Looking Up

 

I spend a lot of time with my head tilted back, looking silly no doubt, as I try to see higher than my own lowly height. It's a bit of a dangerous habit in Paris, where looking down to avoid doggie gifts on the sidewalk is second nature, but it's rewarding nonetheless.  

It's not only the tops of buildings, many of which are stunningly elaborate, but things like the top third of this entry door, which for some reason has had a mirror installed in it, reflecting the street tree, the building across the street, and the occasional peek of blue sky.

And lifting my eyes a bit higher shows me this sweet pudgy little face, the incipient double chin making me empathize.

I'm always drawn to the plaques installed on walls of buildings where famous and less famous people once lived or worked or were born or died.  This one, on a narrow street in St-Germain, states that Victor Hugo lived there.  A peek through the window indicates that whoever is living there now has a pretty nice place.

 

Views other than the usual ones are interesting as well.  That's not a looming fortress but rather the familiar church of St-Germain des Prés from a side street and one of the earliest uses of the flying buttress, apparently.  Moments before, the stone was warm and golden in the fleeting sunlight, but with the returning cloudcover it appears rather forbidding.  Of course the sharp points at the top of the railing aren't exactly welcoming either.

Turning around, you see what looks like a cliff of buildings but it's only an angle that takes in the tops of buildings on three streets, one behind the other and coincidently arranged in order of height.  It does look like you could rappel up there, doesn't it?  And how charming is that pink?

 

The spire of Notre Dame cathedral offers climbing opportunites for these statues, but most of them appear to have paused on the way up to pose for admirers.  The one farthest up seems determined to make it to the nearest secure surface before the wind picks up though.

  

One of my favorite glimpses of higher things is this young horseman over a gateway to the Louvre seated precariously on a flying horse under an incription identifying Emperor Napoleon III.  Is it meant to be him and are those the royal family jewels?

Cold Clear Christmas

It's not our holiday, but for the first time in years we weren't spending Christmas with our dear friends in Berkeley.  The old standby of a movie seemed the thing to do, but it was too beautiful a day to spend in a darkened theater.  We needed a walk along the river in the bright light and crisp air.

The sun played a bit of peek-a-boo, throwing shadows one minute and erasing them the next.  We even had a few moments of rain until the clouds passed and the sun returned.  We kept on walking and reveling in how clean and simple everything looked.  There were few cars, fathers were carrying their small children on their shoulders, church bells were ringing.

The quais were full of tourists near Notre Dame but empty just a block away.  Languages bounced around our ears as we moved through the crowd: Spanish, Polish, Dutch, Italian, French, Russian, all within 100 feet.  Parisians were spending the holiday with family; we visitors were the ones out walking.  The line to get into Notre Dame moved quickly, but we had no desire to go indoors yet.

Passing behind Notre Dame we moved onto the Ile St-Louis, where the always-open cafés on the corner were closed up tight.  A man and his dog were investigating the two swans and several ducks at the foot of the ramp to the water.  The birds seemed more interested in them than the reverse.

Berthillon, the famous ice cream purveyor, had decorated their building from top to bottom, but weren't open for business.

Not everyone was taking the holiday off however.  This bouquiniste thought it was worth opening his bins to what passing trade there might be,

while below him along the water two joggers in bright pink kept to what was probably a daily routine.

We did finally get to the movie, by the way.  The Meryl Streep vehicle "It's Complicated" is called "Pas Si Simple" here.  

From Right to Left

It's hard to resist a lovely afternoon.  Gene was feeling better, the sun was bright, the sky still blue and we decided to walk from our place to the Left Bank and maybe see a movie later on.  This vintage Citroën Deux Chevaux parked in front of a Thai restaurant on rue de l'Ave Maria begged to have its picture taken.   A bit farther along we came across the back of the church of St. Paul shining in the sun.

Nearby, someone had left an entire bag of baguettes lying on the ground near a municipal trash bag (no cans here for fear of bombs).  A small mystery: why weren't they in the trash bag? What could have happened to cause someone to discard them?  And would anyone have the nerve to eat them? They were left across the street from a low-income assistance office.  We didn't wait to learn the answers.

When we reached the river we took a closer look at an art installation that had been up on the quays since late September.  Enormous eyes had been posted along the quayside walls and on some of the bridges.  They're beginning to peel off and I think it makes it look even more intriguing.

 

Photographed and installed by a French photographer known as JR, it's part of a project called Women are Heroes (www.womenareheroes-paris.net) focusing on abused women around the world.  The eyes are those of some of those women.

Across from the eyes was this little vignette.  It looked like a photo shoot for a poster or an album cover.  That's got to be a band, right? Is there any other excuse?

The riverside was popular that afternoon.  There were sitters and strollers on the walkways down by the water.

 

And the old buildings along the Quai de Bourbon on Ile St-Louis were as beautiful as ever.

It's pricy real estate over there, but there must be some residents who are hanging on in unrenovated garrets or this would have long ago disappeared.

Yes, there's still an operating public bathhouse on the island.

And on that other island, a view of one of Notre Dame's towers from the Square Jean XXIII, a refuge from the crowds at the front of the Cathedral, where you too might be lucky enough to hear a sole musician playing the recorder in the sunlight.

We did see that movie, eventually.  It was The Informant!  We liked it.

Slow Sunny Saturday

At mid-day on Saturday dueling musicians had set up on the pedestrian-only Pont Saint-Louis, which connects the Ile de la Cité with the Ile Saint-Louis behind it.  This is tourist-heavy territory, sitting  between Notre Dame and Berthillion ice cream, with several cafés facing the bridge.  It's a good place to sell CDs.  The first group, three Americans, were playing swing and '60s pop rock and had tempted a couple to stop their Velibs (the ubiquitous rental bikes) and begin to dance.  They were quite good; it was clear that this was a couple who had taken lessons.

Once the first group took a break, the overalled French guys with the piano who had been politely waiting their turn some 20 feet away started playing some faster paced, finger-snapping music.  You almost expected to see George Clooney from the Coen brothers film O Brother, Where Art Thou? pop up behind them.

No one danced while they played but there seemed to be a lot of foot tapping and rear end twitching and wriggling among the spectators. 

The sun was playing hide-and-seek behind some clouds but it was a bright day, bringing people out to take advantage of it.

Once again we had visiting cousins, different ones this time, who had a six hour layover in Paris and met us for lunch and the quick tour.  Since the line at Sainte Chapelle would take too long, we thought Notre Dame would be a good bet. The line to enter was short and moved very quickly and the stained glass would look lovely in the sunlight. It did.

And here's a secret: some of those windows open to let in a breeze.

You can do a lot of walking if you're trying to see Paris in just a few hours and we did.  After seeing the visitors to the airport train we found our bus stop and saw this woman patiently waiting while reading Introduction to Ancient Greek.  It's never too late to learn.