The beauty of the human form

There are currently two exhibits featuring the photography of Robert Mapplethorpe in Paris, one at the Grand Palais, and the other at the Rodin Museum.  In our opinion, the one at the Rodin Museum is the most successful.

I frankly find some of Mapplethorpe's work pornographic. The Grand Palais limited the viewing of his most daring images to adults. However, I don't have to like all of an artist's work to recognize talent, and sometimes the questions raised by an artist make us re-evaluate how we think about beauty, and that's not a bad thing. 

Mapplethorpe died of AIDS  in 1989. He was 42.  Seeing the exhibits makes me wonder what he would have done had he lived longer, although he certainly lived long enough to secure his legacy.

Both Kevin and I found the exhibit at the Rodin Museum worthwhile, for the pairing of Mapplethorpe's photographs with Rodin's sculpture results in a new and exciting combination. It would be hard to imagine someone who could see these works and fail to appreciate the sheer beauty of the human form.

In the exhibit.

We had a quiet picnic in the  far corner of the garden.

Note: Yes, I seem to be wearing the same jacket all the time.  But until recently it was cool in Paris, and I did pack light.

Dreaming of a chateau lit by candelight

I dreamed that I was with Kevin at an elegant chateau, where the sun of late evening was fading, while people strolled through formal French gardens in groups of two or three. I dreamed there were pools and fountains, strains of classical music drifting through the air, and the calls of cuckoos and crickets punctuating the dusk. Then, as it grew darker, I dreamed we sat on a park bench, sipping red wine, as two thousand candles lit the castle and pathways.

Oh,wait! That wasn't a dream! That was our evening at Chateau Vaux-le-Vicomte!

We spent a magical evening at the privately owned chateau, a place that should offer a lesson to us all: don't ever try to outshine your boss.

The chateau was built by Nicolas Fouquet, Louis XIV's finance minister. Rumors at court said that Fouquet was embezzling from the treasury. So, in August 1661, when the finance minister hosted an elaborate candlelight dinner at this chateau in honor of the king, Louis felt the lavish celebration confirmed Fouquet's guilt. (The finance minister had even commissioned a play by Molière and a new musical composition for the event.)  Louis had Fouquet arrested and seized Vaux-le-Vicomte for himself. Then he hired Fouquet's architect (Le Vau), landscape designer (Le Notre) and painter-designer (Le Brun) to redesign the royal hunting lodge into the larger and even more elegant Palace of Versailles.

Vaux-le-Vicomte is—relatively—modest in comparison. Some people like it even better than Versailles, because it is more manageable and lacks the hordes of tourists. 

The chateau says the candelight evenings re-create the ambience of that night in August 1661.  Interesting, because I didn't know they had aluminum foil in 1661. (See photo of candle.) All kidding aside, I suppose the modern candles are practical, and the effect they created was enchanting.

If you have more euros than we have, you can dine at the estate and get a front-row seat for the fireworks.  We had decided to picnic, because the chateau advertises picnic spots.  What they don't tell you is that the picnic spots are either in the area of the stables, where you can't see the chateau, or (and I am not exaggerating) about a mile away in the gardens, which are extensive.  The picnic area looks much closer, because Le Notre specially designed the gardens to play with perspective, so places that are far away appear to be within easy walking distance.  Instead, we found an out-of-the-way spot to eat our picnic and drink our wine in secret. Under the cover of darkness, we crept closer to the chateau and had another glass on a bench not far from the more-affluent diners. (We are such scofflaws!) We had a lovely spot for the climax of the evening—a brilliant fireworks display over the canal and fountains.

"Bonjour, Monsieur. Are you sleeping off a hard night?"

No, I did not say that. But I did have an interesting encounter with a couple at the laundromat. Before I get to that, though, I should offer an explanation:

We have a washer at our apartment, but no dryer.  That's fairly common in France, because energy is very expensive. The French get about 40 percent of their energy from nuclear power, so they are very good at conservation.  (I've always thought that the entry lights that switch off automatically were a great idea.  They are.  But they're not so great when you're half-way down the stairs, and the light goes off!)

In any case, we dry our hand laundry on a rack and use the laundromat for larger, heavier items. We found it fairly easy to figure out the system, because there were instructions in English for the washers, and the dryers work similarly. The machines are numbered, and selections are made at a central point, where coins and currency can be inserted, and change is given, if necessary. It costs about $4.89 to dry a load at the rate of  €1.20 for 9 minutes for three cycles, at which point most items are dry.

One day, when I came to the laundromat, I encountered a young couple spread out on the floor, snoozing away. I don't know if they were homeless, or just sleeping off a night of too much revelry, but I said, "Bonjour," and we had a brief conversation, in French, about where I was from. Satisfied, I assume, that Kevin and I weren't going to tell them to leave or call the police, they settled back into slumber while I dried my clothes.

Now, lest you think we live in a sketchy place, I assure you that it is a friendly,  diverse, mostly middle-class neighborhood (though we do seem to have one, sad resident homeless person, whom I intend to write about later), but my encounter was definitely out of the norm.

Note the feet in the photo (on the left).

Licking the windows

The French expression for window-shopping translates literally as "licking the windows." I licked the windows recently at Printemps, the large Paris department store, Printemps*(which translates as spring) and took some photos. 

I wish I could say I planned this effect all along, so I would appear more creative, but, in fact, the way these pictures came out was pure accident. With my first photo, I was disappointed in the reflections, but the more I looked at it, the more I liked it, so I took more.

What do you think? Do you like them?

Here's real Paris street fashion:

And an outfit for Kevin? (Check out the close-up below.) The mannequin does look a little like he did in the 60s!

Look!  It's Mickey!


*Printemps was founded in 1865.  It was the first large store to offer set prices to customers, instead of following the practice of haggling.

My name is Jean-Jacques

Bonjour!  My name is Jean-Jacques. I am a working cat.  My job is très difficile. It’s not a job that just any cat could do.  I must stay in the window of my boss’s florist shop and pretend to sleep.  It’s not easy to do that 20 hours a day!

My boss knows I bring a lot of business to the shop.  I estimate he gets 20 to 30 percent more customers just because of me.  When the ladies who live on Rue Ordener see me, they think I am cute, so when they need flowers for a dinner or to give to their friends, where do they come? To our shop, of course!

You may have heard of that other cat, Henri, the existentialist?  I have no use for him.  He’s a member of the intelligentsia, while I am a member of the proletariat. Honestly, which one of us do you think really earns his keep?

The woman who took my photo is an idiot!  Sorry, but it’s true.  I’m a cat, not a photographer, but even I know that windows cause reflections, and if she wanted to get a good picture of me, she should not have taken it in the evening through the glass.  Some people are hopeless!

One day when my boss was outside, I heard her ask him what my name was.  Ever since, when she walks by the shop and I’m in the window, she shrieks, “There’s Jean-Jacques!”

S'il vous plait, madam, have a little dignity! Have some respect.

The pickpocket

How sad that one of Tricia and Jim's last memories of Paris will be of a pickpocket. While you don't need to worry about attacks on your person in Paris, pickpocketing and petty thievery are another matter.  Signs posted in public places warn people of pickpockets. The signs are a favorite place for the thieves to hang out.  When people read the sign, they often pat the places where they've stored their valuables, and the pickpockets then know where to strike.

That wasn't the situation, however, as we made our way back from Versailles, with no advance warning of what was to occur.  As Jim entered the metro car, a pretty, dark-haired young woman slammed into him, as though she were struggling to keep her balance, but the train hadn't starting moving yet.  Jim knew at once what was up, and he caught her hand before she could get it into his pocket. Kevin, who was standing next to Jim, sternly told her to sit down, which she did, but then she stood and opened her coat, to show that she hadn't taken anything.  However, we had no doubt of her intent.  She giggled nervously until she and a confederate—who had moved back when the young woman was caught—exited at the next station.

There was no point in reporting the incident, because we couldn't prove what had happened, and the police are well aware of the activity on the metro. What impressed me is that Jim and Tricia took it in stride and did not let it mar their trip.

Pickpockets are even more prevalent now in Paris than they were in the past. Last year, the Louvre had to shut for a day because of a pickpocket invasion. Eventually, the leader of that gang was convicted. He had gone to Eastern Europe to entice young women with the promise of a job in the travel industry.  Then, when they got to Paris, they were forced into prostitution or pickpocketing. He gave them a quota of 300 euros a day, and if they didn't make it, they were raped or tortured.

We don't know why the young woman made the attempt on Jim.  Because we were uncertain of her motivation, I think we were all left with mixed feelings about the encounter. 

Visiting the palace of the Sun King (along with half the world)

In the inner courtyard of the palace.

Tuesday is not a good day to visit Versailles.  The Louvre is closed that day, so everyone goes to Versailles instead. However, because we were running short of time with Tricia and Jim, we knew we would have to go on Tuesday or not go at all.

The queue in front of the palace was even bigger than it appeared at first, because it serpentined across the great courtyard. (We have no photos of the boring line.) But then I remembered reading that if you took a guided tour, you could avoid the line, so Kevin went to check.  Fortunately, we were able to secure tickets to a 3:30 tour in English of the king’s private apartments, which would also give us access to the queen’s apartments and the Hall of Mirrors. So we coughed up a bit more money, and explored the gardens first. (Tip: This is definitely the way to see Versailles.)

We enjoyed the classical music emanating from the shrubbery (nice placement of hidden speakers), and after a relaxing lunch in a small café, nestled into a garden bower, we strolled out onto the grounds.

The sweeping vista down the Grand Canal.

Are you having fun yet, Jim and Tricia?

A great day and a great outing!

Passing the Apollo Fountain, we walked all the way out to Marie Antoinette’s private domain, which took 45 minutes or more. We did not have time to explore the Grand Trianon (the retreat for Louis XIV and his mistress) or the Petite Trianon (the “tiny” chateau in Marie Antoinette’s domain), but we took our time exploring the little hamlet where she and her friends played at being milkmaids and shepherdesses. It is said her sheep were perfumed.

The hamlet where Marie Antoinette played at being a simple peasant.

The hamlet's farm. 

These farm animals have a good life.

I wonder who gets their eggs?

Another lovely spot in the hamlet.

Seeing Versailles, with its over-the-top splendor, makes the French Revolution even more understandable, considering the royal family was ensconced in such a pleasure palace while the peasants starved. Still, I have sympathy for Marie Antoinette, who never said, “Let them eat cake.” Born to a royal lifestyle, coming to France at a tender age (14), she was insulated from—and trapped by—reality. 

This is Queen Marie Antoinette's bedchamber. Sorry about the head of the person in front of me!

It took 7 years before her marriage to the future Louis XVI was consummated, and historians differ on whether that was because Louis had a physical problem that was corrected, or whether the two were just so naïve that they didn’t know what to do! In any case, after a frank talk from her brother, sent by her mother, the Empress Maria Theresa of Austria, she eventually conceived and had four children. (Only one, her eldest daughter, survived to adulthood. Her son, the Dauphin [crown prince] died at age 10, after his parents were guillotined, his death probably hastened by brutal prison treatment.)

Reportedly, Marie Antoinette was a kind woman who gave money to the poor she encountered, and she even became a guardian for several children, including a little boy from Senegal, who had been given to her as a gift, to be a servant. Instead, Marie Antoinette took him into the palace and had him cared for.  (Sorry if you knew all this. I’m not giving a history lesson—just trying to explain my fascination with her.)

We were fortunate to have an excellent guide, Monsieur Kelly, for our tour of the palace itself. There really is nothing like Versailles.  This place, which Louis XIV transformed from a hunting lodge into an elegant royal residence, is always worth seeing, even on a crowded Tuesday.

Monsieur Kelly was charming and informative.

We had a fairly small group for our guided tour, so we could see well.

The fabrics, of course, are not original, but they are woven to the same standard as the original chair coverings.

That isn't gold-colored thread.  That is real gold thread in the draperies.

Does the gilded ceiling give you any decorating ideas?

Someone was coaxing rich tones from the giant pipe organ as we passed by.

The Hall of Mirrors, where the treaty ending World War I was signed.

Another view of the Hall of Mirrors.

This is a view of the grounds from the palace.