Parks, Pomp, and Pommes

October 17 and 18, Friday and Saturday in Paris

These two days were spent mostly outside and walking around this beautiful city. On Friday, I visited the Jardin de Tuileries (which means "tiles" in France as this area used to be a quarry for tile). The Musee de l'Orangerie abuts the park and I decided that, since it was much smaller in scale than either the Louvre or Musee D'Orsay, I would go inside for a very short while.

This museum houses some of Monet's larger waterlily paintings and they are truly magnificent, not only in size, but in their ability to transport you immediately from the concrete museum structure housing these breathtaking beauties to the gardens from which he drew his inspiration.

Other artists' work included in the museum were Soutine, Modigliani (a favorite), Matisse, Cezanne, Picasso, and others.

Spoke to my older children on the phone while I was sitting near the Louvre and when I told my daughter that I probably would not be going to see the Mona Lisa, she moaned, "But you have to, Mom, that's what you do there!" She is right, but I just wasn't feeling it; this trip is more about walking the city and being outside in the wonderful weather than being indoors in museums.

I assumed that, from where I was, that the Arc de Triomphe, sitting on its hill at the end of the Champs-Elysees, probably would not be a long walk.

Much later: I assumed wrong. The haul over to the Arc was quite lengthy and tiring. (I still don't know how these women here do it in heels and still look like models.) After making my way up here, I am ready for New York City. Crowds of tourists and commuters and neighborhood folks, there were moments when I was feeling a bit claustrophobic. When that happened, I just slowed my pace and concentrated more on what was going on beyond the swirling groups of people. Like passing the Tiffany store and ogling the jewels; or the Peugot store, advertising some sort of sale (sure!); or seeing a really handsome man on his motorcycle (I just couldn't run fast enough to chase him down).

The long walks through the city afford me the feeling of immersion, not as a tourist. When I'm walking, my only cares are how far I can go, where I'll need to rest and get a bite to eat, and whether I've enough space on my digital camera for all the beautiful photos I'm wanting to capture.

The walks have been the best part of the trip; finding quaint streets with those lovely flowerboxes I rave about, passing by bakeries and cheese shops that envelope you in their aromas ever so heady, walking behind an elderly couple quietly talking to each other as they make their way slowly down the boulevard.

Right now, I'm taking a needed rest in the Parc de Andre Citroen (yes, named after the famous auto maker). This is a very interesting place, with quite a few themes or as I would call them "rooms." Different colors and growing styles separate these rooms and are quite magical.The center green is dotted with people: young teachers playing ball with children, teenagers opening a Twister box and shedding jackets in anticipation of the game, other teens gathering at the fountains, shedding some of their outer clothing and playing in the water (brrr, they will be cold later), and then there's this beautiful little boy, riding his bike around and around the greens, looking at me each time and smiling, and finally stopping to converse.

I spoke to him in French, explaining that I don't speak much in French and that I'm from America. I asked if I could take his photograph, he said "Oui," and smiled and flashed a peace sign. Then he went on his merry way. About fifteen minutes later, he and his father came up to me and the father thanked me for being kind to his child and for taking his picture. When I said goodbye, the child waved and said "Goodbye" in English. What a darling!

There is also a tethered hot-air balloon here in the park; it takes passengers on a very short ride up and down, but its real purpose is to tell Parisians about the air quality in the city. Today it is yellow; I will have to find out where that lies on the scale.

Even later at the Café de Commerce near the apartment:

After a nice omelette followed by my usual chocolat chaud, I notice a group of men in hunting attire gathering outside the café windows. Their jackets are nicely tailored and are red or green; they carry the brass horns that I've only seen as Christmas decorations or in photographs. After much merrymaking and greeting of friends, they adjourn to the park across the way and start playing music that sounds patriotic and makes you want to get up and march. They played for about 30 minutes and then were gone.

I ordered the tarte de pomme to continue the celebration.