Friday started with some excitement. Our efforts to board the metro were astonishingly poor. There was a man with luggage in front of me, so I stopped to maneuver around him -- I had The Girl's hand -- and there was a woman sitting right in front of the door with a bag that The Sister tripped over... This all led to the doorway being blocked, and The Dad and The Boy not quite getting in. And really, when boarding a metro, you shouldn't do it in halves. While the metro doors are forgiving and usually bounce back open if human flesh is compromised, this was a station that had the plastic protective barrier that is synced to open and close with the train doors... that one is cruel. The Boy's ankle got munched on, but he made it through, but The Dad was still on the platform as we pulled away. "Just get out at the next stop," he mouthed to me. I really am stunned at how often on this trip we've looked like rubes from the country who have never seen a big city before.
Anywho, we did as instructed, got off at the next stop, and sat down on some clean-enough chairs to wait. And wait we did. The train we just got off didn't pull away, and didn't pull away, and an announcement was made and people got off, and more time passed, and more announcements were made, and more people emptied out... The Sister and I were reflecting on how the announcement could have been: "This station is under siege. Leave immediately," and we would sit stupidly on. "But there's some people still left on the train," she astutely pointed out. "Other Americans," I suggested.
Fortunately, The Dad does speak French, so when he heard the announcement that there was a problem with the line, and it could be up to 45 minutes before the trains were running again, he just jogged down to the next station where we were waiting. Clever Dad.
By the time he got there, the problem was solved and the bells went off to signal that the doors were going to close (read: potentially amputate), so we all smoothly entered the train and got off right before the Jardin des Tuileries.
We just passed through, soaked up some beauty, and entered the museum that is the size of a small country -- the Louvre. (I should note: if going to Paris and planning on visiting a couple of museums, getting the museum pass is well worth it. Cost savings aside, it allows you to skip the queues.)
Sprittalsprattitgaggishmooginmuttersplutter... That was me when I saw that yet ANOTHER place that we were visiting was also being visited by a modern art installation. I'm torn. I love the idea of contemporary artists having these showings. The coolness factor of "dialoging" with other pieces of art, etc. -- I get. AND YET, it feels mighty distracting to have these overlay installations. This one was by an Italian artist, Pistoletto, and every time we turned a corner and saw more of his piles of rags, or wonky mirrors, or whatever I would shake my fist towards heaven and curse: "Pistoletto!"
The Girl appreciated this painting that has, towards the bottom, children loving on some dogs. We talked about why it -- with this great message of animal kindness -- was being passed by while this:
had this going on:
To note: the boy has read a million things about the security, and reasons for the security regarding the ML, so he was totally into it. It was a pleasure to see the calculated way he wormed his way to the front with his camera.
The Coronation of Napoleon struck us -- perhaps because of the coronation theme.
Le Jeune Martyre, Paul Delaroche. From the placard (translated poorly by Google) -- "A Christian thrown to the river by the Romans... is discovered by other believers. Marked by the death of his wife, Delaroche abandons the story of this martyr to an austere allegory of sacrifice of youth. He thus renews the theme of the death of Ophelia, dear to the Romantic generation and the Pre-Raphaelites." Delaroche was mostly known as painter of instruction, of history, right? Perhaps because I had Gabriel Garcia Marquez on the mind, I was thinking of this idea of magical realism... Of course magical realism isn't "true" or "factual" or "real," and yet some people feel that it's the closest way to get to the truth, because it conjures emotions, and emotions are as much the truth as intellect. The halo in a "historical" piece -- even one "abandoned" for the sake of exploring an allegory -- is interesting.
At lunch we had the most-amazing three-chocolate pyramid. We also had a conversation that had the kids howling with laughter: The Boy randomly asked: "If you could have one wish having to do with your loins, what would it be?" Excuse me? We received clarification when he provided his own answer as an example: to only have to use the toilet once a day. The Girl said that hers would be to "pee lemonade" and suddenly amazing business opportunities opened up... So, we're prepared now... if we ever are granted one wish that has to do with our loins.
"Pistoletto!"
After the Louvre (and by that I mean: after we wore ourselves out looking at about .003% of the Louvre) we met up with our friends outside of the Pompidou Centre, where the kiddos looked at the fountain/sculptures for a bit.
We sat on the stairs to get our strength up for our much-anticipated afternoon activity: "The Great Macaron Challenge of 2013."
We asked our savvy Frenchies to lead us to the top three macaron establishments. First place went to Pierre Herme (note: passion fruit with chocolate filling). Second place went to Laduree -- that place also takes it for the sweet packaging. The wall of ribbon lowers blood pressure. Third place: Hediard. And by third-place, I still mean better than most other macarons we've ever had, just not as good as the other two. But Hediard gets extra points for being a beautiful store and giving us all sorts of fancy-shmancy samples (like the fruit gels candies pictured).
The challenge took place in the Madeleine area -- the area around La Madeleine Church. After we parted with our friends we stepped in and sat quietly for a bit.
We also passed the Opera House.
Of course The Sister had to see Montmartre. Ideally, you see Montmartre at night when the twinkly lights are on. As it isn't getting dark here until quite late, that couldn't happen. Nonetheless, we still had a good time taking the incline up to the Basilica, sitting on the steps and listening to some guy sing "Stand By Me" while his friend played the guitar, stepping in to Sacre Couer and hearing a nun with some pipes belt out something in Latin, eating dinner outside at a cafe where Picasso, et. al used to eat (because all the cafes in Montmartre say that), walking down to check out the Au Lapin Agile -- where we will go when the kids get a bit older -- though the proprietor told us that they were welcome to come for the 9pm-1am set, seeing a cute Italian greyhound, and having the awesome Asian man that cut out the kids silhouettes three years ago, work his magic again.
While we missed the twinkly lights, we were still wandering the crooked streets up there around 9:30 when the sun was setting. That pink lighting up the aged stucco and reflecting off the cobblestone was something to appreciate.
On our way home we saw a window display that reminded us of the masks that The Dad and the kids wore in Scotland to "trick" us. Scotland seems so long ago. The sun is starting to set on our trip -- we can feel it.
