shopping

12 Random Observations

April 16, 2014 by Virginia Parker 3 Comments

In my imaginary Paris, there are no cars.

I’ve seen more Asian people in the Louvre in the last three weeks than I have seen in my lifetime, total.

Angelina’s is ground zero for thick, luscious, not particularly sweet hot chocolate, with a side of whipped cream.

Walking along the Seine over cobblestones is a tricksy, ankle-snapping risk, I don’t care what shoes you’re wearing.

Fascinated to see the way women actually moved in long skirts and corsets, via archival film footage in exhibits.

Pockets are absolutely essential, which is why I have only worn my otherwise ideal leggings once.

Most dangerous place in Paris is the stairs, whether marble (Louvre), wooden (apartment), escalator (Monoprix), stone (Seine) or concrete (Metro). Hiking up or down, it’s a compound fracture just waiting for a moment of inattention to happen.

I have to fight the urge to stroke, caress and pat the sculpture. And not bitch slap the people I see give in to the temptation.

Most useful tools; a tie between my iPhone (with a temporary global plan) and a small box of big safety pins, thick rubber bands, and large paper clips. I use these all the time.

I have never worn either coat I brought.

Skinny leg jeans are a must, Chucks are great, long thin scarves required.

Walking down the boulevard, lovers lean toward each other as if they are north and south poles of a magnet. I miss you, Boatie. Viva l’amour à Paris.

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.

Madrid Unfiltered, April 3

April 5, 2015 by Virginia Parker Leave a Comment

April 3
A shower and a cup of tea sharpened my jet-lagged brain. Never underestimate the resurrecting powers of scalding hot water and fire hose quality water pressure.
Dressed in my gray jeans and pink Chucks, I set out with a paper map and marker. I turned right instead of left outside my door and took the street Calle de las Huertas.
Completely different experience! Clean, calm, relatively few people, the street-turned-pedestrian path was actually paved with poetry – phrases in brass letters pressed into the paving. How cool is that?

Onward to the Prado, but en route my first unexpected thrill was a woman busker who busted out an aria from Carmen in a voice like liquid smoke and caramel. I was astonished. Yes, I dropped a Euro. Onward, giddy to realize it was all downhill to the Prado – literally. It was also noon. A bit further along I found the gates to paradise aka Le Café Belle Bonbon, a pastry and coffee joint.

The café con leche was delicious and hard-core caffeine. I hadn’t had breakfast and wasn’t hungry though by now it was 12:30. Definitely planned to come back this way and pick up something on the way home.

I decided to walk past the Prado to the famous Retiro Park. The police I saw yesterday were out in force again – I took a photo of a female officer standing at parade rest next to a police van parked in front of the Prado.

My dirt path through Retiro Park was more forgiving than asphalt, with the bonus of having multitudes of vain Spanish men jogging by with serious expressions and shorts. The rest of my walk was down quiet streets with grand buildings in lovely neighborhoods and virtually uninhabited. Window shopping is almost as fun as Paris. Behold, even the shoes in Madrid have got game.

Walked back a slightly different route, recalling how taking side streets on foot are always more pleasant than main roads. Realized I was thirsty and getting hungry and that it was 3pm. On no account did I want to eat in the Prado again, so I started reading menus. One place seemed promising; the outside venue was full of contented diners, and the menu had no English words, so I rolled the dice. Somewhat intimidated by the sleek steel and white leather décor. Puzzled over the menu (couldn’t get iTrans to function) until the waiter put an English version in my hands. He was laconic but helpful. I ordered two appetizers, hoping to double my chances of getting something edible. I drank three glasses of water and fiddled with my iPhone, like everyone else was doing.
The first dish arrived and looked like a bowl of white foam, and the bowl was smoking hot.

Oookaaay. Took a bite and it was freaking delicious. Ravioli filled with partridge, and I tasted olives and potatoes too. So, so good. I felt like I won the lottery. The next dish was cold, a single large scallop on some kind of chilled greens. Again, various distinct yet harmonious flavors, each mouthful a party. Well, where do I sign up. I marked it on my map and headed out towards the Prado. I was walking by the

I was walking by the Museum of Archeology when sphinxes on the steps called to me and I turned right through the iron gates.

It was a free entry day as it turned out. I spent several hours browsing through objects from the dawn of Iberian time. The older I get, the more I marvel at the brevity of our recorded existence. Most of the exhibits had Spanish and English commentary. I loved a bronze sarcophagus cover of a married couple, holding hands.

Also fell in love with the mosaics, carved wood screens, and the ceilings.

Time passed without me quite realizing it and I hit the wall around 6pm. Wanted to get a taxi, but more that I wanted to buy some apples and pastry, so I walked and walked.

After the Passeo del Prado, cops and crowds converged for one of the many Easter processions. Very festive and grim at the same time. New Orleans Mardi Gras parade meets the Inquisition. Hard to describe. That’s definitely what I heard last night, so I have a small hope that it won’t be like this my entire stay. I stopped in paradise and got a Panini on olive bread and two pastries – hey, according to Fitbit I’d walked over 10 miles on one scallop and one ravioli. Weirdly, I haven’t been particularly hungry today. I figure it’s the coffee – it’s so strong it might as well be speed.
I was one street away when I heard the drums and trumpet and saw the back of Christ’s head hoisted over the crowd, moving at a stately pace. The people carrying the shrine through the streets wore red satin hoods that covered their entire heads, white robes, and ropes that looked like nooses around their necks. So strange. I ran to catch up and took a few photos. I’ll never see the like again.

That done, I limped back to my noisy apartment and ate half my Panini, and something that turned out to be a butter cookie dusted with powdered sugar and filled with gooey caramel. Score!
In bed messing around with airdrop and drop box, trying to get all the photos onto the MacAir. It’s not a cinch, but at least I have most of them somewhere.
It’s 11:30 pm. the streets are packed out, and the processions keep making the rounds. I am going to go look for my earplugs. But what a great day! Don’t know what tomorrow will bring, but I bet I’ll enjoy it.