Paris Journal: It is summertime in the 6th

A strikingly handsome bust of the Swedish playwright August Strindberg appeared before us as we walked down Rue Mabillon toward the back of the Saint Sulpice church. We'd not seen it before, even though it was installed in November 2017. Strindberg is quoted on a plaque below the bust. Tom was curious about that quote from Strindberg, referring to one of the murals by Eugene Delacroix inside the church. Here's a translation:

"I often enter the church to strengthen myself in the contemplation of Jacob's struggle with the angel of Delacroix. And on leaving I remember the wrestler who stands despite his dislocated hip."

Mural by Eugene Delacroix, depicting Jacob's struggle with the angel.

I don't enter the church of Saint Sulpice to strengthen myself, but I treasure the opportunity to visit that place because I always have a sense of complete calm by the time I leave it. I don't think I get quite the same feeling anyplace else that I've been. I don't have to be there for very long; the feeling just washes over and through me.

My sister likes that church, too. Perhaps it is in our DNA.

We'd entered the side door on the southern façade and made our way past the sacristy and back to the chapel of the virgin where I sat quietly for a while.

Moving on along the north side of the nave, we quickly passed by a tour guide who was whispering to his group about the pieces of the church that played roles in The DaVinci Code. We don't care about that.

We paused to admire a large number of wooden chairs that were efficiently and elaborately stacked in the north aisle. We speculate that these are here because the Notre Dame de Paris cathedral is out of commission, and the church of Saint Sulpice -- which is almost as large as Notre Dame, and not far away -- is now accommodating the worshipers who would otherwise be at Notre Dame.

Heliodorus driven from the temple, by Eugene Delacroix -- a mural in the church of Saint Sulpice.

At last we made our way over to the Delacroix murals. Tom particularly likes to examine these when we go to Saint Sulpice.

We exited the main doors and looked over the Place Saint Sulpice. The square was amazingly quiet and uncrowded. The fountain was flowing with water again, and it is in top form now -- as clean as can be.

An uncrowded Place Saint Sulpice.

The magnificent fountain in the Place Saint Sulpice.

At the southeast corner of the Square, we walked down to the Rue de Ferou, past a newly expanded ice cream parlor and tea room at the corner of Rue Canivet (photo below). If we still stayed on the Rue Canivet in September, this would be a hazard for Tom, who loves ice cream.

We entered the Luxembourg Gardens through the gate on Rue de Vaugirard, by the Angelina tea room. Almost immediately, I was horrified to see an ugly building that has been erected in that part of the park. I read the signs, which assured me that the building is only temporary. It houses a daycare center while the center's real home is being renovated. There is almost no vacant land in the 6th arrondissement, so this is where the temporary building has to be, I suppose.

But the rest of the garden was as lovely as ever. We wandered slowly, pausing to rest on a couple of the ubiquitous green metal chairs, and pausing again to look at a sculpture by Zadkine that we'd forgotten (photo below).

We walked past some of the "old queens," statues representing Queens of France (as well as Saint Genevieve and other influential women) that were created and installed in the gardens in the 19th century.

Bathilde, my 40th great grandmother. She was sold into slavery when she was
a child. Later, Clovis II asked to marry her. Even later, when acting as queen regent,
she abolished the trading of Christians as slaves, and she tried to buy and free children from slavery.

My 36th great grandmother, Bertrade, who died on July 12, 783,
in Choisy, Haute-Savoie, Rhone-Alpes, France, at about age 63 -- my age now.

After walking alongside the Medici Fountain, which was lined with dozens of people in green metal chairs, we exited the park and walked down the Boulevard St. Michel, past the Place de la Sorbonne, and turned left on the Boulevard Saint Germain.

The side of the lovely Medici fountain.

Tom was ready for coffee and ice cream, so I suggested that we go to Les Editeurs -- a place where I once met a friend for a drink, but Tom had not yet seen.

Les Editeurs is a classic brasserie with one dining room that is lined with books, and the other area is decorated with colorful prints. We sat out on the sidewalk, which was decidedly quieter and roomier than the crowded Danton brasserie across the street, facing the Carrefour de l'Odéon.

Bee hives in wooden boxes in the pavilion on the left
in the Luxembourg Gardens.

When we walked past it, Danton was full of tourists. Tourists also crowded the sidewalks on the boulevards of the 6th. I can see why Parisians feel overwhelmed by tourists in that part of town, just as we feel overwhelmed by tourists in south Florida in the winter and early spring.

In Paris, we don't see ourselves as tourists. Paris is just where we live (and write) in the summer. We agree with many Parisians, that it is easier to live in the 15th and 16th arrondissements because those places don't feel like Disneyland because they aren't loaded with tourists.

Tom had his Berthillon ice cream and espresso, we shared a bottle of sparkling water, and I had a glass of wine, as we admired the Carrefour de l'Odéon. Here's a video of our view from our table:

As we paid the tab, I checked the fitness app; we'd met our 5-mile walking goal for the day. So we took a taxi from the taxi stand around the corner and we were home in no time.

We'd taken the metro to go over to the 6th earlier in the afternoon, when my knees and Tom's hip were still in fine form. But after 5 miles of walking, we don't wish to suffer from going down all the steps to the metro platform underground. We've learned that taking taxis to go home after walking is just a great way to extend our sightseeing time on street level.

Inside the brasserie called A La Tour Eiffel, 96 Rue du Commerce.

After resting in the apartment for a while, we dressed casually for dinner down the street at the brasserie called A La Tour Eiffel, across from the Saint John the Baptist church that was once the centerpiece of the town of Grenelle. We had our first dinner in Paris at A La Tour Eiffel in August 1998.

This brasserie is handsome, has a reasonably priced menu, and serves a delicious beef carpaccio and fries (for Tom) and duck breast with mushroom sauce and asparagus (for me).

Here are more scenes from the day: