoir. And this particular store is where he and his son would while away the afternoons).
We strolled along the streets of the 7th, stopping at a café (of course, you see it’s one of our daily pleasures at this point) then making our way to the grand esplanade leading into the Hotel des Invalides, where we stopped to snack on the chicken pastry and apple turnover we had carried with us from the bakery this morning, before continuing on to see yet another “market” street, Rue Cler. A rarity for us, we took the metro back to our neighborhood, stopping to buy a delicious 5 euro rotisserie chicken. We ate it with sautéed carrots, zuccini, green pepper, onions and garlic with a side of pesto noodles. Since then, I’ve been sitting on the terrace, writing, sipping wine… another perfect day in Paris.
Saturday, May 3, 2008
In Rome You Are Never Alone
We we're incredibly well hosted in Rome by our friend Sole. We met her when she was staying in San Francisco last summer, having swapped her lovely Roman apartment for two months so that she and her son Martino could visit the Bay Area. She found P's book in City Lights and fell in love with his work. She found that he was having a show, visited the gallery a few times, then begged the owner to give Paul her number. And now we're staying at her apartment (while she stays at a friends nearby). Voila - you've got to love life!
Though we just got back last night, we are still processing our Roman holiday. Granted, we were incredibly well hosted by our friend Sole, but (as most of you are well aware) P and I tend to prefer to be more autonomous. We walked amongst all the ancient sites – the Coliseum, the Roman Forum, Circus Maximus – as well as having a visit to all the “things” to be seen in Rome: the Spanish Steps, Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon and Piazza Navona.
Many days were spent similarly – walking around ruins, stopping into one of the many piazzas (neighborhood squares) for coffees and people watching, and writing/and or drawing. As usual, my favorite spots are those where locals hang out, and are less touristic. One of my favorite squares was the Piazza Madonna dei Monti (and not just because of the name). In a tiny piazza just off the main road towards the coliseum, you find a local neighborhood with a group of old men gathered and talking by the central fountain, a young boy and his father kicking a soccer ball, and a few cafés sprinkled around, overlooking the square. We wandered around the streets, popping into a few boutiques. Sole and I each bought a pair of earrings from her favorite shop – the proprietor's brother makes them all by hand (I was in dire need of earrings since in my frantic dash to finish packing, I had left all of my jewelry behind). After a visit to Sole’s friend Claudia’s incredible terrace overlooking the Piazza Madonna dei Monti and the nearby Roman rooftops, we went to the “Ghetto”, the Jewish quarter. We popped into a tiny nearly-private piazza where we felt like we had our own private Rom
e with a quaint view over the Teatro Marcello ruins. Sole’s sweet friend – and our new compadre – Cecilia joined us, for a fancy late-lunch snack of fresh mozzarella, prosciutto, bread and a glass of wine at a beautiful little enoteca (wine bar) called Roscioli, then a coffee in a little piazza where P drew and Ceci and I chatted. We ended this particular evening with a stroll through a quaint little ancient neighborhood, Trastevere, sipping a glass of Chianti in the main piazza, then sharing a slice of Roman pizza (thick and simple foccacia-style bread, sauce and cheese) sitting on some stairs and watching the throngs cross the Ponte Sisto bridge, to come revel in this hot Friday night neighborhood. P and I decided to walk all the way home, stopping by the ever-popular Piazza Navona for an ice cream to enjoy on our way home. It took us about an hour to walk from the south-side of Rome’s Historic Center to Sole’s in the northern “suburbs” above the beautiful park, the Villa Borghese. It was oddly quiet as we walked back through Rome - especially since the streets and monuments and parks are generally so packed with people! Seriously, in Rome, you are never alone!
As most of you would agree, time passes so fast anymore. Time slowed down in Rome, to about a third of the normal pace, and the five full days in Rome somehow felt more like ten. We saw everything we wanted to see, plus spent time in the park, at cafés, and in the Modern Art Museum. Sole hosted a lovely dinner Saturday for eight on her incredible terrace, where we chatted with her brother and our friend Ceci until after 1 a.m. (Sole left her own dinner party at 11p.m., to which her friend responded to my confusion, “Welcome to Rome!”) We were taken and dropped off here and there by Sole in her cute little Mini, as well as being joined here and there by her friends. Sole took good care of us, and boy she fed us well! From the perfect snacks she picked up for the apartment (blood-orange juice, apricot jam, proscuitto and cheese and tasty bread) to a fine lunch at TreeBar in the park and an amazing typically Roman raw seafood meal: carpaccio-thin slices of octopus; squid salad; split-open raw shrimp that went down like fresh sweet caramels; spiced lobster; and an asparagus octopus cream sauce over spaghetti noodles as the second course. Often we'd wake up to cornetti (Italian-style croissants) awaiting us in the kitchen in the morning, and eat them on the terrace with coffee. And yesterday, before heading to the airport, we had lunch in a lovely semi-private restaurant with plates and plates of veggies, pasta, salads, beans, and meats in a casual “all you can eat” buffet, and then Sole got amazing little cream-cup desserts for us to have with one last coffee at her place, then sent us packing with breaded and fried rice-mozzarella balls for the plane! Sweet Ceci met us at the train station, having already bought our tickets to get us to the airport. She saw us to our platform, and waved good-bye as we jammed in the with the dozens of others cramming into the one tiny door to get on the train, to get to the airport - ah, Italy!
Rome has an ease and casualness to it that took some getting used to and in general, the Romans were warm and welcoming, and didn’t care much (in the good way) who we were or where we were from. Aside from the throngs of tourists that pack the streets in the historic center, it is an easy city to be in. The Romans themselves kept claiming how provincial and somewhat boring Rome tends to be (aside from dining with friends) and now that we’ve returned to incredible cosmopolitan Paris, I see even more what they mean. Sadly we have only 9 days left in Paris, but take full advantage of them, we will!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)