Some Recommendations For When You're In Paris

Today I am flying back to New York, so this post will be short.

This, of course, is not the first time I've been to Paris. But it's the first time since I started this blog, and the first time since my operation.  It was also the first time I visited in more than a decade.

Much has remained the same.  However, as on any trip, I made a couple of minor discoveries you might find useful should you find yourself in Paris.

One is, of course, Paris Bike Tour.  I can't recommend them highly enough.  For one thing, they're located just steps from Les Halles/Centre Pompidou, nestled between the lively and charming neighborhoods of Beaubourg and Le Marais.  PBT's rental rates are very reasonable (25 Euros for a 24-hour day and 10 Euros for each additional day after that) and their bikes, while basic, are well-maintained. They require a 300 Euro deposit (cash or cheque),refundable upon return of the bike, or a credit card number.  I gave my card number and they didn't put a "hold" on it.  And, when I returned the bike, they returned the contract, which had the only record of my card number.

The best parts  of Paris Bike Tour all are their staff members Kevin, a native Parisian, and Stephen, who hails from Montreal and is thoroughly bilingual in English and French. (Kevin speaks some English, too, though I conversed mainly in French with him.)  PBT also employs guides who lead tours in English and French as well as other languages.  I didn't take any of them, but from what I've seen, I'd expect the guides and tours to be engaging and interesting, and probably a good choice for a first-time visitor to the city.

Another recommendation is the place where I stayed:  the Hotel Lenox-Montparnasse.  I don't know what the rates are because the room was included in a package with my air fare.  I had a small room--typical for a Paris hotel--but it was immaculately kept.  Even better is their service:  Every day, after I went out, the hotel's workers return the room to the pristine condition in which I found it when I first checked in.  Plus, it's in a convenient yet safe location, with a station of a major Metro line (Number 4) right at the corner.

The Lenox is in a building that, as well-kept as it is, has character and charm.  It''s not a faceless chain hotel in a glass or steel box; its a smallish hotel in a real Left Bank Building, albeit one with modern amenities.

The concierge recommended a restaurant which will be the final recommendation of this post:  La Brasserie Gaite.  If you want to eat an authentic French meal at a reasonable price, you must go to LBG.  Named for the street--la rue Gaite--on which it's located-- just across the Edgar Quinet Plaza from the Lenox Hotel--it's lively, if sometimes a bit hectic.  Most of their meals are meat-based (entrecote de beouf, confit de canard and such) but salads are also available.  They also make, from what I'm told, excellent crepes and pastas, though I didn't try those.  For 35 Euros, I had  a nice-sized bowl of onion soup au gratin, beouf tartare with Auvergne-style potatoes (similar to au gratin), a salad, dessert (an apple tart with crème brulee) and coffee. 

An old Sicilian woman once told me there are two things that make absolutely everyone in the world happy.  One of them is good food.  She never told me what the other is.  Whatever it may be, I'm sure she'd appreciate La Brasserie Gaite.

Update:  After writing this post, I decided to go back to La Gaite for lunch:  my last meal before departing for New York.  I had a crepe and salad, which were every bit as good as the dinner I'd had a couple of nights earlier.


 

Rue Rennes In The Rain: A Ride For A Romantic?

Rain pattered against asphalt and cobblestones when I woke.  Later in the morning, the stream of water turned to a scrim of drizzle.  I started to ride.  The drizzle turned back into rain.

There are certainly worse things than riding the Rue de Rennes in the rain.  For one thing, as you can see, it looks like everybody's idea of a major Left Bank street--almost a boulevard, really.  For another, it's about two blocks from my hotel room and can take me to just about anyplace I want to go.

I must admit, too that riding Rue de Rennes in the rain triggers more than a few sense memories, as well as emotional ones, from the first time I came to this city and the time I lived here.

I followed it to the Boulevard Raspail, and from there to Saint Germain des Pres, the 'hood of more than a few writers you've read and others you've heard of.  One of them, an American, used to climb this street to get to his place on 74, rue Cardinal Lemoine.

The writer is, of course, Ernest Hemingway, and the street is la rue Mouffetard, which seems to have as many twists and turns as the road on l'Alpe d'Huez or Lombard Street.  Mouffetard, and some other streets in the Latin Quarter, escaped Baron Hassmann's city planning which, although it didn't impose a grid pattern, actually made most of the streets run in more or less straight lines before converging with others in plazas and parks. 

It's still confusing if you're accustomed to a grid pattern of the kind found in many American cities.  At least it means that you can follow any given street only so far. However, the real reason why Napoleon III chose him to re-shape Paris as he did--at least, according to some historians--was to make it more difficult for rabble-rousers to run away from cops and soldiers after starting or participating in insurrections, which seemed to happen at least once in every generation in Paris.

Most of the streets that were spared from Haussmann's plan are in the part of town I was riding.  Some of them date from Roman times or even earlier; others were built during the Middle Ages.  One such street lies at the end of Mouffetard:

"Bievre" is "beaver".  Apparently, that street was a stream that fed into the Seine and, in ancient times, people trapped the beavers that lived there.  (By the way, that is how the Astors first made their fortune in New York.)  Other streets twist and wind because they, like Mouffetard and Bievre, were constructed around or over features of the landscape that existed at the time.

From Bievre, I rode across the Pont de l'Archeveche --also known as "le Pont d'Amour":

Hmm...Does the kind of lock you leave say anything about your relationship? 

Anyeay, from there, I pedaled along Right Bank roads past the Places de la Bastille and de la Republique to the Pere Lachaise, where famous people like Moliere and, of course, Jim Morrison are buried.  So are some less famous, like my friend Janine.

I didn't leave flowers for her.  I did, however, leave a short letter I wrote, thanking her for her warmth and kindness, and, of course, wishing I could see her on this trip.

After that, I was glad to zig and zag along the crowded lanes of the Goutte d'Or and up the hill to Belleville and, of course, Montmartre.  The ride kept me from wallowing in sadness and I think Janine would have been happy that I was riding to the stairs we had climbed together to the Basilica. 

From there, the rest of my ride was literally downhill to Paris Bike Tour, where I returned my rental bike.  It served me well, but I'll certainly be happy to ride my Mercians again.

Why You Have To Ride A Bicycle To Truly Understand Picasso, Rodin Or Any Impressionist Painter

You all have seen this Picasso sculpture.

Question:  What kind of handlebars are they?  Velo Orange Belleville?  (OK, so VO didn't exist in Picasso's time.)  Whatever they were, they definitely weren't flat bars.  In fact, I can't think of any way even Picasso (or, for that matter, Rodin or Michelangelo) could have made an objet d'art from flat bars.  For that reason alone, they should be illegal. 

(Don't get me started on those mountain bike bar ends that were all the rage circa 1992-1996!  Yes, I had a pair of Onzas--in purple, no less!)

I posted that image because I figured that I should, since I visited the Picasso Museum--my favorite, after the Rodin--today.  However, I didn't actually see the "bull".  The part of the museum in which it is displayed was closed off because a special show is being organized.  Oh well.

At least there's all sorts of other interesting stuff to see there.

Now that's something to think about the next time you're kissing your beloved!

It goes without saying that Picasso, like many great male artists, had complicated relationships with women:

To be fair, he also had a strong social conscience.  You've probably seen Guernica.  A decade and a half later, he painted "Massacre in Korea":

And he understood, I think, how thin the line is between sensitivity and derangement can be.  At least I gather something like that from his painting Absinthe Drinker:

That one isn't in the Picasso Museum. I saw it yesterday in the Musee d'Orsay.  There's so much there and so much has already been said about many things that are there that I'll just choose a few vague (wave) paintings:



Paul Gaugin (another favorite of mine): Marine avec Vache

 

Georges Lacombe:  La Vague Violette


 

August Strindberg (You didn't know he was a painter, did you?) :  Marine avec recif

 

Alexander Harrison (Philadelphia 1853-Paris 1930):  Marine 

I find it very interesting that the Impressionists and Rodin came along around the time the bicycle was taking a form we recognize today, which vastly increased its popularity over that of "high-wheelers" and other predecessors.  For the first time, many people had access to a mode of travel that is faster than walking.  Because we pass by people, landmarks and other parts of the landscape more quickly on a bicycle than on foot, we see them clearly but momentarily, so they form impressions in our consciousness.  That, I believe, is why we can so readily call upon sense memories of what we saw, heard, felt, smelled or tasted during a bike ride.

On the other hand, when Picasso was helping to invent Cubism, the automobile was in its juvescence.  So was cinema.  When we see things from the window of a fast-moving car or other motorized vehicle, we see "cuts" in much the same way we see a series of images on a strip of motion picture film.  Each image in the series differs slightly from the one before it, but the cumulative effect is that what's at the end of the strip is very different from what we saw at the beginning.


I'm sorry if this all sounds like half-baked cognitive psychology mixed with even-less-baked art and film theory.  I'm just doing the best I can to describe what occurred to me as I was riding between museums, and after visits to museums.  If nothing else, it made clearer--to me, anyway--why the trip to the museum, especially if it's on a bicycle, can be just as important and even interesting as the museum itself.

Just for fun, I'll end this post with something from that great interpreter of fin-de-siècle Paris nightlife, Henri Toulouse-Lautrec: