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Friday, April 18, Day 17

April 21, 2014 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Friday was my last visit to the Louvre. After a maudlin start, I knew I could either be all elegiac Canon In D Major sad, or bask in my good fortunate Pharell Happy. I chose happy. Packed my backpack carefully, refilled my bottle with Perrier, made sure I had my sketchbook and pencils*, Nook, maps, and back-up battery pack**. No line at the Metro ticket machine, and a seat was open on the train, double win.

Galloped into the Louvre, with my iPod blasting Handel’s ‘Arrival of the Queen of Sheba,’ blessing my Des Ami des Louvre card, straight into the arms of the Flemish, Dutch and Germans on the second floor of the Richelieu wing. I followed my eyes and heart. At some point, I began taking photos of women with books or swords.

Bonus points if they carried both.

That carried me through the next three hours. My mood cycled from happy to be there, to sorry to be going. Finally, it occurred to me that the harder it is to part, the luckier I was to have been there. I had just taken a photo from the window with the Tuileries ahead, Eiffel Tower to the left and the city gleaming white in the distance, when an ear-splitting alarm went off, followed by a voice telling everyone to evacuate the Louvre, for reasons of safety.

The announcement, in multiple languages, alternated with the alarm. I wondered if someone had started humping the Venus de Milo, or if there was a shooter loose, maybe a bomb threat. I watched people wander by in the direction of the escalators as the announcement kept repeating, but it was like trying to turn the Titanic. No one seemed to feel any urgency. I started towards the stairs but didn’t rush any. I saw a security guard and asked him what gives. He shrugged one weary shoulder, blew a puff of exasperated air out of his lips as only the French can, and said, “It is a drill. You may ignore it.”

All righty then. No problem. I decided to consider it the lunch bell, since it was past 1pm. I went to Angelina’s and tucked into grilled sole and lemon hollandaise, with a basket woven out of shaved carrots in three colors, followed by noisette, and a macaroon for dessert. I did another little drawing of Joséphine on a postcard, this time for Robin. Afterward, I went back to where I started on Day One, the sculpture court, and sketched my favorite view of Roland, Furioso.

I walked in and out of the various levels of the sculpture court until I finally made myself quit stalling and leave. I took the Metro back to Saint-Paul, and, en route, took a sip of water. Or planned too, but when I unscrewed the top, it blew off with a bang, like I’d popped a champagne cork or fired a Glock. I sat there, stunned, sprinkled with l’eau mineral. No one was injured, and the guy next to me thought it was very amusing. I was obviously shocked down to my shoes. So kids, today’s lesson is don’t put water that’s carbonated in your water bottle, then walk all over Paris before you open it.

I left the metro without further incident, and walked over to a shop with scarves I’d liked and bought one in vivid Mandarin orange with white polka dots of varying sizes. Then I walked to Le Marché des Enfants Rouges, thinking I’d have pigeon pie and mint tea for an early supper, but no, too late. Headed back and passed a Scandinavian clothes shop called Cheap Monday and bought a white tee shirt with C H E A P P A R I S printed on it in black lettering. Maybe you had to be there, but it cracked me up. I ended up eating a savory buckwheat crepe at Breizh café, a joint everyone raves about, but not me. Meh, is the best I can say. I scouted Monoprix for a cheap and sturdy tote in case my purchases max out my suitcase and pulled some Euros out of the ATM. Home to the apartment, where I started the laundry, nuked a couple of apples in the microwave and wrote this up. Tomorrow is my final day in Paris. I figure I’ll pack then just wander. Maybe do a ParisWalk from the audio guide.

*I’ve only needed one sketchbook, but it’s the one I bought at Sennelier (not too big, not too small, etc).

** I haven’t had to use the battery pack since I started charging the iPhone and its Mophie case at bedtime. The iPhone battery is down to 20% around 3pm, the way I’ve been using it. Hit the Mophie recharge and there’s usually 60% or so left by the time I’m done for the day by 6 or7pm. Mophie is a game changer, in a good way.

Thursday, April 24, Day 5

April 25, 2014 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

Simple plan made the night before: visit the Hermitage Museum outpost in Amsterdam to see the Silk Road exhibition, then head back towards the B&B, with a stop at the van Loon museum or maybe the Albert Cuyp Market. Rain is forecast to start at 10am and that will decide how much walking around I’ll be doing. I put on my raincoat (the only time I have worn it. The winter coat has not left the bag it was stuffed in) and slip the collapsible umbrella in my bag.

Ubered over to the museum, which reminded me of an Apple store on the inside – curving white walls, glass and metal stairs, lots of interaction features – swipe your ticket over a sensor to be admitted, doors swing open as you approach, the audio guide is triggered from a point on the wall you swipe with you audio unit, like the self check-out at Kroger.

My experience with the Silk Road exhibit will be all tell and no show, since photographs were prohibited. It ranged from fragments of damaged, extremely faded wall murals, to an entire silk garment lined in squirrel fur, preserved in ice for over a thousand years. Multi-media elements included a stuffed dromedary, a two-story high wall projection/slide show of individual items in the exhibit, and audio of Tibetan monks chanting. There were sections on the archeological aspects, past and current, For me, the idea of the show was more interesting than the artifacts on loan. I think the Hermitage mother ship could have been a little more generous with what they made available for this.

I left on foot through spitting rain, toward the Museum van Loon. Passed by a bustling entry and peered inside at what turned out to be the Tassenmuseum Hendrikje, the Museum of Bags and Purses. I hesitated, but with a museumkaart, entry was free, so what the hay. Once inside I winced at the sign announcing a special exhibit – 50 years of Barbie! – but figured I could skip that, no one ever had to know. The collection is housed in a classic, canal view mansion, with the earliest objects on the top floor. One four-story climb later I walked in, and saw a goatskin drawstring bag with iron clasps from 1600. I was hooked. I loved it when they put a painting from the same era behind the purse – instant context. Like this:

The displays address the evolution of material and function. There are examples of beading, basketry, leather, plastic, and metal. Purses for brides and for chatelaines. Exhibits of what women carried, in various eras. So many of the purses were playful, inventive, or as hand held sculpture, like the clutch that mimicked a steamship. I pressed my nose against the glass more than once.

A cafe on the second floor had two formal rooms set for a high tea. They found me a table, slipping me in between the reservations.

I promised to be quick. Clotted cream, jam, and biscuits, how I missed you. I wolfed down crustless triangles of smoked salmon sandwiches, that biscuit, and a pot of Earl Grey. On my way out, I ducked into the gift shop. A Margaret Thatcher lookalike enthusiastically assisted me, and a mug, postcard, and one secret item later (a gift for Robert so I can’t include it here), I made it out the door. Guilty pleasures are the sweetest.

Walked on to the Museum van Loon, in the home belonging to the co-founder of the Dutch East-India Company. Interesting tension between the portraits of van Loon children by Dirck Santvoort and Nicolaes Maes, and a series of contemporary children’s portraits by artist Katinka Lampe they inspired.

Both disturbing, in their own way.

I revisited rooms multiple times. They had massive bouquets of fresh flowers throughout the mansion, a living version of Rachel Ruysch’s stilleven met bloemen paintings.

The formal garden behind the house was blooming in a palette of orange and purple and graced with a copy of the sculpture I last saw in the Louvre, Hercules carrying his son Télèphe.

Thirty more minutes of walking over bridges, dodging around bicycles and trams, and I was back at the B&B. It was a day that convinced me of how good it is to have a museumkaart in my pocket. and time to allocate as I wish.

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