J'avais Deux Amours

Quote: This night, you will sleep in cheese. (Vincent, on the subject of lingering odours.)

So I finally made it back to Paris and was lucky enough to meet up with Nicole again. I had come across her, if you will remember, in a crépery in Doucier on my grand ride and, as it happened, she was passing through Paris just when I planned to - she on her way home from Malaysia and me on my way to the Alps. We stayed for a night at her cousin’s apartment and then for three nights with her friends, Vincent and Julie.

I was glad to be back. The last time I was in town I stayed for one night only and saw almost nothing, for which I was determined to make amends. Specifically, it had been niggling me that I didn’t take the opportunity in the Summer to drop in to the Musée d’Orsay. I love the masters of impressionism and I had a yearning, cultivated over the course of years, to see them properly and in all their glory.

After wandering along the Champs Elysée for a pleasant hour or so on our first morning, Nicole and I, on an opportunistic whim, popped into the Musée de L’Orangerie. After charming a guard into letting us in for free, we entered the room of waterlillies - the same scene at four different times of the day, depicted in huge works covering the four walls of the elliptical room that was designed for the purpose by Monet himself. It takes a while to take in, but eventually you just float off into them in a sort of white buzz, which I’m pretty in to.

The second and third days saw us at the Louvre and Versailles, respectively. I say the Louvre, but what I really mean is the foyer of the Louvre (where the pyramids meet). There wasn’t anything I particularly wanted to see inside and I don’t believe in forcing these things, so we opted for some tea instead at 12 euros apiece. Versailles, on the other hand, was a great success, though the gardens and Marie Antoinette’s private dwellings, which I’d particularly wanted to see, were both closed due to the weather.

This guy, by Takashi Murakami, fits right in at Versailles. No idea why; he just does.

That night, the one preceding my last day in Paris, I prepped for the big boy. I think seeing the Musée d'Orsay was one of the key reasons why I came to Europe, so it was with trepidation that I began researching the night before. I scrolled through cyber-galleries of Klimt and Courbet for a while before discovering with a shock that most of the Monets had been relocated to a temporary exhibition at the Grand Palais and that tickets to it were long-gone. Annoying, but I consoled myself that I could still see some peaches by Manet and Degas and that all was not lost.

We rolled up at 9:25 in the morning, but it didn’t open until 9:30, so we popped (plopped) over the road to a cafe and I had some coffee while Nicole scoffed her first crépe of the day. We then re-made the sodden trip, giggling smugly at the lack of tourists here at such an exceedingly early hour, before discovering that it didn’t open on Mondays.

“Aww,” I laughed, as Nicole smiled timidly at me.

“What do you want to do?” She asked.

“Cry,” I joked. “Why don’t we head over to Le Marais for an early lunch?”

Le Marais is in an historic quarter of the city with some cool little streets that I was keen to see, as well as a cafe/bookshop called La Belle Hortense - one of Nicci’s recommendations from ages ago. We also decided to go to the Picasso Museum there, which, for a hastily made plan B, I was pretty excited by. We took a couple of trains, which went fine, but came unstuck at the other end, getting lost on the short walk to the cafe. After an hour or more of walking through the snow and sludge we finally found it, only to discover that it, too, was closed.

“Son of an arse!” I cursed in French.

“Cul,” responded Nicole, automatically.

“Eh?”

“‘Cul’. You said ‘coup’”

“Yes. Fine. Thankyou, but godddamn it! This is ridiculous.”

We had another coffee and a crépe, respectively, and decided to go find Picasso. After another half hour’s freezing search we found it, and to our delight it was open on Mondays, but, it soon became apparent, not until March, due to renovations.

I took a deep breath, and decided my French wasn’t up to it. Even I had a crépe this time.

We headed home to dry our feet and to prepare for our final night - a brief walk and climb to the top of Montmartre and an excellent dinner at Chez Ginette, which was all spiffing. To wander the streets of Montmartre is really to step into the classic, imagined Paris. It was particularly lovely that night, standing on the frosty steps of the Basalique du Sacré Coeur watching the fog rolling over the city below us. At the restaurant I had a pavé de boef with foie gras. It was the first time I tried foie gras, but I don’t think I’ll have it again. Lovely taste, but not good enough to justify the awful things you have to do to the geese to get it.

So there you have it. I wouldn’t say Paris was a success, but I wouldn’t call it a failure either. I guess I’ll be back in the Spring to see D’Orsay. And I guess I’ll plan things better.

Heartfelt thanks go to Nicole, her cousin, Anne-Laure, and Vincent and Julie for their generosity and for their company.

Merry Christmas and best wishes to all,

Michael