Coming back to Paris from Prague reinforced my love for the former. This city nourishes me.
Monday was VERSAILLES. The scariest place in Paris. An army of tourists laughing loudly in their own languages and moving in every direction makes the Palace sort of unbearable. Beautiful, but unbearable. The best part this time around were the gardens. Colors so saturated the whole thing looks like a painting.
A rendez-vous Monday night with everyone after their travels. Megan and I got sushi on Rue Saint Anne! Once on the subway I asked a (cute) french man what his favorite restaurants were and he pointed me to this street for sushi. There are probably 50 Japanese restaurants up and down the rue. Sushi + Kirin + good conversation.
Apres, we met up with some of the other kids at this dive bar near the Bastille area. One of the guys there was trying to pull a Fonzy and, after buying me a drink with berries in the bottom, told me he was "going for the happy days look. Did he look like FONZY?!?"
Class on Tuesday was sort of a joke. Lots of nodding heads. That afternoon Megan and I went to Galerie Lafayette Gourmet to analyze the yogurt section for an assignment. The second floor of the department store is entirely dedicated to its massive and brilliant gourmet, this word doesn't fit, grocery store. Makes Whole Foods look like a convenience store. The food is presented as a treasure. Anthropologically speaking, this would be considered a spiritual or religious setting were an alien to explore its aisles.
AND THEN THERE WAS POMPIDOU. Le Centre Pompidou est tres tres magnifique. The building is wild and the Modern art museum within--awesome. But. on the top floor, was a temporary Kandinsky exhibition where I stayed the majority of the afternoon. KANDINSKY was a creative FIEND. I couldn't take in quickly enough, or deeply enough, the expression and creativity and cognition that shot off his work. Reading about the progression of his life/career as an artist, just the raw amount of thought, creation, and teaching the man did makes all my neurons fire at the same time and turn me into a vegetable. Dedicated to Joix de Vivre through wildly expressive paintings. COLOR, line, shape. Images that produce an effect possibly unreachable through writing...and maybe this claim is asserted with a lot of visual work, but normally I would disagree and argue that writing achieves something images cannot. Facing some of his paintings, the meaning--or rather, the meaning as it formed in me--etched itself clearly but undefined. humph. All I'm left with is a paradox.
Post head explosion at the Pompidou we met one of our professors, Dutch born Frenkel Ter Hofstede, at L'as Du Falafel. Best falafel I've ever eaten...granted I think I've had falafel maybe one other time.
A walk through the Montparnasse area took me to the restaurant Hemingway spent time at/wrote to get away from 'foreigners posing as writers.' Also an area famous for Creperies breton, a specific type of crepe influenced by cuisine of Brittany. This area had all night cafes back in the day and some of the restaurants accepted paintings for food, thus, artists gathered.
Thursday after class we went the canal that runs through the Bastille area. Picnic and lying out on the grass by the canal. SUN. I also went on a walk through a little neighborhood in the 6th arrondisment and had one hundred existential crises and was blind sighted by how cool the art nouveau movement was/the architecture that came out of this period in Paris. Forced with the reality that we all live incredibly stale and underdeveloped lives. The two main artistic forces behind this neighborhood were in a constant state of creativity. CONSTANT. Get off this damned machine and go MAKE SOMETHING. OF VALUE. THAT'S SMART, but well communicated so that it can actually RESONATE. gaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh. life, wring me of anything worth putting in glass and serving on a tray for breakfast in bed.
JUST IN: I just ordered a pizza via skype for my friend Michelle. Called dominoes, asked parlez-vous l'anglais? and was transferred to another lady. She asked my name and phone number. The name we came up with before giving up was spelled miceol. Close enough. I then proceeded to order two pizzas, the grand total of 37 euros, about 50 US dollars. Michelle was shocked and amused at how much her desperation for American-ness cost her.
Friday Dustin and I ventured to Dijon, France. Perfect mid-size city, perfect food, perfect wine, as I have now come to expect from France. It's sick, really. We ventured into a collection of holy shit in a convent. Very very interesting and strange. Also went into a crypt in the Dijon Notre Dame. A little bit creepy. But not REMOTELY as creepy as the CATACOMBS.
On Sat. I did a bit of shopping on my own. Explored some gardens. Decided I would have to start collecting ugly things in order to balance out the pain-inducing beauty. Also went to L'auderee and indulged in two macaroons...chocolate and framboise. DIVINE. I also explored the Les Halles area. Markets, food vendors, wholesalers all had their stands here for centuries and were open 24 hours a day so chefs/caterers/etc could get whatever they needed. Major center of the city until the markets were moved out side of Ile de France Paris. Beautiful area though. Most amazing kitchen supply store. Pretty gardens. Giant head.
Sunday I went to the Catacombs and it was half cool half really really really creepy. Alone, I basically sprinted through the .6 mile long Fritzl dungeon filled with bones staring at me. Inhaled fresh air at the exit and walked a ways, sat down at a cafe, and had an amazing slice of quiche. Strolled to see the observatory where neptune's existence was proven mathematically.
Also. Musee Rodin. Glorious gardens. Beautiful sculpture. I love Paris.
