Our Paris Adventure: Day Two (10 April)

Two early reminders that we weren't at home greeted us this morning: our sore feet from yesterday's wandering and the view out of our 24th-floor window:

After enjoying long showers and ample breakfasts--I tried my best to balance the healthy (yogourt, half a grapefruit) and the indulgent (pain au chocolat, slice of baguette and cheese)--we decided to start the day in "our" neighbourhood of Montparnasse. Located just south of the Latin District, Montparnasse was a centre of Parisian art and intellectualism in the first part of the 20th century, with Picasso, Chagall, Pound, Dali, Duchamp, Miller, Beckett, Miró, Degas, Juan Gris, Jean Rhys, and Ford Madox Ford amongst the people who lived, created, and debated here. On previous trips to Paris, we visited Montparnasse Cemetery and the Catacombs, but hadn't really explored much of the area until this visit. What we found was a rather quiet neighbourhood dotted with hidden gems and village sensibilities, as well as one of the most unexpectedly picturesque streets we've encountered in Paris. This lovely building caught my attention with its striking murals

and windows.

Just around the corner, some demolition work was underway, and an adjacent WWI memorial to nos morts ("our dead") appeared to be damaged (temporarily? permanently?) as a consequence.

When we thought about what we wanted to do on this trip, we decided that we would forgo the usual big cultural destinations that we've enjoyed in the past (e.g. the Louvre, Orsay, and Pompidou museums) and instead seek out some of the smaller (often free) museums to augment our other Paris experiences. Our first such destination of the day was Montparnasse's Musée Bourdelle, which contains exhibition spaces as well as the studio, house, and garden of sculptor Antoine Bourdelle (1861-1929), assistant to Rodin and a prominent artist in his own right. One of Paris's numerous free municipal museums, Musée Bourdelle was very quiet on this Thursday morning, and we practically had the place to ourselves, except for people busily sketching works on display.

We found the front garden very tranquil, and this snoozing kitty seemed to agree (it was still in the same spot when we exited the museum):

The studio was my favourite part of our visit; it was also the most crowded with people sketching!

The exhibition spaces looked onto the interior garden where Bourdelle liked to stroll during breaks from his work.

I liked La Nuit (1904) and thought the way it was displayed was quite lovely:

The artist's apartment was closed to visitors today, but we were still able to peek in at one of the rooms:

Bourdelle's sentiments on sculpture, as stated in a letter to Rodin, bade us farewell:

Montparnasse still contains many artists' studios, and we passed quite a few of them as we walked, usually in rather secluded cul-de-sacs or narrow, gated alleys.

Part of the joy of walking around Paris is coming across the plentiful, often beautiful street art. This mural was particularly striking, using a functioning clock as a centrepiece for the scene at hand:

Artists' studios fill these next two buildings:

Located just off a large street beside Montparnasse Cemetery, the wonderfully named Passage d'Enfer ("Passage of Hell") was breathtaking in its uniformity, isolation, and simple charm. It felt like we had left Paris.

As we exited the street, this example of the remaining artistic spirit of Montparnasse looked out at us from one of the ground-floor windows.

Our last Montparnasse destination for the day was Musée Zadkine, once the home of sculptor Ossip Zadkine (1890-1967). Another tranquil garden

and numerous interior galleries are filled with sculptures of all sizes.

The woman working at the entrance desk was very chatty (almost as if she enjoyed seeing us practice our French) and asked me if I would mind filling out a survey about the museum. "En Français?" I asked with trepidation, flashing back to high-school dictées. "Si vous voulez," she replied ("If you want") before mentioning that there was also an English survey. With some relief, I agreed to fill out the English version. :-) After we left the museum, we had lunch at our favourite mussels restaurant. Just when we were getting ready to leave, we noticed a bit of commotion outside:

The line of riot police walked backwards at the front of the crowd as a seemingly endless stream of students (high-school students?) took part in a peaceful protest of (as best as we could understand) the curtailing of some rights to study. We left the restaurant right in the middle of the crowd, cutting down a side-street to get away from the throngs, where we came across this colourful mural promoting lively Rue de la Gaité. Coupled with the equally vibrant "Pressing" sign, the corner was a nice shock of colour:

We hopped on a metro and decided while moving northward to get off just across the Seine, near another free Paris museum. Little sibling to the Grand Palais right across the street,

the Petit Palais is only small by comparison!

Both were built for the 1900 Exposition Universelle; the Grand Palais now houses a premiere art exhibition space as well as one of the city's science museums, while the Petit Palais (our destination) contains the Musée des Beaux Arts de la Ville de Paris. The central garden area is beautiful, with a tempting café and plenty of space for relaxing, completely enclosed from the bustle of the nearby street.

The galleries themselves are wonderful to walk through, and we were glad that we had decided to seek out some new places in Paris as we explored the collection.

One hint that we were a bit off the central tourist track was that all the explanatory captions were in French only, which was good practice for our struggling language skills, but also a bit frustrating. Every time we visit Paris, we talk about how we should improve our French, and then we go home, and then, well, you can guess what happens . . . . Some highlights of our visit include Louis Carrier-Belleuse's Porteurs de farine--Scène parisienne (1885);

Ernest-Jules Renoux's Le Pont Neuf, wonderfully displayed with the artist's tools, as if the painter himself (1863-1932) would momentarily return to continue his work;

Camille Pissarro's Le Pont Royal et le Pavillon de Flore (1903);

Rembrandt's Portrait de l'artiste en costume oriental (1631-33);
this group of children listening attentively to a talk about a painting, and then wanting to share their thoughts on the piece;

a Paul Gauguin vase (1887-88);

and one of the strangest pieces I have ever seen in a museum, Jean Carriès's L'Infante (1889):

Hector Guimard's 1909 dining room was an unexpected treat,

and I found this display case quite haunting, even disturbing, and was disappointed that I couldn't find out the artist's name:

On our way from the Petit Palais to the metro, we were treated to a great view of Hotel des Invalides with the golden sculptures of Pont Alexandre III leading up to it.

One last look at the exterior of the Grand Palais

and we spotted a familiar sight in the metro--our feline friend from the Musée Bourdelle, amusingly featured in the foreground of the ad, while the art in question was in the background, partly obscured by the text!

Our next free art destination of the day was the Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris. Although it adjoins the Palais de Tokyo, which we've visited several times, we've always gone to the Palais de Tokyo late at night (it's open until midnight) after the Musée d'Art Moderne de la Ville de Paris was closed. It was definitely our loss, because the museum contains an interesting variety of works in its numerous galleries, and has a lovely café with a postcard-perfect view of the Eiffel Tower to boot. Highlights from the collection include Marcel Broodthaers's Pipe alphabet (1969);

Hervé Télémaque's Par le sang no.3 (avec clefs) (1973);

Jacques Villeglé's brilliant décollage pieces 19.03.1965 «Moto, avenue Ledru Rollin» (1965)

and Boulevard de la Chapelle (1965);

two by Pierre Bonnard (one of my favourite artists), Le Jardin (1936),

and Le Déjeuner (1932);

a fascinating series of Edouard Vuillard paintings of artists in their studios, including Ker-Xavier Roussel,

Pierre Bonnard,

Aristide Maillol,

and Maurice Denis, all completed from 1930-35;

Fernand Léger's Les Disques (1918);

Robert Delaunay's Tour Eiffel (1926)

and La Ville de Paris (1910-12), with the sculpture Orphée (1928-30) by our friend from this morning, Ossip Zadkine, to its left;

Jean Metzinger's L'Oiseau bleu (1913);

George Braque's Nature mort à la sonate (1921);

Picasso's Le Vieux Marc (1914)

and Le Pigeon aux petits pois (1911);

Auguste Herbin's Paysage de Céret, août 1913

and Nature Mort, 1912-13.

By now it was almost 6:00 P.M. and we were overdue for a coffee break--good thing, because our need for a sip and a sit led us to the museum's simple café. The Everland art installation/ hotel "pod" perches on the Palais de Tokyo roof, beside the café.

Everland is temporarily sited in different parts of the world, and is currently in the middle of its year-long residence in Paris. A night in the pod (stays are limited to one night) will cost you €333 or €444 depending on the night of the week (if you can find an available night--it's apparently almost sold out). We enjoyed a similar view to the Everland residents, for a much cheaper price, as we savoured our coffees on the terrace.

After gazing at the Eiffel Tower, we decided to head over that way, crossing the Seine on foot

and walking through the grounds of the Musée de Quai Branly, designed by Jean Nouvel, who won the 2008 Pritzker Architecture Prize just last month. A large glass wall stands between the museum gardens and traffic-clogged Quai Branly, effectively dampening all car noise and creating a remarkable sense of calm. The main museum building is a vibrant structure of jutting boxes, textures, and surprisingly verdant walkways directly under the building itself. Although completely different from everything around it, the museum somehow manages to feel as if it belongs.

Two buildings to the side of the main museum space house administrative offices and artists' studios, and are remarkable for their contrast with the typical Parisian buildings just beyond as well as the lush garden that completely covers one side of the building.

We kept walking toward the Eiffel Tower,

making stops at a few landmark buildings along the way, including Jules Lavirotte's amazing Art Nouveau masterpiece on Avenue Rapp, crowned with bull heads,

a bust of his wife over the main entrance,

a lizard on the door, and attention to design right down to the drain beneath the entrance.

It's definitely the sort of building that makes me wonder what the interiors are like! Another of Lavirotte's creations is nearby, in Square Rapp,

with a third masterpiece just around the corner on Rue Sédillot:

We entered Parc du Champ de Mars, passing this intricately detailed sculpture

before being treated to another view of the Eiffel Tower, this time at sunset.

This cute dog took very slow, very small steps through the park as it was walked

and watered by its owner.

Even though we had spent almost the entire day walking, we still had some energy, so decided to walk on (not across) the Seine. Just how would we do this, you ask? Well, near the Eiffel Tower, there's a rather isolated path that does just that--in order to get there, you have to walk partway along a bridge (Pont de Bir-Hakeim) until you're in the middle of the river, then turn! The bridge's original name (Pont de Passy) is still reflected in its architecture:

While parts of the path, called Allée des Cygnes ("Promenade of the Swans"), are quite open, there are also very lush, isolated parts that make for a relaxing walk, and it was a rather unique sensation to be walking in the middle of the Seine. Supposedly, Allée des Cygnes was one of Beckett's favourite strolls.

At the eastern end of the walk is a little bit of New York, in the form of a small replica of the Statue of Liberty (placed there in 1889), which gazes west toward its larger counterpart.

By now it was close to 8:30 P.M., our feet were sore, and we were getting hungry--perfect timing to get on some public transportation, head for a lively neighbourhood, and find some food. Wise travellers that we are, we chose to eat in some stables. Don't worry though; it's Paris, so the stables (L'Ecurie) turn out some pretty wonderful food! :-)

Nestled on an intimate slope near the Pantheon, L'Ecurie was packed with people when we arrived, and we had to wait for about ten minutes for a table. In keeping with its status as a friendly neighbourhood spot, we were handed complementary drinks to sip while we waited, along with apologies and assurances that a table would soon be ours. With a nice assortment of locals and tourists, the food was simple and lovingly prepared, with plenty of accompanying personality from the chef (in the nearby open kitchen) and servers.

We both went for the very reasonably priced prix fixe, starting with salad for Bob and paté for me. Our mains were steaks (steak frites, to be exact), and they was delicious, with perfectly done (and definitely not previously frozen) frites.

Ordering steak in Paris can be surprising if you're not used to the way it's prepared here--much, much rarer than in North America. Basically, there's bleu ("blue," essentially raw), saignante ("rare," but actually quite rare), à point ("to the point" or medium, although I'd call it closer to medium-rare-rare), and the no-Parisian-would-ever-order-it-that-way (and some chefs apparently even refuse to serve it that way) bien cuit ("well done"). We ordered ours saignante, but since Bob's steak was a much thicker cut than mine (that's my plateful above), our server very kindly offered to have it put back on the grill for a bit after he noticed Bob trying to cut the very, very rare meat. With a smirk on his face, our server even railed at the chef in a good-natured way that it looked quite bleu and surely the chef had a minute to put it it back on the grill for Monsieur?! While I don't have dessert photos to share with you, my crème caramel and Bob's chocolate mousse were among the best we've ever had. In fact, Bob declared his "the best chocolate mousse ever" (and remember, he's Mr. Chocolate) and asked our server if it was made on-site. This simple question unleashed a torrent of French during which we were told with unbridled enthusiasm that all the desserts are house-made, with the chocolate mousse recipe belonging to the young chef (who turned and smiled when he heard the praise). We were even shown the pot filled with melting chocolate pieces that comprised part of the secret recipe. By the time we finished dinner, it was after 11:00 P.M., and the place was still packed with people eating, drinking, and even celebrating (the table next to us had some sort of enormous meringue brought to their table, where the server poured alcohol over it, lit it on fire, and rang a cowbell attached to the ceiling while the people sang and gazed at their delicious-looking flambé). I decided that the amount of walking we did today was enough to ensure a good night's sleep even with just one more coffee, and Bob wasn't empty-handed at the end of our meal either, since we were brought more complementary drinks to cap off our visit to the stables.

After staying just long enough to watch the owner come in and kiss almost everyone in the restaurant (staff and customers alike--most of the latter at this late hour seemed to be regulars), we left the restaurant very full, very happy, gazing up at the atmospherically lit buildings, looking forward to a comfy bed and being greeted again by more as-yet unwalked Parisian streets tomorrow.