Jardin du Luxembourg: Smitten with Paris Gardens

Another dreary, misty day in Limoges so I'm daydreaming about sunny days in the Jardin du Luxembourg. I am always charmed by the colorful formal gardens in France. Particularly wonderful are the beds of vegetables (like purple cabbage), as appreciated for their aesthetic perfection as a rainbow of roses. When I stopped to admire some flowers, snapping photos, the dedicated gardeners even tipped their hats at us, a silent thanks for admiring their work.

Perfect swaths of green lawn... Ogle all you want, but don't touch! (Or dare spread out a blanket for sun-bathing. There are ample chairs assembled off-the-grass for your use.)

These days in Paris, folks scoot around on Vélib' bikes-- the fantastic free bicycle program that should be copied in every city worldwide. But I still swear that walking is the best way to take it all in. Wander wherever your feet take you, like a true flâneur, and you'll never know what will appear before your eyes. Like the string of clouds scooting across the sky behind the Panthéon. (Pictured)

Moments like that and I feel compelled to pluck Hemingway's dusty, ear-marked volume from the bookcase: "If you are lucky enough to have lived in Paris as a young man, then wherever you go for the rest of your life, it stays with you, for Paris is a moveable feast."

Musée Jacquemart André: A Museum Gem in Paris

I had never heard of the Musée Jacquemart André. In a city bursting at the seams with museums, it's easy to overlook the smaller ones. But when we discovered this museum, I was astonished. The collection is incredible, but even more interesting is the place itself: a splendid hôtel particulier, a sumptuous private mansion built during the Second Empire. The owners, Edouard André and his wife Nélie Jacquemart (whom he first met when she painted his portrait), were passionate collectors. During the 19th century, they held elaborate society functions at this gorgeous palace located off the Boulevard Haussmann, not far from the Champs-Élysées. (Métro Miromesnil or St Philippe du Roule)

Get the audio guide. Not only does it explain the incredible art collection-- like a mini-Louvre-- but it also paints in vivid detail the life of the aristocracy of the time. You'll find major works from the French 18th century school (Fragonard, Vigée-Lebrun, Boucher), paintings from the Dutch and Flemish masters (Rembrandt, Van Dyck, Ruysdael), and an enormous collection from the Italian Renaissance. In fact, there's a museum within the museum, a private collection of Italian works (hidden away on the second floor) that Nélie was especially passionate about. She traveled the world after her husband's death, continuing to sniff out the undiscovered masterpieces.

The furnishings are as opulent as the paintings. (I snapped these photos on the sly, so they're not always in focus.) I loved the winter garden room, lit by skylights, and the dark little chamber where the gentlemen smoked cigars after dinner. The tea room is magnificent. All the well-heeled Parisians crowd the room for salads and gourmet lunches. We sipped tea--Mom chose the Chinese tea my grandmother drank-- surrounded by beautiful tapestries from Brussels. Like the fresco above the mansion's staircase, the ceiling in the tea room was painted by Tiepolo.

PS. Apparently the mansion was the background setting for the musical film Gigi!

A Pilgrimage to Sainte-Chapelle

I remember when we first visited Sainte-Chapelle years ago. On a cold January day I dragged Pierre-- the hardened Parisian-- to see this tourist favorite, where he begrudgingly joined the queue outside. Pierre had managed to live for years in Paris without stepping inside the chapel. Paris is so full of these wonders, when you live there, daily life doesn't often include touring the city's treasured symbols, recognizable worldwide. Not that Pierre took it all for granted; he was just busy. (Which just goes to show-- maybe it pays to be a tourist in your own town sometimes...)

Ste-Chapelle is hidden behind the Palais de Justice (Law Courts) and all those big administrative buildings on the Ile de la Cité. And these days you must actually go through security at the Palais. We entered the lower chapel, thinking "What's the big deal?" It's gloomy, dark, and unimpressive. But what do you know? When we walked up the spiral staircase to the upper chapel, the sight took our breath away. Light floods the room (depending on the time of day and the weather), streaming through the stained glass, and I gasped.

The chapel's walls are made entirely of stained glass soaring upward to the vaulted ceilings. Vivid reds and blues soar overhead. The glass is richly detailed with biblical stories and my neck muscles started to ache, craning my neck to follow each story across the panes of glass. If the sun dips behind a cloud, the light fades momentarily and the space temporarily loses its other-worldly effect. But the moment when the sun breaks free again is startling, sacred. This upper chapel was reserved for the royals back in the day. Indeed they even had a separate entrance.

Dating from 1248, the centuries-old Sainte-Chapelle has managed to stand the test of time, still dazzling the faithful who come to pay homage. Louis IX built this exquisite space because he needed someplace special to house his sacred relics (including Christ's Crown of Thorns, purchased from Emperor Baldwin of Constantinople) shown to the common folk on Good Friday every year.

A Study in Contrasts: The Ile de la Cité

You can blame Haussmann for the administrative feel to the Ile de la Cité, the larger of the two islands anchored in the Seine. The architect is viewed as both a hero and a crook; the modernizing urban planner ushered in a new era for the city in the 1860s, but he did so by ruthlessly leveling so many treasures, gutting the deteriorating medieval buildings, paving grand boulevards and erecting big blocks of buildings. But this island is the birthplace of Paris, where the tribe of Parisii settled in the 3rd century BC.



For over two thousand years, the Ile de la Cité was the base of Parisian power. After the Parisii, the Romans took over and built an ancient temple to Jupiter where Notre-Dame now stands. The island is home to the Palais de Justice and the Police Prefecture, along with Notre-Dame, the iconic masterpiece of French Gothic architecture, and the Conciergerie (where Marie Antoinette was imprisoned before going to the guillotine).

Walk the pedestrian bridge from the Ile St-Louis, an unassuming approach to the flying buttresses, gargoyles, and soaring tower of Notre-Dame. This is by far the best way to discover the cathedral. It's quieter, too, stepping through the gardens before hitting the crowds lining up to go inside.


Stroll along the Seine to the Pont des Arts, the iron bridge that connects to the Louvre (right bank) and the Institut de France (left bank). From here, the island's tip appears like the prow of a ship in the middle of the Seine. My uncle discovered the best little hotel, an economical bargain in the heart of the city, in the tranquil gardens of the Place Dauphine at this very spot.

Falling under the Spell of the Ile St-Louis

There is nothing finer in the world than spending a night on the Ile St-Louis, the tiny island in the middle of the Seine just upstream from Notre Dame. No matter how many times I visit Paris, I rarely get a chance to indulge in sight-seeing and being a tourist. Back in September, we had a full week of it and I felt so lucky. The hotel rooms may have been small, crying out for a renovation, but what a fabled address: Right on the main street that runs down the length of the island, connecting to the grander Ile de la Cité by a pedestrian bridge.

Smack dab in the middle of Paris, the island is a calm quartier, its 17th century stone townhouses protected by a line of leafy trees around the island's perimeter. I could sit by the hotel window for hours, watching the street theater. The leisurely quotidien of traditional Paris. The line assembled outside the boulangerie, where the smell of baking bread wafted towards my window. The butchers arriving in white aprons to open the award-winning shop renowned for the care with which the products are displayed in the window-- even the chicken feathers are blown dry for effect.


And we could watch the constant stream of tourists who make the walk from one end of the island to the other, peering with delight into the boutique windows, checking out the flower boxes, staring at the sweet perfection of it all. There are a slew of excellent restaurants lining the street, and it's hard to imagine such epicurean abundance packed into such a small area. (Don't miss an ice cream at Berthillon, or the sinfully thick hot chocolate at Cacao et Chocolat. I picked up the bad habit of a chocolat chaud a day.)

This is the heart of Paris, both geographically and spiritually. It's easy to get seduced by the island's romance and quiet charm. Indeed, it has a village feel. Folks who live here are said to say "I'm heading into the city!" if they venture off the island (a rare occasion), crossing one of four bridges. It's not uncommon to see groups of chatting fishermen assembled under the bridges-- though I'd be hesitant to eat a fish that came from the Seine.

Pictured: One of many river perspectives. A dog keeping watch outside an island boutique. The butcher's famous shop window, where we stared in amazement at all the pretty birds and rabbits. The elegant (uniform) façade of townhouses as it appears from the Ile de la Cité. Fishermen under the bridge. Crossing the Pont de la Tournelle.

Discovering the Lot: St-Cirq Lapopie and the Caves of Pech Merle

Drive west from Cahors, following the winding curves of the cliff-flanked River Lot, and you'll discover some of the most beautiful scenery in France. Hugging the river, the road passes through rock tunnels beneath the sheer limestone outcroppings. There are a smattering of villages built along the river's edge, accessible by narrow bridges.


The most spectacular of all the region's tiny medieval hamlets is St-Cirq Lapopie, perched on a cliff some 100 meters above the river. Stroll through flower-filled alleys and then brace yourself for the ascent. Cafes and artisans' shops now fill the half-timbered houses. And the gardens are magnificent. (When touring so many of these rural villages, I've been struck by the French devotion to aesthetics-- it's as if each village resident goes out of his/her way to beautify the house: planting flower boxes, guiding the rose plant to frame the front door.)

From the top of this 13th century village, the vertical drop to the River Lot is impressive, and the views, dramatic. When we visited the light was just right, bathing the fields below in a golden hue. The village has retained its charm despite the bus loads of tourists who visit. In fact, a tour bus had clogged the entire road the day we visited, as it tried to navigate a particularly narrow turn. So we opted to walk-- passing riders on horseback as we did.

Nearby (about 30 kilometers from Cahors) is the Grotte de Pech Merle, an extensive series of caverns that showcase marvelous prehistoric paintings along with the bizarre stalactites and stalagmites. Two boys discovered the caves in 1922, and we couldn't help but joke that maybe it was that pair who spent time marking up the walls. Most impressive are the footprints left behind-- a path across the mud.

Cro-Magnon people drew paintings of mammoths and polka-dotted horses in this eerie, sacred space some 16,000 years ago, and it's a marvel to behold. There are a bunch of negative human hand prints visible on the wall, like an artist's signature. It was also cool to see the bizarre tree roots hanging in the caverns, meters and meters below the earth's surface. They've marked the tree with an 'x' outside the grotte's entrance.

The Strike against the Strike

Update on the massive transportation strikes: now there is a movement to "Stop la grève!" They are actually striking against the strike, carrying placards and wearing stop sign buttons through the streets of Paris. La grève is costing millions of euros, and folks-- usually sympathetic to this sacred right of labor unions-- are fed up. Vive la France! La grève-- as quintessentially French as a buttery crossaint-- is the instrument by which political protests, social protests, just about all statements are made...

Montcuq and Monopoly

In September, we stayed at our friend Lucy's fabulous house and fell under the spell of the Lot, the Occitan-speaking département in southwest France. The limestone plateau is cut by the meandering River Lot, carving impressive canyons between pastures and fields of vines of the Cahors Appellation d'Origine Contrôlée. This is where pilgrims walked the ancient trail to Santiago de Compostela, passing through Cahors and within steps of Lucy's house.




Not far is the charming village of Montcuq, where the morning market lures locals and tourists alike. We browsed through bountiful displays of fruits, sausage, pots of honey... Pierre decided he couldn't live without a set of crème brûlée dishes (sold with a fire-heated iron to burn the sugar on top).


The joke among the French is that the village's name is pronounced the same as 'mon cul' or "my ass." And now this vibrant little hamlet has been put on the world map because of the media attention surrounding the special release of Monopoly France, featuring names of French cities. A vote was held on the Internet to choose the cities for the game's new version and-- what do you know?-- Montcuq nabbed the top spot. But just recently, Hasbro, the game's manufacturer, decided to replace the number 1 spot with Dunkerque.

The Villages of the Dordogne: Domme and Beynac-et-Cazenac

The rural region of the Périgord, land of foie gras and truffles, is one of my favorite places to visit. And I'm not alone. In the last few decades, the Dordogne has become one of the hottest tourist destinations in France. Dotted with charming medieval hamlets and imposing chateaux, the Dordogne is also celebrated as one of the prehistoric cradles of civilization. The 14,000-years-old cave drawings in the Lascaux caves are world-famous.

From Sarlat (where we stuffed ourselves with candied walnuts and treats from the market, comme d'habitude), we drove along the river and discovered village after enchanting village-- from La Roque Gageac to the clifftop village of Domme, both members of the association of the "most beautiful villages in France." The panorama from Domme's esplanade is breathtaking. It's a good place to stop for lunch.

Next stop: Beynac-et-Cazenac, topped by a formidable 13th century castle, facing the Castlenaud fortress across the river, an English stronghold during the Hundred Years War. It's easy to see why forces battled so violently. (As one of the English women in my French class said, "France has the most beautiful terroir in the world!") It's a hefty climb to the top, but worth it. Interesting to note that Luc Besson chose to film his Joan of Arc movie, The Messenger, here in Beynac.




Pictures date from our last visit in September. Domme is featured in the top two images; Beynac, the bottom.

How Many Kisses?

It seems the French are as confused as I am when it comes to figuring out the bises business. In a clever piece called "The grand game of who-kisses-who," Libération gives a tongue and cheek assessment of the (often baffling) French etiquette. The solution? A Web site whereby the readers can cast their vote for the number of kisses for each region. On the map of France, you can click your département and give your say about the proper protocol. Brilliant!

La Greve

Just one word is enough to strike fear within the hearts of travelers across France. SNCF staged a massive grève on Wednesday so all trains ground to a halt, including the Paris metro. The picture says it all: the painful wait for the tramway, which was the only thing running in the city besides the new, auto-piloted metro line 14. Paris was paralyzed. Bumper-to-bumper red lights, crowds of commuters numb with cold. And when I headed to the Limoges university today, the students were also staging a strike. The halls were blocked off with piles of chairs; the walls plastered with angry literature. Next week, a different strike will keep me from class on Tuesday. Administration and teachers. It seems everybody wants to join the party.

Market Day at Sarlat

My favorite destination in the Dordogne: the exquisite sandstone turrets and golden-hued alleys of Sarlat-la-Canéda. Thanks to André Malraux, Minister of Culture in the 1960s, the city was plucked from certain decay and destruction* and given a new life as a beautifully restored Medieval city. When Malraux passed a law for the preservation of France's historical monuments, Sarlat became his pet project and millions were pumped into its renovation.

Saturday is market day, where you can find all sorts of delicacies from the Perigord: foie gras, duck confit, candied walnuts. The honeycomb walls are splashed with color. Because Sarlat's tiny streets are often jam-packed with tour groups, the secret is to go in the off-season-- January for example, when the temperatures are mild but the crowds have dispersed. Plus, January is in the thick of truffle season!

*In fact much of the Dordogne was crumbling and slowly slipping away, as detailed in W.S. Merwin's beautiful book, The Lost Upland. Now Sarlat is a humming ville-ruche, and hamlets like La Roque are living museums for tourists to marvel at and appreciate. (And the Brits are back: buying up property where the 100 Years War raged centuries before.)

P.S. Check out Salon.com's "Literary Guide to the World" for an excellent synopsis of Merwin's books and the Southwest region.

Vitrines and Funny Flowers: The Charms of Cahors

There's a big old fortified bridge. And a cathedral chock full of ancient frescoes, where-- if you're lucky-- you can overhear the most uplifting concert practice: trumpets and French horns and clarinets and an organ filling the soaring space. And a cave where they'll let you taste all sorts of delicious bottles of that full-boded, inky black wine for which Cahors is famous.

But a walk through the old town of Cahors, capital of the Quercy region, is mostly entertaining for what you find displayed in the shop windows. Newspaper headlines shouting, "Ce soir ou jamais!" before the France-New Zealand rugby match. Pretty crocs all in a row. Not to mention the public flower arrangements, like this funny fish (pictured) with fork poised in mid-air above it, that we found on the riverbank.

And how much is that doggie in the window?

La Rentrée

The re-entry, the re-immersion, the return. That's what September is all about in France*, when everyone returns from their months-long summer vacation fired up and ready to get back to work (or hit the books). So it's fitting that I timed my own rentrée for September-- when the streets are abuzz and France hums back to life after a sleepy, sunny summer. First stop? Why the restaurant at Pont Saint-Etienne, of course, for the best desserts in town.

*besides truffle-hunting and mushroom gathering!