At last, I have published a page detailing my adventures and misadventures in Paris. For four days, I was lost in Paris' narrow, twisty streets lined with tall, stone buildings. Yet, I managed to stumble upon the sights I planned to visit and many more. Paris, for me, was about the journey of place and time, which allowed me to dabble in the art, architecture and culture of France. 

The full account is here: http://winentrip.wordpress.com/perdu-lost-in-paris/. Or, you can just click on "Perdu (lost) in Paris" under Pages, to the left.

I have posted my pictures in a set entitled, "France," on Flickr. This is the link: www.flickr.com/photos/bspicher.

Paris is, of course, the haute ville de mépris. Non, bof, merde, alors - grunting, hefting, slamming - those leather-skinned, stub-fingered, bristle-nosed Parisian waiters remain the Euro champs of contempt, surpassing all cliché. Most French women look like tan-wrinkled salopes rather than chic Hepburn sylphs, but disdainful dismissal is nevertheless embedded in their every blank frontal stare, single slanted brow, and meticulous, sour-pussed nibble of Poulaine. Even their ratlike Pomeranian pooches long to leave a tiny shit on your shoe.

So, this weekend 'cross the Channel, when an unseasonal downpour pissed down in the mocking way that only continental precipitation can piss, I retreated, brolly flapping, to that tourist ghetto the Musée d'Orsay, only to be confronted with more hits of Froggy hauteur.

'Mongst the magical madness of the impressionists (so much greater in the glowing, daring flesh than the ubiquitous McMonet posters and postcards would have you believe) I sought out Caillebotte's The Floor Planers. Three shirtless workers, Gallicly grumbling from the corner of their mouths, quietly and masterfully ply their craft in a mote-filled room, lit by the sun and shadowed by the church. Best of all, you know they would detest you. Walk in, and they'd rise to a man, invaded, interrupted, with cracking knees and a contumely glower, longing to throw their sweat-infused wine at your white-handed, brioche-eating, soft-bodied Saxon self.

In a master stroke of misanthropy, at Caillebotte's 1876 exhibition Zola managed to dismiss even The Floor Planers' precise, unpreachy realism as 'painting that is so accurate that it makes it bourgeois'.

Paris, on bended knee, je t'aime. Kick me again.

For lunch I had a poulet et fromage panini and an orangina. For breakfast I had a baguette avec fromage. They have really good baguettes at the hotel! I took another one w/fromage to go.

After lunch we went to Les Arts Decoratifs, which is a museum that has furniture from the 12th century all the way to modern day. With my class we mostly just walked through the Louis XIV furniture and others from the 17th-18th centuries. I learned about these in school so it was neat to see them in person. At 4 though, we were allowed to do what we wanted so some of the girls went home but I decided to stay and look at the modern furniture. I guess we are going back with a different teacher next week but I wanted to see the contemporary furniture today. They were nice; I love modern furniture. I’m posting some pictures below of the best ones.

There was such a nice view of Paris from this museum. The Louvre is right next to it so I got part of that in some of my pictures here. I didn’t know I was this close to it, but as I walked by one window I saw my first view of the Eiffel Tower! I tried to get a decent one with myself in it too. I’m posting below the pictures I took from the view at the museum.

Then I went outside to see what else was around me. I wanted to go see I.M. Pei’s pyramid at the Louvre too. Tomorrow with my class we are going to the Louvre! I’m really excited to see I.M. Pei’s spiral stairs and just to get a closer look at the pyramid. Below are the pictures I took once I got outside. =)

It was about dinner time so I decided to find my way back to my hotel. The trains are a little confusing because there’s just so many different train lines. I needed to transfer lines once, which isn’t bad. Their C Line is really big, it’s 2 full levels. I’ve never seen a train like that. I ended up back at my school once I got off the train so I took pictures of the school building and across the street so you can see what it looks like! It’s really nice here.

it's gotten a lot hotter in new york since my last post, and a lot more complicated. i'm trying to get up the balls to quit my job and dive head first into unemployment. i didn't fare that well the first time, but i'm hoping it was because that joblessness was imposed on me and not self-imposed. and because it was the ides of march.

so i've been trying to conjure up some 'safe places' for my mind to go when things get dark. You know, like they tell you to do at the doctor's office when you're about to get a shot. Actually, for total transparency, I had to do this recently in the ER for an unexplained brain spasm. the man nurse told me to 'go to a happy place' while i got my head scanned by a giant machine...and the whole thing struck me as having a greater purpose.

the odd thing is that my brain surprised me with where it went when 'happy place' was called up - not the sunny tropical beach or exotic locale that i was anticipating. instead two memories that probably never would have resurfaced:

first one is back to when i was studying in france. I spent a day exploring new areas of the city and ended up at the Musee D'orsay, impressionist floor. As a slowly wandered the room, reading the blurbs on the wall explaining the Manets and Degas, I saw a very stylish French grandmother with her adorably French grandson. As they circled the room, she explained every piece to him. I only picked up bits and pieces of what she was saying, but it seemed so wonderful. Like the epitome of culture. Why France is superior to America. All playing out right before my eyes.

the second 'happy place' memory is about as unrelated to the first as could be. I'm back in Wisconsin where I grew up, and it's summer and I'm about 7. the age when being out of school for the summer feels like an eternity, and every day is a perfect blend of adventure and boredom. on most of summer days if the weather was right, my mom would take me, my siblings and our neighborhood posse down to the pool.  And i can remember seeing big trucks overflowing with green beans heading out of town, going to "factory". And those big trucks of green beans symbolized the heart of summer. The way tossled corn signaled the end. And i miss those signs. really connected to earth and nature. i love new york, but here my signs are artificial and man-made. so my happy place goes to simpler times when i could look out the window and see a bean truck and know that all was right with the world.[gallery]

I'm going to keep exploring these memories. Hopefully more random, 'happy place' thoughts come to the surface to get me through the road ahead. And I want to hear other people's unexpected 'happy place thoughts'.  because i'm curious to know if other people's brains take them to deep, forgotten places. And because i never have anyone comment on my wall. share....

Paris was a jam-packed week - I'd been to Paris a few years ago, but my travel companion Ellin hadn't been there for quite some time. It meants we had a lot of things to become re-acquainted with.

I'll touch on a few highlights:

• A wonderful French dinner at La Chaumiere tucked away in the 15th arrondissement. It is run by talented chef Oliver Amestoy and his lovely Australian wife, Marie-Francoise.  Besides his wonderful cooking, I was impressed with her timing. Everyone ordered at least three courses, and she was like a conductor, pacing the flow of dishes from the kitchen to each customer's table without missing a beat.
• Our visit to the Musee d'Orsay was another highlight. In contrast to the Louvre, the d'Orsay is very unassuming, yet their collection of impressionist and post-impressionist works is formidable. It was breathtaking to be in a room of Van Gogh's, Cezanne's, Renoir's, Monet's, Manet's or Gauguin's work. A number of Paris museums were closed the week we were there, due to a public service strike. Others, such as the Musee d'Orsay opened an hour later. During our visit to the Orsay, there was an announcement that someone had left a package unattended, and staff told us that if the bag went unclaimed, they would have to evacuate the museum. Fortunately, the bag found it's owner.
• Seeing the French Open Women's Final at Roland-Garros - one of four Grand Slam Tennis Tournaments that take place each year. The women's final took place the first full day we were in Paris, between Dinara Safina and Ana Ivanovic. We'd purchased our tickets through a ticket lottery run by the French Tennis Federation several months before leaving on our trip. The big hype that final weekend was for the men's match the next day between Rafael Nadal and Roger Federer. Scalpers were hawking tickets at the gate - two tickets for 1,000 euros (roughly $1,600 US). What we didn't know at the time was that Nadal would take the match in three sets and it would be over in less than two hours.

However, the real reason for this post is to tell you about www.travelblog.org - a free blogging service geared to travellers. It's free to sign up, and your blogs can be public, private, or a combination of the two. (The combo option is in beta at the moment; if your blog is private, readers have to join Travel Blog to read them.) I've joined it to do a blog of our trip, and find it's a fun way to connect with other travellers and bloggers who were in Paris at the same time. Travelblog also hosts a Travel Forum that includes any number of topics and lots of practical information if you scan the posts, and you can create your own personalized photo album to share with friends.

I'd love you to check out my blog at www.mytb.org/CJinParis and leave a comment.

Like any night in which serendipity plays its part, a whole lot of lead-ins had to collaborate, falling together entirely at the right moments. Without any single one of a handful of visits just days to hours before, my final night in Paris would not have had the same alluring ambiance. Four days prior, we made our visit to the first museum of the trip, a place in which I had no idea what to expect, the Musée D’Orsay. It was in this art haven that I got my crash course education of the art period I came to know as Impressionism. From Degas to Cezanne to Pissarro to the king, Monet, I saw hundreds of the best works of Impressionism. The only shame was we only had ninety minutes in this wondrous place. The most amazing part of the entire experience is that for twenty years up until this point, I cared very little about art. I thought it was neat, certainly, but I would not have been able to tell you the difference between Rafael and Manet. As my friend who majors in art said, that is a fairly awful notion. Yet, as I walked out the doors of ‘D’Orsay,’ I felt more enthusiastic, involved, and interested in the fine arts, especially paintings, especially paintings by the Impressionists, especially paintings by the impressionist Claude Monet, especially paintings by the impressionist Claude Monet of his gardens. The most striking aspect of these paintings was how, instead of using long, traditional strokes to form a coherent picture, Monet made up his paintings of entirely short, brisk, quick strokes, yet the pictures were more coherent to me than anything I had seen before.

Thankfully, that was not the last encounter I would have with my newest inspiration, Claude Monet. The afternoon before my fateful last night, we were going on what would be another fascinating trip to Giverny, the town in which Monet painted. Such were the only details I had, but I was excited ‘out of my brains’ nonetheless. My first surprise of this trip was the fact that we had a tour guide for the bus ride and our trip through Giverny. This came as a surprise, of course, because I was told that due to an utterly obnoxious and indolent travel agency, we did not have the tour guides to any of our stops. So, to our surprise, an English speaking French woman hopped on the bus with us.

Little did I know that my crash course in Impressionism was not over. Part II commenced on this bus ride as this woman, a graduate of Art History from Le Louvre’s education system, spewed out tidbit after tidbit of Monet, the period of Impressionism in general, art at large, and everything in between. She taught me about Monet’s gardens. How he was in love with Japanese art so he modeled his first after a Japanese garden. How he had Normand influences so his other was a Normandy garden. How, at the time, the Impressionists were rejected and had to hold their own art shows. How Monet was a poor man and spent nearly all his money, admirably, on his gardens. How, here being what I would later find to be the most important detail, that Monet concentrated on sun light. He was interested in the way sunlight affected the landscape, more specifically, how the sunlight changed the way the landscape reflected on the water, even more specifically, how his garden reflected off his Japanese Lily Pond during the different periods of the day. Without all of these small, intricate details, my night later in that day would never have made the perfect sense it wound up making.

After an hour and a half of this encyclopedia disguised as a woman’s lectures throughout the bus ride, we arrived at Giverny to finally see the real thing. Just like seeing an authentic painting is an experience no print can match, seeing the actual place at Monet painted could not have been matched by even his very own work. Smelling his flowers, seeing the ebb and flow of his pond, feeling the air that he felt brushing against my skin, looking out at the incomparable green, rolling hills out somewhere in the nature of his village-- these details can only be understood when truly lived. Seeing the sunset on the lilies the way Monet did only made the beauty of his paintings richer than at any other moment before. What I had seen at D’Orsay a few days earlier, what I had heard just a few moments earlier, what I had pondered in between and shortly thereafter, all worked together. Without one part, the next could never have been nearly as blissful. I could not have known this yet, but what I was experiencing walking through Monet’s pride and glory was only a tiny foreshadowing of what later that night would be that same feeling of luck being on my side, infinitely multiplied. Still, I left Giverny, back on the bus, with a feeling that somehow, someway, a Beaver Cleaver was not going to intrude on my last night in Paris.

Finally, back to the awkward last night of goodbyes, a few of us decided seeing Paris at night was the only option upon which we should embark as our last hurrah, seemingly an obvious choice at the time. It’s also ironic that only a few of us were going, for during the first 6 night of the trip, it was an impossible task at best not to be surrounded by a dozen familiar faces. Again, this moment would not have been possible if not for the stroke of luck of being there only with the right people in which this experience could be shared. So, as we hopped on the metro toward our final destination, Trocodero, we could see the Eiffel Tower from the windows. I could see it was lit up for sure but it was just a dim cast of archaic gold, perhaps the gilded tone that dominated each and every room of Versailles. Whatever the color, it was not that beautiful, shiny, illuminated mass the pictures let me to believe. Still, the metro chugged on and we proceeded toward what was acclaimed to be the absolute best view of the fabled Tower.

We finally arrived at Trocodero and headed toward the platform upon which we would be looking out on the city. Slowly we made our way toward where all of the people were gathered to see the ‘light show.’ I wasn’t quite sure what the light show was, seeing how the only thing I had seen a few minutes before was reminiscent of fading florescent lights. Yet, just as the Eiffel Tower finally came into our horizon of perspective, something happened. I heard a click and out of nowhere, the entire Tower lit up. What seemed like one thousand individual fourth of July sparkles being ignited at the same time lit up the moment we stopped to settle in for our outlook on Paris. We did not arrive a second too soon nor a second too late. If we had taken a moment longer, the effect would never have been the same. So, as everybody was enjoying their moment, I proceeded to the edge of the platform. I noticed a fountain stretching out underneath the tower. From this fountain, I could see each individual light of the Eiffel Tower reflecting off of the water in this fountain. Each individual light provided the effect of a short, brisk, and quick stroke. The only thought that was going through my mind is that Monet would have had a field day sitting on the edge of Trocodero looking out in this view that embodied everything he strove to encapsulate in his paintings.

Five minutes later the lights turned off. Had we taken one metro later, we would never have seen the light show. Had anything, anything at all gone differently in the past four days, my final night would have been as forced, regimented, and unfulfilled as so many before me. Alas, I did live what I lived and the night was coming to a close. With one final goodbye, the few of us that witnessed this beauteous occasion sat there in La Closerie Des Lilas. I heard one friend with another quoting Casablanca-- “We’ll always have Paris,” she said. In my mind I quietly knew she was right and thus was the close of the last chapter of my first trip abroad.

the building is an old train-station from 1898, and was transformed to a museum in 1986 and is located directly at the river seine in opposite to the louvre:

see more photos here at my Picasa Web-Album

Nouvelle exposition photo au Musée d'Orsay

Cette fois-ci, le Musée d'Orsay fait de deux pierres un coup avec deux expositions consacrées aux débuts de la photographie: Image révélée (premières photographies sur papier en Grande-Bretagne 1840-1860) et le Daguerréotype français (cette dernière est en fait un réaccrochage des meilleurs daguerréotypes des collections du Musée d'Orsay). Bien que le réaccrochage m'ait paru presque plus intéressant que l'exposition elle-même, les deux valent largement la visite!

En pratique:
Image révélée/Daguerréotype français
Musée d'Orsay
Jusqu'au 7 septembre 2008

Une bien jolie ville, je vais dire.

Bah non, une ville magnifique! 'Faut que j'y retourne! Et vite!

Petites entrevue de Paris.

ALBUM PHOTO PARIS cliquez-ci ou survolez.

After a visit to the Notre Dame, you can either explore the rest of the Île de la Cité or cross the bridge and head into the Quartier Latin, where you'll find the famous Shakespeare & Co. English bookstore, and on to Saint Germain, which is home to the Sorbonne university. Both quarters are lively with restaurants and bars aplenty. Though there are no grand monuments here, the cozy little streets and general ambiance are an attraction in their own right.

The Musée d’Orsay is a bit of a walk from the Sorbonne, but a nice one. It lies opposite the Louvre on the other side of the Seine. This former train station now houses art collections from 1848 to 1914. For anything older, visit the Louvre, for all things contemporary, swing by the Centre Pompidou. Of the three, Musée d'Orsay is my favorite; a very personal choice of course, but between Degas' ballerinas, Monet's waterlilies, Van Gogh's wonky church, Renoir's Bal du Moulin de la Galette, Toulouse-Lautrec's cancan dancers, Manet's Dejeuner sur l'herbe, and Cézanne's Bathers, I can't think of another collection that moves me quite as much.

Also worth a visit are L'Institut du Monde Arabe and the Paris mosque by the Jardin des Plantes. We did not make it there on this visit, but previous visits have always been rewarding. The L'Institut boasts an impressive facade that imitates Arabian mosaic using hundreds of diaphragms. Inside you'll find equally impressive architecture, temporary exhibits and a roof terrace with a great view over the city.

Next up: Champs Elysées from l'Étoile to Beaubourg

Related posts: The Eiffel tower quarter, Montmartre, An American in Paris

More Paris pics on Picasa.

Una mica més avall, abans d'arribar a la passarelle Debilly, en veiem una altra. Només es diferencia de la primera pel color de l'anorak. «Quant de temps creus que trigarà a trobar un anell?», ens preguntem; i abans no hem respost, s'ajup, recull alguna cosa de terra i es llança sobre una turista, una jubilada segurament, que en fuig esperitada. Seguim caminant, sense perdre-la de vista: avança cap a la passarel·la Debilly, travessa fins la meitat, es recolza a la barana com qui mira el paisatge, i passats uns segons, torna a ajupir-se i ensenya alguna cosa a un turista que feia fotografies des del pont. Ara ja no podem aguantar el riure i fem broma sobre la riquesa de París, on la gent perd grossos anells d'or pels bulevards, i sobre les trobadores d'anells, tan afortunades i oportunes elles.

Hi torno a pensar més tard, al Musée d'Orsay, davant del quadre de Jean-François Millet:

Et pourtant Vivant Denon, qui présida aux destinées du Louvre sous Napoléon Premier, écrivait des livres parfaitement indécents !

 Ce guide charmant, moqueur et savant ne cache rien : tableaux ambigus, sculptures sensuelles, bronzes explicites, homosexualité, inceste, " solitudes voluptueuses ", palpations et palpitations...tout y est !

Texte de Jean-Manuel Traimond, photographies d’Ernesto Timor et illustrations d’Aladdin.

Guide érotique du Louvres et du musée d’Orsay, 14,90 €, éditions la Musardine http://www.lamusardine.com

(Taken by Al at the Musee d'Orsay)

(taken by James who needs to own a color called raspberry)

This Monday started off a little rough, with technical problems on the subway making my trip take double the time. After I arrived, I found my class was canceled. Later in the afternoon was my trip to the Orsay for the opening of an exhibition of Leon Gimpel's work. He was an early photographer that helped invent photo coloring in pictures.

His work was stunning. Many of his images deal with new technologies of the time, like early airplanes and blimps. One that caught my eye was of the yellow blimp, high in the clear blue sky with lots of sun showing off the magnificence of the technology. Other works included capturing Parisian floods, World War I, and the old electric signs of department stores and the Eiffel Tower. His work was impressive, more so in my opinion than the other exhibit that is debuting at the same time.

After leaving the museum and walking along the Seine, I learned some terrible news from Liam on the phone. I knew that there was a terrible shooting in the Chicago area last week, in which five women at a Lane Bryant women's clothing store were rounded up by a man and shot in the back room. Also, there was a news story about Fred Phelps, the Westboro Baptist Church racist who protests the funerals of soldiers along with funerals of school shooting victims and such. They use the mantra that because the United States "loves fags," that our society will be flaming all the way down to hell (ironic that they say flaming too?). For this group, no one outside their compound could be trusted.

So one of the victim's was my friend Mary's cousin. She had gone to high school in Oak Forest, Illinois along with them, knew them, was friends with them. She was family of people I care about deeply. She was taken to the back room of chain women's clothing store and murdered in cold blood. Then to hear that it was her funeral that Fred Phelps protested not only dumb struck me as I was sitting on the edge of a stone railing along the Seine holding my small red phone, it made me unsteady. I leaned back but had to grab myself as I almost slid off the railing into the river. Sheer surprise guilted my conscious that Chicago was a freezing pond of snow and debilitating temperatures and I was schmoozing along boulevards, beautiful skies while buying expensive things.

And all I can keep thinking about is guilt and Lincoln. I was searching for a quote to summarize the latter feelings of my day...and I found this: "In this sad world of ours, sorrow comes to all; and, to the young, it comes with bitterest agony, because it takes them unawares."
-- Abraham Lincoln, December 23, 1862.

Lincoln, once again, I love you.

(taken by ollografik who apparently loves tourists as much as we do)

Every once in a while I'll be reminded of the fact that, well, not everyone thinks exactly the same way I do about things. This weekend it happened to be the moving of my rather weighty art book collection - okay, at least half of it- from one room to another.

The impetus for the great migration actually began with my beloved cat Dork (middle initial: "Yes-that's-his-real-name")- God rest his feline soul...- and the bit of trouble he had with continence near the end of his life. And in the middle.

Somewhere in that ten or so year span, Dork had defiled my prized collection of wonderful, fat, illustration-laden tomes that I had been hording since high school. Afraid to know the full extent of the damage, I simply shut the door to the room and forbade all four-legged entrance thereafter, but when Dork and his troubled bladder finally passed this last summer I snapped on the rubber gloves and decided it was time to find out.

I was lucky. On the running nine-foot shelf that ran just above the floor- at cat-tail height- in my office, Dork had created three to four... "trouble" zones, shall we say. (And if this sounds like a lot to you, then you haven't had the pleasure of a leaky cat in your life.) One by one, I pulled the volumes out and gave them the once over. Only a few were obvious goners- with, ahem, telltale signs giving them away instantly. But they came in groups, of course, and determining when the, er, coast was clear, became the most difficult part of the job. My nose turned out to be my most useful tool and I imagine I must have looked rather lunatic as I frowned, concentrating, over the pages of each book, paranoically sniffing.

Book by book, I would hold my breath and plead- oh! Not this one! And for the most part the art book Gods listened. My two-volume slip-cased The Art of Florence was spared, (a lethal weapon, that one) as were some of my treasured hits of the eighties such as Georgia O'Keefe's One Hundred Flowers (easily the tallest art book in any given collection) and Henri Matisse's Jazz (a close second).

My fattest single book, Paintings in the Musee d'Orsay (measuring in at a hefty three inches), was untouched, not to mention the two treasured volumes I had lugged back from Italy during my college years- Schiele's Capolavori (still lovingly enshrined in the plastic wrap) and the gorgeous, to-die-for, Giotto in Assisi that I came across in a second-hand bookshop in Rome (what can I say? Sherbet-like fresco color has an effect on me.)

Sure, there were casualties. I've since blocked their painful memories out for the most part, but I do recall substantial Picasso and Chagall volumes that fell by the wayside, (sigh) and a particularly heartbreaking parting I made with Fashion and Surrealism (a treasured hardback catalog from a long-ago show.) All told, out of a hundred-plus books, I lost around a dozen. And a more tragic garbage run there never was.

Of course, there were the few albatross books I was disappointed had not been violated- mostly well-intentioned gifts like Leroy Neiman's garish On Safari, or some awful tomes I picked up at the annual book sale that turned out to be droning academic texts filled with meager, black and white, so-called "illustrations."

I suppose I ought to summon up the courage to part with such duds- after all, life is short, and bookshelf space is finite, right? Somehow, though, even the awful ones manage to draw me in. Why? Because these books all have one thing in common with each other, and with me: we all speak the language of art, and privilege it in our lives as something that brings us meaning. You have to respect that as something kind of sacred- and yes, even when it's Leroy Neiman. What is an art book addict to do?

The answer seems clear: get more shelves! Which brings me back to this weekend and moving the entire colossus (okay- half of it) out of the cluttered office and into a happy new home- an adjacent weird little hallway room that henceforth shall be: The Official Art Library. It is a fresh beginning for my art books, and I think they will enjoy it. After all they've been through, they certainly deserve it. And, once I get the photography books up here from downstairs (remember when I said half?) it will practically be a long-lost family reunion.

I imagine myself sitting in this tiny room -surrounded one day, perhaps, on all sides- by big, fat, beautiful art books of every conceivable size and description, feeling no compunction whatever to actually open them- after all, I know what's in them- and I wonder to myself: why doesn't everyone feel this way... about art books?

Perhaps because of the weather the line to get in was quite small, which was handy given the sheer size of the Louvre. My Time Out guide to Paris helpfully suggested only trying to see 2 collections. Presumably this is to get the most out of the art but a momentary flash of stubbornness and a tourist's desire to see everything meant I was pacing through it all.

Tiring but rewarding.

Personally, I found the statues across all periods and places the most interesting with the life like and epic proportions fascinating. Although the enclosed garden in the Greek/Roman section was the most well organised. By the end it did feel a little disquieting with thoughts of the White Witch from Narnia abounding in my head.

With the exception of the occasional sword the Decorative Arts collection was the least interesting. While the intricate work is commendable there is really only so many plates, cups and upholstery I can look at without completely switching off.

What about the paintings? Well, there are a lot of them. I took a mercenary approach to most of the galleries and walked quickly through each section, glancing at most of them and only looked in depth if it was a striking piece. I realise this means I haven't truly appreciated the artwork but sadly with limited time and only a passing interest in art this method seemd to work. Although I may not be any wiser for it.

Perhaps I'm just a Gen-Y who needs instant gratification?

No, it's probably the no knowledge of art reason. This is pretty clear after seeing both the Mona Lisa and the Venus de Milo. I wasn't awed and I don't understand why these pieces are valued so significantly above the others on display. Perhaps someone can tell me?  

I was going at a medium pace and this slowed to an amble in some sections either due to other patrons or where there was a worthwhile piece of art.

Obviously if you're like me then a quick pace around might be an option, if you're more interested in the art then hire an audio tour or go on one of the tours and if you love art then there's a good chance you've already stopped reading. If not you may want to devote quite a bit of time so everything sinks in.

After the Louvre I had lunch and rested up for a while before heading over the Seine.

Unfortunately, while I'd beaten the queue at the Louvre this wasn't the case at the Musee d'Orsay.

Considering my earlier overdose of art, the weather and the line I opted to walk back through Paris, to the metro and the district of Marais.

Marais is located within walking distance of the Hotel de Ville in the centre of Paris or on the Metro. A well known Jewish and gay district it is filled with a host of bakeries and cafes but very few of these had internal seating and the weather really prohibited strolling and eating. I did end up eating a bagel at one of the larger cafes and while I wasn't a fan there were lots of people inside who presumably would disagree.

(taken on my last day - hence the slightly better weather)

Wii!

Now with the bulk of day two done I returned to the Grands Boulevards, grabbed a quick bite and caught up on some sleep.

Onwards to day 3.

Photos on Flickr.

Come promesso tempo fa ecco che, tornato da Parigi, sono qui a raccontarvi come è andato il mio viaggio 2.0 di Capodanno. Penso che questo articolo possa essere davvero utile a chi ha intenzione di passare qualche giorno nella capitale francese. Si parte con la cronaca delle giornate, un pò personale, per finire con i commenti/consigli generali sul viaggio. Buona lettura...

Cronaca delle giornate:

• 27 Dicembre: come mi accede di solito, nonostante avessi prenotato ad Agosto e avessi persino scritto una mini guida per viaggiare 2.0, mi sono ritrovato la sera prima della partenza ad organizzare tutto il viaggio. Da Viaggio in Europa.it ho scaricato una guida turistica davvero ottima e, da iAudioGuide una guida audio gratis per i principali monumenti. Gli itinerari e i posti da visitare sono stati quindi decisi cartine e guide alla mano.
• 28 Dicembre: partenza da Bologna alle ore 12.20 - arrivo a Parigi/Aeroporto Charles de Gaulle alle 14.20 - arrivo in hotel alle 17 - ambientazione, riposo e cena fino alle 19 - giro a piedi dall'hotel in Place d'Italie fino quasi a la Bastille nonostante avessi 37,5 di febbre. Chiusura di serata con cioccalata calda nel bar di fronte all'hotel dove abbiamo conosciuto una simpatica coppia di Genova (Alberto e Martina) che risiedeva nel nostro stesso albergo (Ibis Avenue d'Italie).
• 29 Dicembre: dalle 10 alle 17.30 visita al Louvre (viste quasi tutte le pitture, Gioconda inclusa, e gli appartamenti napoleonici) - ritorno in hotel esausti e serata di riposo in camera dopo aver fatto spese al vicino centro commerciale.
• 30 Dicembre: dopo un ora di fila, dalle 12 alle 17.30 abbiamo visitato il Musee d'Orsay (nel sito web ufficiale è disponibile una preview di tutte le stupende opere esposte) poi un giretto per ipotetico shopping per i vicoli di Parigi (solo in Italia sono tutti aperti la domenica) dove l'unico posto aperto nelle vicinanze era la Grande Epicerie, una sorta di supermercato di lusso veramente da sogno - cena e passeggiata nel quartiere latino (veramente carino e ricco di pub dove passare la serata) con visita notturna a Notre Dame.
• 31 Dicembre: visita a Notre Dame, basilica del Sacro Cuore mentre abbiamo rinunciato causa fila lenta e kilometrica alla Saint Chapelle (le reliquie di Gesù qui contenute non sono sempre esposte, leggere la guida consigliata sopra) - Shopping a le Galeries La Fayette e Printemps Haussman - Capodanno festeggiato prima alla Tour Eiffel da soli poi con Mona e Andrea sugli Champs Elysees, altra coppia (di Scortichino, provincia di Ferrara) conosciuta alla partenza dall'areoporto di Bologna. Un pò di legittimo rammarico per i fuochi d'articio non presenti (forse per i 4 turisti morti in Mauritania?): vedi qui video del Capodanno sotto la Tour.
• 1 Gennaio: sveglia alle 11 e partenza dall'Arco di Trionfo per percorrere tutti gli Champs Elysees. Lungo gli Champs ho apprezzato molto il ricercato Publicis Drugstore dell'omonima agenzia pubblicitaria e la concessionaria della Toyota dove al piano di sopra è possibile degustare sei differenti tipi di the e rilassarsi con l'oxigen bar e i massaggi offerti per il lancio della Prius, l'auto ibrida della casa giapponese. Verso le 18, puntatina a Pigalle con la speranza di trovare qualche negozietto aperto per fare un regalo a mio fratello. Purtroppo la zona è sì ricca di esercizi sempre aperti, ma sono tutti sexy shop: l'unico posto decente dove comprare qualcosa a un ragazzino di 16 anni senza farlo degenerare è stato il negozio di souvenir del Moulin Rouge dove gli ho preso un sobrio portachiavi. Cena a la Bastille e rientro in hotel.
• 2 Gennaio: sveglia alle 6 e ritorno a casa. In aeroporto a Parigi conosciuta un'altra coppia di turisti riminesi di cui non conosco il nome: lui uguale a Paolo Kessisoglu di Luca e Paolo! :)

Commenti Generali:

• Hotel Ibis Avenue d'Italie_Mai tale scelta fu più azzeccata: hotel molto pulito, economico ed essenziale come piace a me. Place d'Italie poi è una zona davvero tranquilla e ricca di ristoranti compresi un MacDonald e un KFC (dove, forse per errore, siamo stati avvelenati da due rotoli al pollo saturi di pepe e due cosce fritte al pepe e peperoncino) per chi non vuole spender molto, anche se le brasserie della zona hanno prezzi più che accettabili. Di fronte all'hotel poi c'è anche un enorme centro commerciale, Italie 2, per non parlare poi della comodità della stazione di Place d'Italie da cui partono ben tre linee della metro dirette ai principali monumenti.
• Foto_Le mie non sono venute un gran chè e, nonostante non sia diventato un cinese, ho fatto la bellezza di ben 530 foto circa in quattro giorni di scatti. Un consiglio dopo la negativa esperienza con la misera Fujifilm A340: fate foto dove i protagonisti siete voi accanto ai luoghi più suggestivi, per quelle dei paesaggi meglio affidarsi alla rete, per esempio a World Travel Photo, Flickr e altri dove potete trovare vere e proprie cartoline. Ricordate che le foto della Tour Eiffel illuminata di notte sono protette da copyright quindi attenzione a pubblicarle!!!
• Mobilità_Parigi è veramente facile da girare con la metro ma consiglio di arrivare nel primo posto da visitare in metro per poi proseguire a piedi, in tal caso la paris visite che tutti i tour operator vogliono farvi comprare è inutile (parlo per esperienza vissuta: mi sarebbe convenuto fare i biglietti volta per volta); ricordo che le mappe di metro e Rer si possono scaricare dalla guida citata sopra (o cliccando qui). La sera di Capodanno partite per tempo se non volete rimanere bloccati in metrò.
• Posti da visitare_Penso che i musei del Louvre e Orsay siano irrinunciabili ma richiedono almeno due giorni (se non tre o quattro) il primo e uno/due il secondo. La Tour Eiffel non pensavo davvero fosse così emozionante, è mostruosa! Notre Dame, Sacro Cuore e Saint Chapelle poi sono anch'esse inperdibili. Unico consiglio: stare in piedi presto alla mattina se non si vogliono fare file astronomiche e magari abbinare ogni giorno un luogo in cui è necessario fare la fila per la visita a uno dove l'entrata è abbastanza fluida (esempio Sacro Cuore e Notre Dame)!
• Shopping_Se non volete spendere dei capitali risparmiate tempo e lasciate perdere le rinomate Galeries La Fayette e i Printemps Haussman. In ogni caso Parigi in generale è abbastanza costosa. Consiglio la zona nei pressi della Tour Montparnasse. Le domeniche sono pochissimi i negozi aperti, nonostante il periodo di alta stagione e, l'1 Dicembre sono ancora meno.

Parigi è stupenda ed è talmente ricca di cose da vedere che richiede molto tempo: per me 6 giorni e 5 notti, che con i vari arrivi e partenze sono diventati 4 effettivi, sono stati troppo pochi. E' quindi necessario avere ben chiaro in testa il payoff da raggiungere con il viaggio: vedere tutto (si fà per dire, è impossibile) e male, o vedere poco e bene. A voi la scelta!

Spero che questo articolo possa aiutare altri sprovveduti viaggiatori che come me, per la prima volta, si recano a Parigi! Bonne Année e Bon Voyage! :)