OUR LADY

This is not the post I was planning to publish this week. We all saw the horrible images of the devastating fire that devoured Notre-Dame de Paris yesterday. Pumping water from the nearby Seine, 400 heroic firefighters managed to save the two towers, the façade, and the overall structure of the cathedral; they also secured some of the most precious relics and artworks. The 800-year-old wood frame that supported the roof, along with the spire, burned down. Damage to the grand pipe organ and the stunning stained-glass roses will need to be evaluated.

A rare photo of Notre-Dame on a snowy day

Worldwide emotion was palpable in the surrounding streets, on TV, and on the web. Sorrow was shared by French and non-French, the faithful and the occasional tourist. It showed the cathedral had truly earned its given name: OUR lady. Since the 12th century, it has been the soul of Paris. It bore witness to fundamental moments of French history: Henri IV’s marriage, Napoléon’s coronation, the Liberation from Nazi Germany. It’s the most visited monument in Europe. It’s listed as a World Heritage Site. It belongs to the world, to all of us.

Magical at night

Transcending its religious significance, the cathedral became a tribute to civilization and human know-how. Thousands of artists and artisans contributed their creativity, skills, sweat, and tears over nine centuries to build a structure so unique that it inspired writers, painters, photographers, and musicians. Millions of American children were introduced to Notre-Dame via Disney’s Ratatouille. Millions of French children discovered it through Victor Hugo’s novel. I was one of them.

From the terrace of the Insitut du Monde Arabe

Notre-Dame was my neighbor while I was a student in the Latin Quarter in the mid-70s. On a whim, after an afternoon math class that was taking place a block away, I decided to check out the view from the top. I got my ticket at the tiny guérite on the North side of the North tower and proceeded to climb 387 narrow spiraling steps. My efforts were rewarded with the most magnificent view of Paris. Yes, I think it’s better than the Eiffel Tower because of its central location and proximity to other significant sites. I made the climb on three other occasions, usually with some American guests in tow.

Stained glass in one of the lateral chapels

The keystone

I attended mass at Notre-Dame only once, in September 2011. Mom had joined me while I was in Paris for a trade show. Her mobility was a bit impaired. I picked activities that would not require her to walk too much. We chose a Gregorian mass on Sunday and sat in the middle of the nave while visitors filed through the ambulatory. The organ and the chants were glorious. Entrance to the cathedral was always free and I was amazed to see how tourists and faithful could cohabit with limited disturbance.

Gargoyles

Just about every trip to Paris led me to the site; at the very least, I strolled on the parvis or in square Jean XXIII that borders the cathedral to the South and East. I would see it from Montmartre and Belleville, from pont des Arts and pont d’Austerlitz, from Beaubourg and Institut du Monde Arabe. It was always nearby. It was eternal, or so I thought. Like everybody else, I took it for granted.

One of my early shots (almost 20 years ago) from quai de Montebello

Emmanuel Macron vowed that we would rebuild the cathedral, a gigantic endeavor. The Middle Ages were known as the era of cathedral builders; perhaps the 21st century will usher a similar period since it appears that everybody wants to be part of the reconstruction effort.

From pont de la Tournelle

I’m not sure I’ll still be around to walk into the “new” Notre-Dame but that didn’t stop the thousands of craftsmen who started building the original structure in 1160: those bâtisseurs were fully aware they would never see the result of their hard work. But they also knew they were serving a higher purpose: expressing their faith in God. Today, we can be new bâtisseurs with another purpose: expressing our faith in man and our appreciation of heritage. So that future generations of children can climb 387 steps, gaze at gargoyles, and embrace the splendid city below.

Official website for the fundraising campaign

Through an upstairs window at Shakespeare and Co.

Vocabulary
La guérite: booth
Le parvis: esplanade
Le bâtisseur: builder

My very last photo of the cathedral. Taken on March 19, 2019. The spire and the South rose reflected in the window of Charbonnel, a fine art supply shop on quai de Montebello.

LES FLEURS

I hooked up in Paris with my friend Raegan last September and she was interested in visiting some the places where I grew up. We took the RER to the suburbs east of Paris and got off at Noisy-Champs. We walked to my parents’ former house –where I lived until I moved to the US– and then to the elementary school I attended when I was 10 years old. We stood at the gate just before noon, where many mothers were waiting to pick up their children. I usually walked home on my own for lunch but Mom would often come to get me at the end of the school day, with a pain au chocolat, un pain aux raisins, or a chausson aux pommes for my goûter. 

Elisabeth, among her flowers

On a whim, I decided to head out to Parmi les Fleurs, a floral shop located a mere 100 meters from the school. It also happens to stand right across from the cemetery, which is always a desirable spot when you are in the floral business. None of my family members are buried there but the florist, Elisabeth, designed my wedding bouquet in 1982. She was one of my sister’s childhood friends. I hadn’t seen her since… well, my wedding. I instantly recognized her: the blond hair gave her away. It was fun to reconnect after all these years. Her shop looked beautiful; it was inviting and uncluttered, a suggestion of how the right floral arrangement can transform your space.

Rue de Babylone, 7th arr.

I don’t routinely draw comparisons between the French and American cultures but I do believe that we –the French– have a special relationship with flowers. Take weddings as an example. In the US, the bride pretty much makes all decisions on flowers (the bouquet and boutonnieres, of course, but also the arrangements that will be displayed at the church, reception, etc.) There is a lot of emphasis on theme, color, and coordination: there is a master plan and interference is not welcomed. When you live in France, you wouldn’t dream of attending a wedding and not sending your own flowers. Same thing for a funeral: it is de rigueur to send flowers, whether you’re able to attend or not. 

Rue Beaubourg, 3rd arr.

And there is Valentine’s, and Mother’s Day, and anniversaries. Even with no special occasion in sight, the French purchase a lot of flowers for their own homes; while growing up, I would often come home and notice that Mom had just bought a bouquet of mimosa, a pot of hyacinths or cyclamens, a bunch of tulips, or a bouquet composé. Just because it looked nice and smelled good.  My grandmother would cut roses, gladiolus, or dahlias from her garden and set them out in a vase on the kitchen table.

Rue Caulaincourt, 18th arr.

Floral shops in Paris are almost –almost– as ubiquitous as pharmacies and pâtisseries. Maybe that gives you an idea of where our priorities lie. When I perused a batch of photos recently, I realized that floral shops tend to be a favorite subject of mine. Maybe I should buy more fresh flowers instead of immortalizing them digitally? Anyway, I’m happy to share some of my favorite pictures of floral shops all over Paris. Sorry, no scratch and sniff yet… 

Rue Condorcet, 9th arr. Check out that mosaic!

Rue Duban in the 16h arr. in posh Passy.

Marché des Enfants Rouges, 3rd arr. with murals to match.

Boulevard Henri IV, 4th arr. Organized by color!

Avenue Ledru-Rolin, 12th arr.

Place du Dr. Félix Lobligeois, 17th arr.

Place de la Madeleine, 8th arr. There are several floral stalls on the eastern side of the church.

Rue des Martyrs, 9th arr. A flower bar...

Rue du Jourdain. 20th arr.

Vocabulary
Le pain au chocolat:  puff pastry (like a croissant) with a chocolate bar in the center
Le pain aux raisins: raisin snail-type pastry
Le chausson aux pommes: lit. a slipper with apples; half-moon shaped puff pastry filled with applesauce
Parmi les fleurs: among the flowers
De rigueur: customary
Le bouquet composé: lit. a composed bouquet of flowers, a floral arrangement
La pâtisserie: pastry shop

PARIS SOUS LA NEIGE

One rarely thinks of Paris as a Winter Wonderland and yet… We landed on a snowy Tuesday morning and headed down South on a snowy Friday morning. In between, we spent our time doing what we usually do: walking in the streets, strolling on the quays, enjoying the parks… and making frequent stops in the covered passages and in cafés to warm up. This photo essay showcases many familiar locations. You'll see that Paris sous la neige looks quite different from Paris sous la pluie! Last week, for just a few days, Paris was the City of White.

Who wants to go for a ride?

Buses were rare but one can always count on the métro. The trick is to figure out the name of the station...

Mairie of the 3rd arrondissement. The duck was indecisive. Fearing cold water, perhaps?

Square du Temple, 3rd arrondissement

I thought the Père Lachaise cemetery would provide some interesting photo opportunities but it was closed because of the snow. We walked along the perimeter wall.

Life goes on and so does this outdoor market in the 20th arrondissement.

Passage de l'Ancre, 3rd arrondissement

Rue Montorgeuil, 2nd arrondissement

Luckily, Palais Royal was open.

Gardens at Palais Royal 

I never get tired of the symmetry at Palais Royal.

In the Tuileries gardens, these birds might be cold but not hungry!

The Tuileries gardens are dotted with statues. I'll call this one The Juggler.

The Louvre and Pont Royal from Quai Voltaire on the Left Bank

Only a few bouquinistes were brave enough to open their green stalls.

Around the equestrian statue of Henri IV on Pont Neuf, the snow "almost" hides the visual assault of a plethora of love locks.

Snow-covered vegetation outlines the triangular tip of a still flooded Square du Vert-Galant.

A truly "wooly" mammoth guards the Galerie de Paléontologie on rue Buffon.

A heavily blanketed Jardin des Plantes

Viaduc d'Austerlitz and houseboats from Pont d'Austerlitz

One of the hotels on Cité Bergère in the 9th arrondissement

Place de la République

Cold and snowy on rue du Temple

Daybreak on rue du Vertbois

Gardens of the Hôtel de Soubise, Archives Nationales de Paris

Square St Gilles at Hôtel du Grand Veneur

Place des Vosges, stunning in all seasons

Ephemeral statue at Hôtel de Sully

Square Jean XXIII, behind Notre-Dame-de-Paris

Looking toward Quai de Montebello

A snow angel behind Notre-Dame; seems appropriate.

Dedicated piano player on Pont St-Louis, the bridge between Ile de la Cité and Ile St-Louis.

Quai Bourbon at the western tip of Ile St-Louis

PARIS SOUS LA PLUIE

I woke up this morning to the sound of pouring rain, a welcome sound since California has been parched for too many months. I was scheduled to head out to the Bay Area for a trade show but the prospect of driving on wet roads today made me cringe for some odd reason. My mind was flooded with memories of hydroplaning on my way to San Francisco some fifteen years ago: the car spun 180º and I found myself facing incoming traffic, in the fast lane of the freeway. Not the most perfect moment, if you ask me.

Square des Peupliers in the 13th arrondissement

I decided to follow my gut and postponed my trip, which turned out to be an excellent decision: I later found out an eight-vehicle wreck blocked all lanes of the freeway and I would have been sitting in my car for a long time, with no exit path.  Instead, I lingered sous la couette for an extra half hour, listening to the gushing wind and the raindrops hitting the bedroom window. 

Rue des Iris at the Cité Florale, 13th arrondissement

Rain has become somewhat of an oddity for me; it’s the privilege of living in California. All bets are off when I go back to France: I’ve routinely purchased (and disposed of) many parapluies during my trips to Paris. It will ring a bell for those of you who have read my book!

Not a good day for the flea market at place d'Aligre in the 12th arrondissement!

February, May, July, October: for several years in a row, I just couldn’t get a break and I was getting soaked on every trip. It almost felt like payback for purging my wardrobe of manteaux and imperméables.

The pastel houses on rue Crémieux, a bit muted on a rainy day

For a photographer, rain can be a friend: even lighting, no harsh shadows, interesting reflections.

Rue Charles Baudelaire near square Trousseau in the 12th arrondissement. Sometimes, the umbrella gets in the way!

On the other hand, juggling camera and umbrella presents some challenges.

Rue Vieille-du-Temple in the 3rd arrondissement. Love the colorful umbrellas!

Sometimes, the best course of action is to find shelter in a café and rester au sec. 

Salon de thé Carette on place du Trocadéro, 16th arrondissement

Enjoy an espresso or a glass of wine. 

The slate roof of the Musée national d'Histoire naturelle, across from Gare d'Austerlitz

Or hit a museum. 

La Canopée in the 1st arrondissement. The latest addition to the Halles district.

Or check out the unusual gutter system of the Canopée des Halles. 

A Parisian dog practicing his people-watching skills

Or sit en terrasse, under the gas heaters, and watch the world go by. 

Café Marguerite on quai de Gesvres. On a clear day, the bouquinistes green stalls would be open.

Rain or shine, it’s still Paris after all.

Vocabulary

Sous la pluie: under the rain
Sous la couette: under the duvet
Le parapluie: umbrella
Le manteau: coat
L’imperméable (masc.): raincoat
Rester au sec: to stay dry
En terrace: at the terrace
Les bouquinistes: used books sellers on the quais of the Seine

AMERICAN GRAFFITI

Everybody who grew up in Modesto during the 1950s has fond memories of cruising, that adolescent rite of passage immortalized by George Lucas in his 1973 film American Graffiti. Yes, the force is strong in Modesto but car culture is stronger yet! A spontaneous Friday night activity for teenagers anxious to show off their cars and pick up some dates, cruising originally took place on 10th street but had already moved to McHenry Avenue –the “new” main drag– by the time Modesto became my home; instead of a weekly happening, it had morphed into a once-a-year celebration (Graffiti Night) held on Saturday night right after graduation.

I personally never joined the bumper-to-bumper parade: I like to keep a bit of distance from noxious fumes… Rick and I preferred to walk down the street and admire the shiny classic cars and custom hot rods. Besides, the street offered terrific entertainment as well: 50s and 60s music, girls in poodle skirts, cops on horses, the very heavily tattooed guy who showed up with a huge python coiled around his neck year after year.

The City Council banned cruising in 1993 as the event had become too unruly. There were several dark years where Modesto seemed to forget its rich car history. Graffiti Night was finally resurrected into Graffiti Summer: throughout June, car aficionados from all over descend upon Modesto to enjoy several classic and custom car shows, festivals, Hula Hoop contests, and a “regulated” car parade that once again extends to McHenry Avenue. Maybe it’s no longer spontaneous enough for George Lucas; maybe he’d rather keep the memories of his youth intact. The Native Son has attended only once.

I did a double-take last year when I was in Paris: there was a car show right behind the Hôtel de Ville and all vehicles on display were belles américaines, like the legendary Chevys and Fords of American Graffiti, the true stars of the movie. Guess what: George wasn’t there either.

Vocabulary
Les belles américaines: the beautiful American cars (i.e. classics)