On her own two bare feet

And so we have the linguistically awkward situations I found myself in, in Paris. The city of verbal paranoia. Even though I have never formally studied French I was determined not to speak English and got away with the French I had most of the time (thanks to a phrase book with phonetics). But after being mocked for my pronunciation of the number one ‘un’, I found I was no longer able to order anything in a single portion, it was deux everything after that.

Despite this hiccup I had a deliciously indulgent week with my sister and ticked off many of the ‘must-do’s’ and also had time to just chill out and enjoy sunning in the gardens, leisurely strolls past buskers along the Seine and doing the crossword in cafes in bohemian Montmartre


Every morning I went to Cafe Jade just across the road for my daily masochism of breakfast ordering. Every day I ordered the same thing from the same waiter that (I worked out) came with your choice of hot drink and choice of bread or croissant with jam. Every morning as he approached me I would be practising my order: Bonjour monsieur je voudrais Petit Dejeuner Traditionelle, avec un croissant en un cafe silvousplait. Facile. Easy. But every day the waiter brought me something I didn’t order or forget something I did. First it was the jam for my croissant. Next it was the wrong set breakfast. Then it was the breakfast with croissants for two but no plates. No plates. Not surprisingly the phrase, “please bring me two plates” was not in my basic french repetoire so I had to wing it and was corrected for not running my words together as obviously the word for plate (asiette) begins with a vowel (you hopeless anglo saxon). It is difficult to say, even with a week’s research behind me, whether or not this waiter was flirting with me or humiliating me, or just being typically French (a strangely appealing combination of both). It is also difficult to say why I didn’t try another cafe.

I loved the Musee D’Orsay with its focus on impressionism. The Musee de Rodin with his romantic sculptures of the embrace and of course ‘the kiss’ in its original.

And the tranquil gardens that I fell asleep in after a hard day of wine and cheese tasting and art criticism. The Musee de Arts l’Nationale is overwelmingly postmodern and tres bizarre – which is high praise of course. The Espace de Salvador Dali is intimate and extensive, with hundreds of sketches I had never seen. The Musee de l’Histoire de Medicine is tiny but interesting (if you can use latin to interpret the French and work out what the hell all the torture like instruments were used for).

I have to say not much has changed and I do find it darkly amusing that we assume medicine’s barbarianism, particularly with the female body, is a historic feature. The Musee de Les Egouts (the history of the sewers, located underground and just above the present sewers), was surprisingly interesting and is more widely about the history of the planning and development of the functioning city of Paris. Oh and the Eiffel Tower is worth the climb – what else can I say.

And the Notre Dame is splendid at all times and from any angle, sometimes I could hear the bells from my room.

Once inside Le Louvre I naively rented an audio “tour” which offers sound bytes for 1000 pieces randomly signposted throughout the gallery. But there is no physical guidance for how to navigate the 30 000 works which are spread over 4 wings and across 6 levels. It simply catalyses you to begin a frantic rush up and down levels, across eras, and through tourist mobs, so that you can slam your face against a different work every 3 seconds, quickly withdraw inspiration, and move on! Needless to say, I don’t recommend it. Just like the guide book says, after my first visit I left feeling overwelmed, frustrated, and I had got lost. For about 20 minutes I couldn’t get out of the Egyptian tomb section.

I just kept going up one set of stairs and going down another in a loop that had me coming back to the same spot. I couldn’t ask for help because I wasn’t sure of the French and was determined not to ask in English. I kept following signs to locked doors or dead ends or arrows that lead directly into a wall. When I finally found my way out, I ran for the nearest cafe and didn’t return until later that evening. Now this I can recommend. The wooden floors have an opportunity to creak and the paintings can breathe.

This time I slowly savoured the Italian and French romance painters and sculptors.

Then watched a triumphant sunset over the city and a luminous rise of the full moon as I walked home across Pont Neuf where where people were picnicking, playing music, drinking wine. Ah Paris!

The gardens are relatively small, coloured with spring flowers, centred by fountains, and enriched by sculptures.

My favourites were the local Jardin du Luxembourg which has a fountain, puppet theatre and tennis courts in the centre. And the Jardin des Tuileries which is a massive square fenced in by traditionally sculpted stone buildings and palaces, filled in with trees and water features, and divided by a wide central walkway that runs from the Arc de Triomphe through the shops and cafe strip of the Champs-Elysees through the mammoth garden square to Le Louvre on the river.

For a night out, we went to Le Caveau de la Huchette a famous little jazz club set underground in a cave that was historically used to imprison and torture people during the french revolution. We drank bad house wine and listened to a swing-band play toe-tapping jazz as couples with confidence took the floor to shake their moves. An old french guy of about 80 who was dressed in overalls and looked like a train driver, had the fanciest footwork I’ve ever seen. It was disappointing not to be able to join the floor, but I saw the uninitiated attempt the swing and fail miserably, which was enough to keep me seated and avoid any potential dance partner eye contact for the whole night.

Wine, music, dancing, gourmet cheese, fresh produce, baked bread, flirtation, art, inspiration, sculpture, walking everywhere, gardens, language, philosophy. . .for these and many other reasons, you all must go to Paris!

This entry was posted on Tuesday, August 23rd, 2005 at 4:32 am and is filed under Paris, France. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. Both comments and pings are currently closed.