Tag Archives: Palais Royal

France, French customs, Paris

Powerwalking to Pont Neuf – Part 1

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Not that the Pont Neuf’s really new – in fact it’s the oldest remaining bridge in Paris – but it was new at the time so that was what it was spontaneously called. If you’ve ever been to Venice and seen the Ponte Vecchio, you’ll have an idea of what most bridges used to look like in mediaeval days. The Pont Neuf, completed in 1607 during the reign of Henri IV (which is why there’s a statue of him halfway across) was the first bridge not to be covered. It was recently renovated and is now nice and new again.

Anyway, I decided to go in the opposite direction today, starting with the Galérie des Proues (as in prow ergo all the anchors) which is the only remaining part of Richelieu’s palace which is how the Palais Royal all started. Then past the Buren columns and Arago’s meridian plaque, across Rue de Rivoli and through the first part of the Louvre until I reached the glass pyramids which are stunning on a sunny day. Down to the left and into the Place Carrée with another fountain. Right towards the river, opposite the Pont des Arts where they have the padlocks and left down towards the Hôtel de Ville.

I think everyone’s heard the jokes about tourists mistaking the town hall (Hôtel de Ville) for a place to stay, but Actor Brother, who’s a country boy at heart, went one better. It was his first time in France and he’d rented a car and headed south (with his 12-year old son sitting in the back chanting his mantra “Dad, right is right, left is wrong”). It was getting late and he couldn’t find a hotel. Being Australian, he was expecting to see a motel appear at any time. Finally, he saw a big sign, “Hôtel de Police”. He headed off the highway, followed the directions and found himself in front of an unlikely looking building but, you know, it was France, and you could expect anything.

As he walked in, with his son close behind him, he realised something was wrong. “Euh, un hôtel?” he said in his basic French. The gendarme looked at him rather blankly but fortunately, a very helpful lady realised what was wrong and directed him to a more suitable place to spend the night than in the police lock-up!

But the one I was walking towards is not the “mega hôtel de ville” as Leonardo so aptly used to call the palatial building opposite Notre Dame that is home to the Mayor of Paris, but the town hall for the 1st arrondissement. It’s still not bad as far as neo-renaissance buildings go. Black Cat has got her heart set on getting married there, but she’ll have to get a move on because once Relationnel retires and we move to Blois, it’ll be too late.

In France, there’s none of that getting-married-in-a-garden-or-on-the-beach business that goes on in Australia. Here, you can only get married in the town hall of the place of residence of one of the spouses (or their parents if you can claim you’re still living at home). And having a church wedding doesn’t do away with the civil ceremony either which can complicate the logistics a bit.

I was going to tell you about the church of Saint Germain l’Auxerrois next door, a favourite with Valois royal family in Renaissance times, but I got a bit distracted and I wouldn’t like leave out any of the interesting bits so it’ll have to wait for next time.

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French customs, Paris

Spring Windows in the Palais Royal

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It’s grey and miserable outside, even though it’s 13°, but with winter sales starting tomorrow, the spring windows have already appeared. I thought I’d try and cheer myself up by visiting some of the clothing shops in the Palais Royal.

But I was disappointed. Just look at this one. I’m stunned that anyone should choose to dress their window using such ugly mutts. But then I’m not really a dog lover. I used to be. When I was a kid, we had a half-corgi (the other half jumped the fence as my mother used to say) called Taffy whom I adored. I used to take him for long walks after school and talk to him in French. Unfortunately he developed heart worm, which is often the way in the tropics. One afternoon, I came home from uni. My parents were sitting under the honeysuckle trellis in the back yard looking very forlorn. “Taffy has to be put down (what a euphemism!). We’re not up to it so you and DrummerBrother have to take him to the vet.” Oh great! Ever obedient, we carried him sorrowfully to the car. I cried the whole way there and the whole way back. Funny how neither DrummerBrother or I have ever had a pet while ActorBrother (who was probably off catching snakes) has always had a dog …

Well, enough about dogs. I then walked down the other end of the gallery to see what Stella McCartney had to show. I really don’t think her windows are any better. The clothes are not even very attractive. However, I love the effect caused by the reflection of the fences along the Palais Royal. It’s not until you take the photo that you can actually see them. Seriously, would you be tempted to buy that dress on the right? And how come the dummies don’t have heads? The one in the picture above is bald. I don’t think that’s particularly seductive either!

The other window isn’t that much better. I suppose it’s a little more colourful but that’s about all. This isn’t your bottom of the range stuff. We’re looking at 700 euros for a dress and 350 for a pair of trousers. It’s not as bad as Jérôme Huillier admittedly. I didn’t even bother taking photos of their window. It all looks completely synthetic to me. I should console myself with the fact that I’m not tempted to buy anything! Except one of those little black dresses in La Petite Robe Noire, but they’re completely out of my market.

I’ll wait until the sales frenzy dies down before I go and do a bit of shopping somewhere else.

 

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France, Lifestyle, Paris

Power Walking down to Concorde

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Just power walked down to Concorde and back through the Tuileries Gardens but grossly underestimated the temperature. The thermometer says 9.5° but I forgot about the wind factor. Next time, I’ll wear my cap with ear flaps (hoping I don’t meet anyone I know, Black Cat in particular) and my inferior Australian suede gloves (because I still haven’t got my new rabbit-fur ones from Italy). Or I could just use my exercise bike and watch a movie at the same time (if I can get the technology to work).

But if I did that, I’d miss the pianist on Place du Palais Royal and the guy with the giant bubble ring that all the kids love. I wouldn’t see the glass pyramids of the Louvre or the pink marble Carrousel Arch with its gold figures and green horses. I would miss the sun setting over the Eiffel Tower and the giant Ferris wheel looking so out-of-place with the Obelisk peaking out behind, mocking my fear of heights. I wouldn’t see the kids sailing their boats on the pond and looking like an Impressionist painting (except for their jeans and anoraks) nor hoping for a ride on the Olde Worlde carousel.

Neither would I be reminded on seeing the Orangerie that I haven’t been back since renovation to visit the wonderful oval rooms with Monet’s waterlilies (shame on me). I wouldn’t see the seagulls calling and screeching over the fountain. I wouldn’t have that stunning view of the Louvre spread out before me as I power walk my way back. I’d miss the man who hires out the sail boats pushing his boat-laden trolley home at the end of the day.

 I wouldn’t see the lovers kissing on benches (they don’t have cold ears) or the foreign tourists having their cheese and wine picnics (and ignoring the cold). I wouldn’t see Henry (and not the more strait-laced Thomas) Moore’s Reclining Figure at the foot of the Orangerie or the 18 Maillol statues down the other end. I would miss the open-mouthed fish at the bottom of the lamp posts next to the Decorative Arts Museum. Not to mention the giant monkey leaning out the window!

I wouldn’t be treated to the welcoming smell of roast chestnuts as I come out onto Rue de Rivoli. Neither would I go past the Comédie Française where Molière died in his chair or see the Night Revellers’ Kiosk. I wouldn’t see all the kids playing among the Buren columns and proudly wearing their crowns (they had the galette des rois today). I wouldn’t see all the people crowded into Miss Bibi’s tiny jewellery shop nor would I have the pleasure of feeling my ears get warmer as I walk up the stairs to my apartment.

But, more than anything else, I might forget just how lucky I am to actually live in the Palais Royal, right in the centre of the City of Light!

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Paris

Wolves in the Palais Royal

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People on the left, wolves on the right

Imagine my surprise when I looked out the window on 2nd January 2008 to see a pack of wolves in the Palais Royal gardens, made even more realistic by a blanket of snow! Even up close they were pretty convincing. The sculpteur, Olivier Estoppey, had managed to make them look as though they were running. They disappeared after a while and, to my great surprise, turned up again in a French detective film called Le Crime est notre affaire.

It’s because we’re next to the French Ministry of Culture that the Palais Royal gardens are often the site of temporary exhibitions sponsored by an association called Sculptures au Palais Royal. Some, like the wolves, are truly artistic, but most of them are modern sculptures that I personally think are awful. Maybe it’s a question of generation because Thoughtful, who’s 22, thinks they’re wonderful. He likes the contrast between the old and new. Being Australian, I just like the old!

Of course, the Palais Royal’s most famous “sculpture” is Les Deux Plateaux, better known as the Buren columns. These “stripey” black and white columns of different sizes are very popular with tourists but they are also a wonderful playground for the local kids who come up with all sorts of inventive games. They climb on them, slalom around them on their little scooters and bikes and put their dolls on top.

When work first began on the columns in 1985 on the site of a parking lot, it caused a furore. The objectors eventually managed to find a legal loophole and have the work stopped. By then it had escalated from a discussion on the appropriateness of modern art in an historical context to a major political debate.

Every day after work, Relationnel used to stop by and read the day’s graffiti, slogans and caricatures on the boardings around the worksite. Everyone seemed to have joined the debate. It became increasingly heated and venemous with insults and slander on every side. The French daily Le Figaro launched a major offensive which ultimately won the day and the work was finally resumed in 1986. Major renovations were carried out and completed in 2011 so the columns are all looking very spruce.

When  I first saw them, I didn’t like them at all because I couldn’t see any connection between the so-called “sculpture” and the Palais Royal but when I realised that the stripes were actually a reflection of the regulatory grey and white striped blinds on my windows, I adopted them!

French customs, Paris, Prague

Buskers in Paris and Prague

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When I came up out of an overcrowded metro the other day onto Place de Valois at 6.30 pm (now why didn’t I take the bus like a real Parisian? because there’s no direct bus to uni so I’d have to take two), there was this fellow playing the piano. Isn’t that amazing? A real piano! Not like Vienna, which I used to think was the music capital before I went there. Not a single busker the whole time we were there. Lots of expensive concerts, ALL playing medleys and there’s nothing I dislike more. I like to choose the music I’m going to listen to in a concert hall.

Prague on the other hand was full of musicians. Everywhere you turned there was a band or singers. It was wonderful! Prague remains one of my favourite destinations, despite the food, but the Italian restaurants saved the day. What I particularly like is being able to go right down to the river banks to have a drink or a meal. You can’t do that in Paris though they’re in the process of doing something about it. All sorts of things are in the making for the banks of the Seine.

Paris has a good share of buskers. You often find them in the metro, though the quality of their performance varies. Around our area there are a few regular musicians. Often on a Saturday afternoon around 3, a full orchestra comes to the Place Colette in front of the Comédie Française. They appear to be eastern European and probably students as they change from one year to the next. If you get there at the right time, you can sit and have a drink on the terrace of the Le Nemours. They have their favourites of course (medleys are fine outdoors) and cater to the tourists but they usually play pretty well. On Sunday there was a very enthusiastic brass band on Place du Palais Royal which made a change.

We used to have a very mournful saxophonist over the other side of the Palais Royal gardens. He always played the same thing and it used to drive me spare. So one day I went to see him to ask if he could play something else. He turned out to be a Pom and told me regretfully that he only knew one tune. Fortunately the weather improved and he took his saxophone somewhere else. Another regular on a Sunday afternoon is an opera singer down near the music box shop. She draws a huge crowd.

A long long time ago, when we lived in the suburbs (almost seems another lifetime now), Black Cat and I used to play the piano and Leonardo played the clarinette. I used to hold musical afternoons with the neighbours. We had a cello, a violin, another clarinette, some other pianists and a singer, plus a few triangles and other things of that ilk. But any ability to play has long since left me I’m afraid. I couldn’t even remember where middle C was recently when I had the piano tuned. But now that we have our Aussie exchange student, Brainy Pianist, we have our own private concert before dinner on a Thursday. I love it!

French customs, Paris

Buses in Paris

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Real Parisians don’t take the metro. They take the bus. Also, they don’t go out of their arrondissement unless they’re just going to the next one over. And they think the suburbs are the end of the earth. I have a friend who was born in the 17th, went to school in the 17th, went to uni in the 16th (there isn’t one in the 17th), bought a flat in the 17th and set up her business in the 17th. She moved recently – to another street in the 17th. One day, I talked her into coming to the 1st for lunch and she was surprised she survived the journey!  Now she comes more often …

Ile-de-la-Cité with Notre Dame: am I looking upstream or downstream?

You are only Parisian, of course, if you live inside the ring road that contains all the arrondissements, which, as you may have noticed, are arranged in a clockwise spiral, starting with 1 at Palais Royal and ending with 20 over near Père Lachaise cemetery. What you may not know is that the street numbers always start at the Seine. Take rue du Louvre, for instance, which runs perpendicular to the Seine. N° 1 is next to the river and the numbers climb as you move north. Now what happens, you may ask, if the street is parallel to the Seine? Ah, ha! It’s in the direction of the current no less.  If I stand on the Pont des Arts, Notre Dame is upstream and the Eiffel Tower is downstream. On Quai de la Mégisserie (you know, the street on the Right Bank where all the pet shops and plant shops are), the higher numbers are at Pont Neuf and the lower numbers at Châtelet. I won’t even pretend that I remember that. I have to get Relationnel to explain it to me all over again each time.

There’s a logic behind the bus numbers too would you believe. In most cases, if they start with 2, they go to Gare Saint Lazare, if they start with 3, they go to Gare de l’Est and if they start with 4 they go to Gare du Nord. Most of the 6’s go to Gare de Lyon, the 7’s go to Hôtel de Ville and the 9’s go to Gare Montparnasse. Guess why I prefer to use my RATP iPhone app? Now that I have it, I can be a real Parisian too. In the metro, everyone ignores everyone else, whereas in the bus, you’re allowed to make comments to your neighbours, particularly when it’s not rush hour, without being considered a freak. It’s even encouraged.

The 27 bus outside the Louvre

The articulated buses are fun and can obviously contain more people. We take one from Palais Royal (27) that goes past the Glass Pyramid at the Louvre (great view with the Louvre on one side and the Tuileries Gardens and Arc of Triumph on the other) and across Pont Neuf into the Latin Quarter. I can take the 72 in front of the Louvre and go down to Place de la Concorde, then right along the river to the Eiffel Tower, for example. Sometimes, though, when there’s not much traffic, the drivers go tearing along at the most incredible pace and everyone holds on for dear life. It’s a wonder they don’t hit someone.

Leonardo, who’s now been in Sydney for 3 weeks, is NOT impressed with the public transport there. Apart from its chronic unreliability, he says that the bus seats are too close together and that he can’t actually fit his legs in front of him. He’s fairly tall – 1 m 86 – but so are a lot of other Australians! I asked our Aussie exchange student about it (he’s tall too) and he said it’s because there is a lot more standing room in Parisian buses and not so many seats so they can give you more room for your legs!

The biggest advantage of buses compared with the metro of course is that you get to see where you’re going and I think I could safely say that Paris has one of the highest numbers of monuments per square kilometers in the world. The downside is that despite the many bus lanes you’re never sure you’ll be on time because of the traffic, not to mention an (occasional) demonstration that sends the bus on an unexpected route!

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