Shopping in Paris

Paris? Shopping? Shoes?

Twenty-four hours in Paris, and we've seen the famous sights before - what to do? Go shopping, of course. Galeries Lafayette beckoned - the flagship store on Boulevard Haussmann in the 9th arrondissement. This upmarket wonder dates from small beginnings in 1895, and now occupies three sites clustered together. The first owners commissioned the architect Georges Chedanne and his pupil Ferdinand Chanut to design the store at the Haussmann location, where a glass and steel dome and Art Nouveau staircases were finished in 1912.

The sedate store facade hides ten floors of merchandise
and an extraordinary Art Nouveau dome.

Wow! From 1912.

We bustled into the store with a large and seething crowd of shoppers after lunch on a Wednesday. After forging our way through dozens of merchandise displays emblazoned with big brands we emerged into the centre of the ground floor - and were surprised to find ourselves under a beautiful and blazing confection of stained glass and wrought iron: the famous Art Nouveau dome of Galeries Lafayette.

The floors rise up around the dome.

Art Nouveau detail.

Looking down on the brands.

We spent some serious shopping time inspecting the incredible display of highly-priced brand-names: Louis Vuitton, Chanel, Dior, Cartier, Burberry, Dolce & Gabbana, Tiffany....finally settling on some reasonably priced jewellery and a practical backpack. Yes, we managed to buy something at Galeries Lafayette without courting bankruptcy.

Fragrance, jewellery, handbags, watches, cosmetics, fashion, shoes...

Looking upwards.

I have since discovered that it is possible to emerge on the 5th floor and take in a view of Paris which is apparently spectacular -- so intent on finding that perfect purchase, we missed this. I should have read the Trip Advisor reviews first:

We heard from a couple different sources about the free view from the roof. We went up there twice in two days. You can see almost every site Paris is famous for. You can stay up there as long as you like and just relax. A great find!

If had consulted good 'ole Trip Advisor, I might also have been a little more prepared for the loads of bussed-in tourist-shoppers who are seemingly keeping Galeries Lafayette and its expensive brands afloat:

The building is stunningly beautiful. The wide balconies that circle the grand foyer are awash in gourmet foods and luxury fashion designs. The piece de resistence is the domed stained glass roof. The department houses collections of the best designers in the world. However, the department store encourages bus loads of tourists to shop there. The last few times I've visited the store I had to maneuver my way around countless numbers of buses just to get into the store and when I finally made my way into the building I found it so crowded with tourists that I had to leave. I then walked down the street to another grand department store that was equally lovely without the impossible crowds. I would advise travelers to Paris to only visit this establishment in order to see the gorgeous interior. Don't plan on shopping there. (Trip Advisor review).

We were stunned to find that about 90% of our fellow-shoppers seemed to come from Mainland China -- I understand that the big brands can be more expensive there, but queuing for half an hour to buy a handbag? My shopping companion and I opted for a little break at the champagne bar.

Champagne break. So French.

Tour de France by chance

There they go....

A quick two-day visit to Paris, aboard the excellent Eurostar, was mooted. Discussion lazily turned to the Tour de France, which had been pedalling furiously all over France for the past couple of weeks. It looked like the British team and Bradley Wiggins were going to win the cycling honours for the first time ever, taking the title from last year's Australian winner, Cadel Evans, who had not had a good Tour this year.

"So, when does the Tour end?"
"In Paris, this Sunday..."
"Aren't we in Paris on Sunday?"
"????!!!!"

Small charming hotel in Paris.

So, quite co-incidentally, we found ourselves on Sunday afternoon strolling along the banks of the Seine from our charming small hotel behind the Bastille, towards the Tuileries Gardens and a phalanx of barriers, police and people which marked the final circular course of the Tour, around which the cyclists would dash madly eight times before crossing the finish line on the Champs d'Elysees.

"There's no way we'll be able to see anything."
"But it will be nice to just absorb the atmosphere..."










Trotting up to the curb, we found to our mild surprise that the crowd was a mere three people deep around the barricades. Striking while the iron was hot, so to speak, one of us established Base Camp while the other went off to scout water (the temperature was creeping up to 30 degrees C) and to make sure that there wasn't an even better vantage point further along. But the original spot turned out to be the best.

Anticipation....

Within about an hour the press helicopter overhead, followed by a cheer creeping up the boulevard towards us, warned that the cyclists had reached the heart of Paris. Sure enough, they soon zoomed around the curve right near us and then zoomed right by and into the road tunnel under the Gardens. How exciting! Apart from a few gendarmes blocking the view now and then, we had an excellent vantage point. After the first couple of circuits, some less-hardy spectators even abandoned the front row of the barricades, and our view improved to front-line. On the barricades in Paris! Could we hear the people sing, singing a song of angry men....? But I digress. We waited out all the circuits, and excitedly pointed out to each other the Yellow Jersey, the Green Jersey, the British Sky Team, and a possible Cadel Evans in red and black.

The amateur video and pitiful attempts at still photos were barely worth the effort, as the 140-odd riders passed us in a hissing blur of furiously pedalling legs. Later, enjoying a well-earned bottle of Chateau Neuf du Pape and excellent French cuisine in a charming small bistro in the 11th arrondissment, we flicked through our photographic efforts on the camera.

Cadel!

"Hmmm...this is the least blurry still pic. Someone in red and black."
"Let's see...Hmmm. You have Cadel there."
"Cadel? I have Cadel? Are you sure?"
"Yep. Lucky."

Indeed we were.

Paris in the Spring

Printemps

Yes, I had to get up early to catch the 6.22 am Eurostar train to Paris, but you lose one hour when travelling from the UK to Continental Europe, and I had a date. At 11 am, there I was on a corner somewhere in the 12th arrondissement, with my two Paris-based friends (they whose spare bedroom so generously makes a weekend in Paris do-able), and a dozen of their buddies, and a charming Frenchman named Claude. Not only is Claude charming, he is also trained in art history and the history of architecture, speaks many languages, and is one of Paris's top guides.

We assemble.

The walking tour commenced. Today, its goal was to follow what is called (in a rather pedestrian - in both senses - phrase)  la promenade plantee; or (more romantically) coulee verte. We began at a neat 19th century building with a stone-engraved moniker: Chemin de Fer Este - the Eastern Railway. It had once been a station for the railway line coming from the Bastille to Eastern Paris, an area which was once the factories and manufactories of Paris, stuffed with 'social housing' for the workers who kept the wheels of industry turning for the well-heeled of Western Paris.

Elevated garden walkways of the coulee verte

Behind the ex-station we joined the 4 km green belt of grass and parks and gardens known as the coulee verte, built along the route where the railway once ran. In the 1970s, the then-mayor of Paris - one Jacques Chirac - began the work which gave Paris many of its green spaces, including this innovative one.

Modern apartments along the coulee verte

Ateliers in the viaduct arches

Sometimes the coulee verte is at ground level, sometimes the ex-railway line disappears underground; but the most famous stretch is that which runs above the city streets perched on a long stretch of ex-railway viaduct. Below, the arches of the viaduct are filled today with the ateliers of artists and artisans. This is the arrondissement to come to if you need an old document restored, your antique furniture re-upholstered, or a wild, gilt Rococo mirror for your bathroom.


The architecture along the way features some of the original social housing dating from the early 1900s - so 'luxurious' that they rival the newer up-scale apartments. There is also the Gare de l'Est, and a very peculiar building from 1997-8, housing the Police Command and featuring poured concrete caryatids along the roofline in a bizarre chorus line.

A Chorus Line

Claude:
information extraordinaire

Eventually we reached the busy Place in front of the Opera Bastille, the imposing modern 'second' opera house of Paris, designed by the Canadian-Uruguayan architect Carlos Ott, and built 1983 - 1989. It now faces the site of the original Bastille, the notorious prison that was famously stormed on 14th July 1789, and dismantled the next day by the revolutionaries. In the Place, under the wheels of the many cars and buses and motorcycles, you can see the 2D outline in stones of two corner towers of the Bastille, and part of its outer wall. If you cross the road and walk inside the 'walls' you can stop for a beer at Cafe Francais, and sit under an umbrella in the sunshine right inside the site of the Bastille. So we did.

Site of the Bastille - now a civilised cafe.

Reflections in the Opera House

The 12th

Farce?

'A Flea In Her ear"

The difference between ‘comedy’ and ‘farce’? According to my programme for ‘'A Flea In Her Ear', a French farce written by George Feydeau in 1900, comedy is based mostly on characters and dialogue, while farce relies on plot and physical action. Farce is said to be much more difficult to write and perform than comedy, and relies on split second timing. Says programme-article writer John Morrison:

“Surrounded by slamming doors, plates of sardines and multiple burglars...I realised that performing farce demands a split-second precision that makes every other form of drama seem a piece of cake.”

I took myself off to The Old Vic Theatre just in time to catch the second-last performance of this farce – and luckily I did, because it was extremely funny, and brilliantly performed. Friends had recommended it to me, and I should have listened to them sooner.

George Feydeau

So let me take you back to La Belle Époque, the years between 1890 and 1914, when Paris flourished as the artistic capital of the Western world. Lots of new technologies enlivened life, like bicycles for everyone, typewriters, internal combustion engines, new heating and lighting, telephones – and the Paris Metro opening in 1900. Also in 1900 the Exposition Universelle unveiled the still-to-be completed Eiffel Tower. Half a million Parisians attended the theatre at least once a week. There were 27,000 cafes, cabarets like the Chat Noir, and dance halls like the Moulin Rouge. All this encouraged some risqué on-stage entertainments, but there was also the emergence of Art Nouveau and the screening of the first motion picture by the Lumière Brothers. Ah, the fin de siècle!

Sitting at his permanent table reserved at Maxim’s restaurant was the playwright Georges Feydeau, observing Parisian society with a satiric eye, especially its sexual and matrimonial activities, its foibles and its extravagances.

Feydeau’s play ‘La puce à l’oreille’ (‘A Flea in her Ear’) didn’t make it to Britain until 1917, and only then in a highly sanitised version. Feydeau’s house of ill repute became The Blue Cat Tea Rooms, and the unfortunate impotence of the lead character Chandebise was changed to a long list of other ailments, including pimples and rheumatism. Then in 1965 the wonderful John Mortimer (of ‘Rumpole Of The Bailey’ fame) produced a more faithful translation – the one performed at The Old Vic  – and it was submitted to the Lord Chamberlain’s office, aka the British censors. As the programme notes put it, in 1965 “censorship was already on its last legs, but still vigilant.” However, the Mortimer translation passed the test – the “No Sex Please, We’re British” policy was dead and buried.

Feydeau is known as a bold and precise playwright, and his influence is said to extend to ‘Fawlty Towers’, where Sybil Fawlty is a classic example of the person who must be prevented from seeing what is really happening, a character which is a staple of good farce. In my opinion, anything which inspired ‘Fawlty Towers’ can only be good.

Watch the trailer...

Mistaken identity...misunderstandings...

And the plot? I couldn’t possibly do it justice. It is too filled with characters (one actor plays two parts, with his identical looks causing mayhem), plots and subplots, mistaken identities, plans gone awry and various pairings up...and yes, there is plenty of slamming doors, physical running and leaping, some extremely funny moments arising solely from the contortions of plot. Almost everyone on stage was excellent, but commendation has to go to Tom Hollander – as the poster out the front of the theatre said, he was so good, they cast him twice. He played the dual roles of Victor Emmanuel Chandebise and Poche, making so many quick costume changes that it was a wonder he didn’t mix them up. At one point he even meets himself, which is quite a staging challenge, I think you will agree. Everyone did a lot of shrieking and talking very fast, and one chap did most of his part with a serious speech impediment (which is not an easy thing to get laughs out of).

Histangua gets threatening

But my personal favourite was probably Carlos Homenides de Histangua, played by John Marquez – a fiery Spanish husband with a revolver, a temper and Cuban heels. And a very funny accent. The play included a bevy of typecast Europeans - Spanish, French, German (“Prussian’) and English: whether these characterisations can be laid at the door of Feydeau, Mortimer or the present company and director is not quite clear. I hasten to add that everyone laughed at all of them. Histangua was quite endearing, really, with his histrionics and his pistols, and his fandangos to hide the noise in the next room. His wife, Lucienne, soothed him with a rapid-fire Spanish explanation, to which he replied ‘es verdad? es verdad?’, and the heroine Raymonde sighed, ‘how quickly people can become reconciled in Spanish’.

The first half ended with an enormous contretemps in the ill-famed Hotel Coq d’Or, half-dressed people running everywhere, Histangua waving his revolver, and everyone (plus some extras) on stage simultaneously. It was wild, I tell you, wild. The shorter second half (if you’ll excuse the literal incorrectness of that phrase) resolved all the plot lines and loose ends at a rapid pace. You had to keep up. I’ve never known a plot to move so quickly and with such precision. It was very clever indeed, and very funny. Laugh-out-loud funny, which is a blessing not to be lightly dismissed.

End of Act Two: chaos!

As some in the cast described it: "it's like getting on an express train"; "like an episode of Benny Hill drawn by Salvador Dali"; '"you just have to hold your nose and jump in."

Thank goodness I caught it in time.

It was the first time I had been to The Old Vic (there are so many theatres in London, that nearly everything I go to is in a theatre new to me!) Its history goes back to 1818, right in the middle of the Regency Period, when it was known as the Royal Coburg. The street it is on, very close to Waterloo Station, is called The Cut (for reasons which I have not unearthed), and the theatre was sometimes called The New Cut. It went through several names, including ‘The New Victoria’ and ‘The Royal Victoria Coffee House and Music Hall’. People appear to have started calling it ‘The Old Vic’ by the 1920s. The major figures in running the theatre at its height were women, Emma Cons and her niece Lilian Baylis. Many big names played there, from Edmund Kean in the 1830s (he thought the audience “a set of ignorant, unmitigated brutes”), to Sybil Thorndike carrying on bravely during WWI Zeppelin raids, to John Gielgud playing Shakespeare. Peggy Ashcroft, Michael Redgrave, Laurence Olivier – all the big names seem to have been in The Old Vic company.

The building was badly bombed in the Blitz, causing the establishment of a temporary home known as The New Vic. The theatre re-opened in 1950 and went on to boast many more big name players: Richard Burton, Judi Dench, Maggie Smith. This company (very illustrious) seems to have formed the nucleus of the National Theatre, which moved off to its home in South Bank in 1976. The poor Old Vic then led an itinerant life, and was eventually bought in 1982 by a Canadian businessman who restored its facade to its former glory based on an 1830s engraving, and the auditorium using 1871 designs. All’s well until the Canadians  put the theatre on the market in 1998, and there are suggestions to turn it into a themed pub, a bingo hall or a lap-dancing club. *Cue wide-spread outrage and protests* A Trust is set up to buy and operate the theatre in 2000  --- and here we are today. In 2003 Kevin Spacey was appointed first Artistic Director of The Old Vic Theatre Company . He’s coming onstage to play Richard III in June – I have my ticket.

Images from:
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Georges_Feydeau
http://www.oldvictheatre.com/index.php
http://www.theatresonline.com/theatres/london-west-end-theatres/the-old-vic-london/the-old-vic/
http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2010-12-30/dancing-cinderella-1-700-gala-riverside-dj-to-welcome-2011-in-london.html
http://www.bloomberg.com/news/2010-12-30/dancing-cinderella-1-700-gala-riverside-dj-to-welcome-2011-in-london.html
http://hamlife.blogspot.com/2011/02/flea-in-her-ear-at-old-vic.html

The perils of love

"Francesca da Rimini"

Valentine’s Day may not be the most appropriate date upon which to bring you the sad story of Francesca and Paolo, the star-crossed lovers of Zandonai’s opera ‘Francesca da Rimini’. There’s a little bit of every star-crossed lovers' story in theirs: Tristan & Isolde, Lancelot & Guinevere, Romeo & Juliet, Dante and Beatrice; even Rodin’s statue ‘The Kiss’ is about them. Granted, this makes the opera’s story line somewhat confusing – the first question on everyone’s lips at interval at Opera Bastille on Saturday night was: “So, do you know what’s going on?” But the second comment was: “Fabulous singing!” Amazing tenor Roberto Alagna and soprano Svetla Vassileva dominated an excellent cast, which also included ‘Our Lou’ – Australian mezzo Louise Callinan, a friend whom I heard sing for the first time. What a voice! Her role as Francesca’s sister (“I’m the blonde!”) was heartily cheered from the excellent house seats she had organised for us.

Le ténor: Roberto Alagna 

Rodin's 'The Kiss' was originally
called 'Francesca da Rimini'

But back to the lovers...my understanding of the opera was assisted when I discovered the English language page in the French program, entitled “To be read before the performance”. How helpful! This tells us that Riccardo Zandonai is one of the principal Italian composers of the 20^th century (this opera was first performed in 1914), with influences as diverse as Mascagni (“Cavalleria Rusticana”) of whom he was a pupil, Debussy and Richard Strauss; and is “the quintessential representative of Italy’s Art nouveau music, the Liberty style for which Segantini was the painter and D’Annunzio the poet.” D’Annunzio in fact provided the libretto for this opera. Zandonai was also married to the exotically-named diva Tarquinia Tarquini, and I can only hope their union was a happier one than that of Francesca and Paolo.

Riccardo Zandonai (1883 - 1944)

The opera is set in 13^th century Ravenna, although the production staged by the Paris Opera (previously used at the Zurich Opera, I’m told) is set in one of those time-less fantasy worlds which opera designers love.Thee are vague suggestions of the 13^th century, coupled with WWII storm troopers and possibly even Il Duce; tableaux resemble paintings from the renaissance, and Greek and Roman statuary is dotted about. There’s a Garden of Eden, a falcon, a dwarf, a ship at sea with a searchlight scanning the audience, a puppet show, and a fierce bad guy in a wheelchair. I told you it was a little confusing.

Francesca was an historical figure, daughter of the Lord of Ravenna (who’s surname was Polenta – but I refused to be sidetracked by that interesting factoid). There had been one of those Capulet and Montague situations with the family of Malatesta (whose name already sounds bad). A political marriage was arranged between Francesca and Gianciotto, the oldest of three Malatesta brothers, who (in the opera at least) is supposed to be a hideously deformed and ugly man (he of the wheelchair). To trick Francesca into the deal, the handsome brother Paolo is sent along to marry her by proxy, as it were. Needless to say, she is a trifle miffed when she discovers this deception; but still Paolo is so alluring (he is a tenor, after all) that she falls in love with him, and he with her. There is a battle, and a third brother named Malatestino (who, in a somewhat irrelevant bit of sub-plot, loses an eye).

Ingres: 'Gianciotto Discovers
Paolo and Francesca' (1819)

Francesca and Paolo become the epitome of High Romantic love, and end up in bed after reading together the story of Lancelot & Guinevere. But early references to Tristan let us know that things are not likely to turn out well. Samaratina, Francesca’s sister (Louise!) has a bad feeling about the whole thing from the beginning, but no one listens to her and she’s not allowed back on after Act One – a mistake, on several levels, in my opinion. In the denouement, Malatestino (who looks very evil with a patch over his lost eye) makes advances to Francesca, who rebuffs him and complains to her husband. In revenge, Malatestino dobs in Francesca and Paolo, they are discovered in a compromising position by the husband and bad brother, and killed there and then. Cue curtain, cue applause. Cue *big sigh* for Valentine’s Day.

Actually, I looked up the story of the historic Francesco and Paolo, and it seems that he was married too; and they had several children together. The ‘evil’ husband was said to be brave but deformed. He did kill them, though. There’s nothing like the Romantic Tradition for making a good story out of a good story. There is also a version of the story from Giovanni Boccaccio, he of ‘The Decameron’ fame. Francesca, according to Boccaccio, was blatantly tricked into marrying Gianciotto, who was disfigured and uncouth, and the handsome and elegant Paolo was sent in his brother's place to settle the nuptial contract. Angered at finding herself wed the following day to Gianciotto, Francesca made no attempt to restrain her affections for Paolo and the two in fact soon became lovers. Informed of this liaison, Gianciotto one day caught them together in Francesca's bedroom (unaware that Paolo had become stuck in his attempt to escape down a ladder, she let Gianciotto in the room). When Gianciotto lunged at Paolo with a sword, Francesca stepped between the two men and was killed instead, much to the dismay of her husband, who then promptly finished off Paolo as well. Francesca and Paolo, Boccaccio concludes, were buried--accompanied by many tears--in a single tomb. 

Dante was a contemporary of the real Francesca and met her; he included her as a character in his ‘Inferno’, and she has lines in Canto V. Her shade tells Dante that her husband is destined for punishment in Caina--the infernal realm of familial betrayal named after Cain, who killed his brother Abel (Genesis 4:8)--for murdering her and Paolo. Her lines eloquently describe the power of love, and move the character Dante to tears:

Love, that can quickly seize the gentle heart,

took hold of him because of the fair body

taken from me—how that was done still wounds me.

 Love, that releases no beloved from loving,

took hold of me so strongly through his beauty

that, as you see, it has not left me yet.

 Love led the two of us unto one death.

Caina waits for him who took our life.

Removing the wig: looks like fun

Gosh, after that I need supper...the opera ran for about 3.5 hours, and  then, thrillingly, our little group was granted a peek backstage at The Bastille! First, a glimpse of the stage from behind the curtain, as the stage crews packed away the scene of the crime; then to Louise’s (very nice) dressing room, where she had got as far as changing her 13^th century-ish dress for street clothes, but still had on her stage make up and blonde wig. I suspect that most of you blog readers are secretly, if not openly, excited by dress-ups, and back-stage at the opera has got to be the mother lode for those of us in that category. Plus the sound wafting in of a lone baritone practising wafting down the corridor, the chorus costumes hanging on the railings, and a large crowd of autograph hunters huddled at the stage door waiting for Alagna. We had all excitedly asked Louise to sign our programs (she being our star of the night) but she said the autograph hunters would not recognise her without the blond wig. It is funny to watch them scrutinise each face to see if the departing artiste is the one they are after – an opera singer in street clothes is a different visual matter to one in costume.

The Bastille behind the July Column

The Bastille itself – a new opera house for me – was a great experience. A huge auditorium – it has 2,723 seats, every one with an unrestricted view of the stage – also has great acoustics. It was a project of Francois Mitterrand, and opened in 1989, so it is a very recent building by opera house standards. It stands on the Place de Republic, on the site of the abandoned Bastille Station. The gala opening concert in 1989 was held on the 200^th anniversary of the storming of the Bastille. The exterior of the building has been criticised as too huge and out of sympathy with the surrounding buildings; but with a brief to build an auditorium of this size, there must have been few other options. The interior is bare and plain, in the modernist style, but the clean lines, well-designed seating, and above all the superlative views and acoustics tick all the right boxes. I might also mention – because it is more important than you might appreciate – that this opera house has the shortest interval queues for the Ladies’ of any house I have been to. Kudos to the architect.

And that supper I mentioned? Eventually our little party made its way across (or rather, around) the Place du Republic to Bofinger, a late-opening, après-opera bistrot with lovely Art Deco interiors. Here’s a description from its website:

Bofinger's Dining Room

The glass dome ceiling illuminating the main dining room is a masterpiece by Néret and Royer. It was installed by Albert Bruneau, Bofinger's son in law who succeeded him in 1906, in association with Louis Barraud. The revolving door, the bar, the vast winding staircase, the padded black leather bench seats, the bronze wall lights, the copper, the ceramics, the mirrors, everything dates from this period and epitomises the style of an Alsatian brasserie. At the start of the Années Folles, it became the meeting place of the political world, and more than one government fell to the power of its sauerkraut. 

Bofinger is apparently famous for its sauerkraut, and justly so if governments have fallen under its power. I’m sorry I didn’t order it now (I had scallops)

It was late, but what a party (Rodney behind the camera)

We got home at about 3 am – I’ll leave you to imagine the great champagne, French food, wine, conversation and friendship that made the hours whizz by.

May I propose a toast to Francesca and Paolo, and to “Love, that releases no beloved from loving”.  I hope you managed to enjoy or avoid Valentine’s Day, whatever was your aim.

Images and info from:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Divine_Comedy

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Francesca_da_Rimini

http://danteworlds.laits.utexas.edu/circle2.html#francesca

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Op%C3%A9ra_Bastille

http://www.bofingerparis.com/en/
http://www.brightcecilia.net/gallery2/v/Composers/?g2_page=71&g2_showId=4156
http://www.operadeparis.fr/cns11/live/onp/

Croissant

petit déjeuner

Saturday morning, 16^th arrondissment, Paris; bakery on Avenue Victor Hugo, poodles tied up to the doggy-ring in the wall outside; Jim and I surveying the delectable goodies on offer. ‘I feel a blog post about croissants coming on’, I said, and snapped the requisite pic. Having made our selection, we fetched Zephyr and Zazou and headed back to Jim and Marilyn’s elegant and hospitable Paris apartment for an elegant and hospitable late ‘continental’ breakfast.

Waiting patiently

Crescent-shaped bread and pastries have surely been made for many years – Wikipedia mentions the Middle Ages and moon-worship – but there is no doubt that 19^th-century Paris made the croissant its own. To make your croissant you need a variant of puff pastry that is leavened with yeast, and scads of butter that is folded into the pastry. Here’s a croissant recipe. 

Unbaked croissants

Apparently, in a (very attractive) answer to American take-away food, the croissanteries of Paris began in the 1970s to turn the things out in quantity when someone developed a frozen version that can be baked piping hot every morning. It seems that 30 – 40% of croissant sold in Paris these days are frozen product. But I must say, I have never yet been disappointed by a warm morning croissant from a French bakery. I am especially fond of the pain de raisin version, which isn’t strictly a croissant, I suppose, since it is not crescent shaped. But it is still the same yummy pastry, layered with raisins.  These days you don’t need to go to Paris for your croissant (but why not, if you can?) They spread quite quickly to far-clung French colonies like Morocco and Vietnam (where you can also get very good baguette, just by the way), and Wikipedia says you could get a nice croissant in Ethiopia by 1902. We’ll take its word for that.

Ahhh...now what to choose?

There is a story going around that the Hungarians are responsible for the croissant – that it was created in 1686 in Budapest by a courageous and watchful baker, at a time when the city was being attacked by the Turks. According to Ochef:

Working late one night, he heard odd rumbling noises and alerted the city's military leaders. They found that the Turks were trying to get into the city by tunnelling under the city's walls. The tunnel was destroyed and the baker was a hero, but a humble hero — all he wanted in reward was the sole right to bake a special pastry commemorating the fight. The pastry was shaped like a crescent, the symbol of Islam, and presumably meant that the Hungarians had eaten the Turks for lunch. The problem with this story is that it's all made up.

Happy shopper pleased with herself.

Of course, in addition to leisurely weekend breakfasts, Paris does have other delights to offer the weekend visitor. In my case, these centred principally on shopping: les soldes are underway. Using my up-coming birthday as an excuse, I enjoyed visiting the local dress shop, where the clothes were très chic and the prices une aubaine. Following a revivifying pause at un bistrot, we paid a late afternoon visit to ‘the First’ (arrondissment, that is) to visit the amazing apartment of Madame Thomas, and conduct a whirlwind tour of her haunts.

And what about these arrondissments? They are the administrative divisions of Paris, roughly translatable as ‘municipal districts’. In Paris each seems to have its own neighbourhood character, mostly very different. The 16^th is elegant, relatively moneyed, ex-pats, elderly ladies in their high-ceiling apartments. The 1^st, on the other hand, is the vibrant heart of old Paris, centred around Les Halles, which used to be the main city market before they moved that out and replaced it with a hideous underground shopping centre. But the little streets all around are full of street life and character.

Paris has 20 arrondissments, arranged in a spiral pattern fanning out from the 1st on  the right bank of the Seine. There are some interesting population and density figures here.  This site describes each one, with a few pictures. Of the 1st and 16th, it says: Arrondissement 1 - Louvre

The least populated of the 20 arrondissements in Paris is at the geographical centre of Paris, hence the area is crammed with historic sights. The Louvre Museum, Royal Palace, Tuileries Gardens, Forum les Halles, Bourse du Commerce and the upscale Vendome Square are all located here. The 1st arrondissement also comprises the western tip of the, Ile de la Cite, including the magnificent Sainte-Chapelle and the Conciergerie.

Arrondissement 16 - Passy

Even if the 7th arrondissement may be even more exclusive, the 16th arrondissement has the reputation of being the richest, and only the better-off are able to pay the high rents here. The arrondissement is bordered by the enormous Boulogne park on the west. Its only tourist attraction of sorts is the Palais de Chaillot, from where you can have a great view of the Eiffel Tower. The Palais de Chaillot is also home to several museums.

And what's that at the end of the street?

Two very different characters, but both quintessentially Parisien. In the 1^st, you wander by the Centre de Pompidou on your way to buy baguette; in the 16^th, the Arc de Triomphe is at the end of your street. Speaking of which, my favourite story about the Arc de Triomphe is that after the 1919 victory parade marking the end of hostilities in World War I, a pilot named Charles Godefroy flew his biplane through the main arch, and there’s newsreel film to prove it. The Arc stands 50 m high, 45 m deep and 22 m wide, and is the second-largest triumphal arch in existence.

And then of course, when the mild evening falls, there's always the opera....lots to choose from in Paris. But that's a story for another day. Bon nuit.

Parisien chic

Parisien chic

Images and info from:

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Croissant

http://www.ochef.com/853.htm

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arrondissements_of_Paris

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Arc_de_Triomphe