Friday, April 30, 2010

hot stormy day

april 29th, 2010

Well the day was hot, and storm was brewing.

So the reporter saw friends during the first half of the day, and then a little short on museums deals, went to the Pinacotheque see Edvard Munch, and there was a lot of him to see there. So the reporter was pretty thrilled.

Then the sky got darker and more somber and it was pretty thrilling too.

And on the way home she peeked into a little courtyard,

And then she went to sleep, thinking a stormy paris is pretty grand.
with love,
the frog

Wednesday, April 28, 2010

Where you have to choose the right line

april 28, 2010

Our favorite reporter woke up to a bright blue sky.

Fact is, temperature rose to a healthy 82.4 degrees Farenheit which had the french lament " Ah il fait trop chaud pour la saison "
which means " Ah it's too hot for the season." French do like to show that rules exist and apply to the weather as well.

So they were not very " content " which means " content."

So our reporter who was a little short on her quota of museum visits, started the day by boarding Le Metro to get to Champs Elysees Clemenceau which is the station for the Grand Palais where there was the Turner Exhibit. She had a ticket for 12 noon and arrived early so she blissfully sat on a dark green garden bench in the sun without any SPF protection to better enrage her daughter who would not step out in daylight without silly protection.

It was great because a clarinetist was playing wonderful Lully's music.

Except of course, Lully was alive from 1632 to 1687, and the Grand Palais was built in 1897, so really if Lully was appropriate with the trees around which were very old

then we should have immediately on this april 28, blown up the Grand Palais. But considering it was sheltering all those Turners that day, it's probably appropriate our reporter didn't blast it at all.

Then our reporter got in, and no pics was allowed in the exhibit itself, and frankly readers, that was too bad, because frankly
Turner is way too cool. So she took one pic from the exhibit store which wouldn 't open before 12:30:

But the two salesgirls there, took a real pleasure from looking at the humble crowd who stood there patiently waiting to buy their catalogues and cards. They didn't open before 12:46 pm. Our reporter who is not "nee de la derniere pluie " or "not born from the last rain" sneaked out of that malevolent place, and found a second open store where she could get her cards.

Then she went to the very nice Grand Palais restaurant. One thing has to be said for the french. They always create great eating places in their museums. Go figure. So she sat down with other art aficionados.

Then from where the maitre d' had sat her, she had a great plunging view on the arriving visitors:

And THERE was the problem.
The french love things apparently really well organized. That's why they go on strike so often.
So once you are inside Le Grand Palais, there are four lines you can take:
On the right is a line with "Ticket Holders and Special Members, Sesame Cards," whatever, then in the middle there are two lines with "Open Register", and then on the left side, [ which is very disturbing ] there is another line which says "Ticket Holders, Special Members, Sesame" whatever.

So, from where the reporter was, hoping to have a peaceful relaxed lunch, she could in fact check out how these different lines were creating an ACUTE stressed situation for the poor visitors who had already endured outside the choice of THREE separate lines; " Visiteurs avec Ticket " [ Visitors with Tickets ] "11:30, 12:30.." or "Visiteurs avec Tickets 11;00, 12:00.. " and the really abject line : " Visiteurs sans Tickets " [ Visitors without Tickets ] and there, there was no choice of hours or half hours. We are talking of really abject visitors there.

See the signs inside on the right:

and on the left :

So here are pics of visitors who chose one line but then changed their minds since they were so terrified to be rejected

undecided :

apparently decided as a crowd :

Large head of hair:

Undecided :

changing its mind:

Studious :

Multiple choice:

This is when you realize that for a country where its people are renowned for being highly individualistic, they show an incredible momentum for following the proper way to get inside a museum.

So all this was pretty horendous to watch after a while, and the reporter was really happy to see her plate of smoked salmon arrive:

Which she has chosen because it was matching her sweater:

and she explained that to her waiter, who was duly impressed, and offered to take the pic of the sweater.

Then she took a pic of her cards, which she had bought before 12:46 pm:

Then it was time to leave the Grand Palais, and she said good bye to the exhausted visitors:

and outside she saw the sign for the Tao comics:

and the 2 and 1/2 hours line she had escaped from:

Then she got in the Petit Palais after ten minutes of wait in the abject line of non tickets holders:

with a beautiful view on the inside courtyard..

Once inside, she sneakily took some pics so her daughter would swoon, but the pics are so bad that for sure her daughter will not swoon that much.

What is for sure is that the day clothes are for the most part from the late sixties. They are beautiful. The evening ones are from later years, most of them, and there is an aura of the suffering that at that time Yves was going through, and frankly I walked pretty fast through it. It did feel heavy and vulnerable and sad, despite the beauty of it. For that reason, even though this is a show on clothes and fashion, it is a very moving show.

Then the reporter got out through the main and beautiful restored gallery:

Then, looking for a piece of library shelves, the reporter adventured herself into the 17th arrondissement, she walked along the Salle Pleyel,where as child she used to have classes of ballet. The teacher was russian, and had a stick with which she would slam our fingers when our feet were not parallel enough. Ah, the good old days.

And then next door is the beautiful Russian church of the Rue Daru:

and then the reporter left the 17th arrondissement,but not without noticing that:

which says " L'Evangile est annonce " which means " The Gospel is announced" but only, as you will notice at Number 32 of the Villa and only on certain days and hours, which seemed to the reporter pretty restrictive.

Then the reporter went to Rue de Bucci, where an exquisite and gentle UCSC friend of her son works late hours at a small and cute coffee shop:

and then she went home though the little streets of the 6th arrondissement,

and she thought she was really lucky to see the sun setting on such lovely streets.

With love from the dusky paris,
the frog

Tuesday, April 27, 2010

Where there is mounting evidence of troubles ahead

april 27, 2010

So this is a tuesday, when the french start to think that perhaps one should work a little bit.

So, in fact this reporter started to do a series of things which were a little bit more frivolous than walking the streets, and visiting museums with naked bodies.

So she courageously went on into her favorite investigation of decrepit porches and doors,

Then she decided to have an architectural peek at where she had one of these underprivileged childhood,
in shanty dwellings

Then, to breathe a little easier, she decided to visit one of these really ugly and decrepit streets,

once inside one of the buildings of that street, she checked how her socks looked on that curious floor,

it sort of looked ok.

Then, she checked on the window of yet another baby store,
still for 7th's fertile people,

and then she had this luminous thought about parisian 7th 's people.

Most probably, their babies never, NEVER, got old, which explains the proliferation of baby shops as you have to keep
clothing more and more babies. Since they never age.
And the reporter started to ponder about the catastrophy of all those diapers recycling that are mounting, and probably
will slowly start to cover up all those exquisite streets of the 7th arrondissement. So that little by little,
we shall see less and less of these exquisite " hotels particuliers." That is " townhouses" for us, ruffians.

So, armed with that rather aggravating thought, our reporter decided to walk on, and have a peaceful cup of coffee,
served by one of those charmingly distressed parisian waiters, whom you are so scarred to bother.

And as a matter of fact, what was written just above is totally unfair and untrue,
as the reporter's waiter was pretty adorable and funny.

Of course, the reporter thought after, he was NOT aware of the mounting pile of diapers invading the 7th arrondissement,

So, our reporter went home to attend to other things,
skipping on the disjointed cobbles of the 7th with an impish smile.

with love, from the fertile city,
the frog