Changing Times

One can imagine many scenarios as to what happened on this spot.  Did the proprietor of the Boulangerie de l'Hotel de Ville pass away and there was no one willing to take on his business?  Or was it more sinister than that -- a new concept of fast food and faster profits comes in and sweeps out the old tenant?  I can only hope, sad as it may be, that it was the former.   I learned after taking this picture that this was the first location of Pomme de Pain, a French chain that now serves over 12 million customers annually.  I guess they knew their market.

From the Other America

For some reason I cannot pinpoint, I'm constantly being mistaken for Spanish, Portuguese, even Brazilian.  The other day, the guess was Italian.  If I could figure out what I'm doing, I'd bottle it and sell it to  those American tourists desperately trying to hide their Americanness, lest that anyone associate them with their loud talking, French bashing, ill-mannered, and underdressed countrymen.

When I told the gentleman that I was American, his next question was, "From which city?  New York or Los Angeles?"  Too bad for the approximately 275 million other residents of the U.S. who, for this Frenchman, apparently do not count.

Eggs, Milk, Laundry Detergent, Champagne

I don't know about where you live but there sure as shooting ain't no champagne in my neighborhood grocery store in DC.  Well to be fair, the liquor laws don't allow sales in the supermarket.  Even if they did, I don't think they'd have a big honking display of Veuve Cliquot right there next to the bacon and the packaged salads.  For the record, I did not stock up.  Yet I somehow was able to spend 60 euros and I still don't have anything in the cupboard for dinner tonight.

Bus-ted

What's the difference between being a tourist and a resident, albeit a temporary one?  When you're a tourist and you're riding a city bus and it gets stuck behind a garbage truck, you might not even notice.  The ride is an adventure itself -- there are people whose outfits, behavior, and potential back stories you can analyze in your head, and there's always something of interest out the window.  But when you're a resident, it's that sinking feeling of "here we go again" while mentally recalibrating your route to your destination (bail at the next possible metro stop or keep going hoping things will improve?) and thinking about the excuses you'll have to make about your tardy arrival.   This happens more often than I'd care to admit, a product of the city's already narrow streets and the tendency of delivery vans to double park.  The RATP's bus drivers can move their vehicles through some pretty tight spots but some times there's nothing to do but wait. 

Yesterday, being stuck behind a garbage truck added a good 7 minutes to my ride, meaning that when I got to my transfer point, the only thing I could see of my next bus was its tail lights.  And as bad luck would have it, I was in a veritable public transportation no man's land, a fifteen minute walk to the nearest metro with only fifteen minutes left until my meeting.  Six euros and a taxi later, I was just a hair late.  Trust me, next time I'm taking the metro, even if I had to change trains twice.

Ooops

Do you get the impression that the folks who live or work here have just had it?   For the unsuspecting person who ended up at the wrong address, it could be worse.  Google says it's just 800 meters and 11 minutes on foot to the correct destination.

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Study in Silver

If this were a brooch or one of a set of earrings, I'd buy it in a heartbeat. Too bad for me because that's not the case.  This fabulous Art Deco ornament is actually a door knob to the front door of an otherwise relatively nondescript Parisian apartment building.  I love it.

Shhhh! Artist at Work

T.S. Eliot said that April was the cruelest month, but in Paris, January wins it hands down.  But if you're searching for a silver lining, here's a tip.  January is the one month out of the year when really no one is in the Louvre.  Well maybe over by the Mona Lisa, there's probably a group of Japanese tourists with cameras at the ready.  But elsewhere, the entrance lines are short, the crowds are thin, and the galleries are quiet.

When I visited last week, I happened upon this gentleman, beret, scarf, and all, hard at work in the Galerie de Marie de Médicis in the Richelieu wing.  The gallery displays 24 paintings by Rubens, executed at the command of Marie de Médicis for her residence, the Palais du Luxembourg.  It's an over the top tribute to the dowager queen, widow of Henri IV and regent for her son, Louis XIII.   Everything about it is in technicolor and screams, "Me!  I was the greatest queen that France has ever known."  You have to see it to believe it.

As interested as I was in Rubens' paintings, I kept circling back around the gallery to see what this fellow was up to.  And for once, he wasn't studiously copying what was before him.  Instead his painting (and perhaps you can click on the image above to enlarge it) depicted the entire cycle with many of the painted figures exiting from their frames to interact with museum visitors.  An illustration for a children's book, perhaps.  Fanciful, of course.  Charming, definitely. 

Ah January.  Perhaps you're okay after all.