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:

Display at A La Tour Eiffel.

Beef carpaccio (above) an duck breast with mushroom sauce (below)
at the brasserie called A La Tour Eiffel.

Old façade on Rue de Ferou.

Looking at Saint Sulpice from the Rue de Ferou.

The fountain in Place Saint Sulpice (above and below).

THANK FOR FOR RESPECTING  THE SILENCE in the church.  I can't emphasize this enough.

Detail in one of the Delacroix murals in Saint Sulpice.

Extra chairs stacked in the north aisle.

The chapel of the Virgin in Saint Sulpice.

Taking time to see and smell the roses

The Pantheon.

June 26, 2017 – Roses are still blooming in Paris in June.  They are past their prime, but still beautifully expressing exuberant splashes of color.  When I think of roses in Paris I think of the Jardin des Plantes, over in the 5^th arrondissement.  Of course, we have roses in the 15^th arrondissement, too, including the red beauties in the neglected front garden of the École Militaire – roses in a blood red hue, appropriate for that War College.  But we do not have roses in Sanibel, except for the ones in bouquets that Tom brings home from Costco (rainforest-friendly roses).

Roses in front of the Ecole Militaire.

The roses in the Jardin des Plantes are arranged in a well-tended formal corner near the natural history museum entrance.  Some grow on trellises which grace a lovely walk.  How I remember seeing my mom and dad on that walk, under the rose-laden trellises, years ago when they visited Paris before taking a river cruise.

Before the bloom was any more off the rose, Tom and I decided to visit the Jardin des Plantes.  After an easy and direct subway ride, we left the Austerlitz train station and entered the Jardin.  We strolled slowly through the main garden until we finally reached the rose garden.  After soaking that in, we visited the new/renewed biodiversity garden and saw a photographic exhibition about the gardeners.

Flowers adorn the steps leading up to the rue Rollin.

From there, a short stroll took us out of the Jardin and over to the former Roman arena, recreation area, called the Arènes de Lutece.  Tom’s goal was to wander through the heart of the 5^th arrondissement, which is full of sights, one right after the other.  Shortly after we traversed the arena and we found ourselves across the street from Hemingway’s tackiest apartment in Paris, on the rue Cardinal Lemoine near the rue Monge.  We decided to save the colorful rue Mouffetard for another walk on another day, and instead headed past the famed Lycée Henri IV to the stately Pantheon, where so many of France’s heroes are interred.  Another short stroll down the rue Soufflot took us to the gateway into the Luxembourg Gardens.  We enjoyed refreshments at the outdoor café in the Gardens, and then tried to walk out the gate onto the rue Vaugirard near the Musée du Luxembourg, but that didn’t happen.  Some formal event was taking place in the Orangerie, and a huge area around it was barricaded and posted with security guards.  We exited across from the rue de Fleurus instead, and decided to take that charming street, past Gertrude Stein’s old place, in the direction of home.

A small boy practices on his cello while mom works on her Ipad on the rue Rollin.

Dinner was next door at Le Café du Commerce.  The special of the day was a whole dorade royale (golden sea bream), and I could not resist it.  When a server brought it to me, she asked if I’d like to have her “prepare” it.  She meant debone it, and I replied, “No thank you, I will do it.”  She was surprised and said, “Are you sure?”  To that I replied, “I’m from Florida,” by way of explanation.  She said “Okay.”  (That conversation was all in French, by the way.)

If I debone the fish myself, I get more fish off the bone and it does not get cold before I can consume it.  Tom had beef carpaccio again.  Then he indulged in a café gourmand, which was pretty and nice.  My dessert was a little glass of Grand Marnier.  Mmmmm.  So good.

Cafe gourmand at Le Cafe du Commerce.

La Vagenende and the Vagabond Cat

August 22, 2016 -- Wings on our heels, we walked quickly and painlessly to the Luxembourg Gardens yesterday.  The flowers there have never looked so lush and vibrant.  All the rain in late Spring and early Summer was ideal for them.  The grass is greener over there, in the Luxembourg Gardens, than it is on the Champ de Mars.

The Luxembourg Gardens

We entered the park in our usual way, after strolling through the Place Saint Sulpice and down the rue Férou, past the long wall with the Rimbaud poem, Le Bateau Ivre, past the luxurious apartment where Hemingway lived with Pauline.

The Place Saint Sulpice

After crossing the rue Vaugirard, we were in that glorious park that the French Senat owns, and so graciously allows the people to enjoy.

The apiary was even looking better than ever, with all the bee boxes in good condition, and the little fountain in the middle spewing away.

The apiary at the Luxembourg Gardens, with small gray metal fountain.

The great Medici fountain, on the other side of the park, was also in fine form.  Ducks were paddling, great goldfish-like carp were carping, and people were sitting along the water’s edge, mostly looking at their cell phones.

Tom said he was feeling great – far better than the first time we took our granddaughters to the Luxembourg Gardens.  That was right before he had chemo the first time – several years ago.  Tom said he was also feeling better than last summer when we were in Paris.  I feel a great lightness of being upon hearing that.

Memorial to Edouard Branly, physicist, in the Luxembourg Gardens.

There was no better state of mind for enjoying that glorious green space in the heart of Paris, on a perfect summer day.  Every day is a blessing, but some are more blessed than others.

Toward the dinner hour, we strolled up the Avenue de Tournon – so obviously a former Roman road – so straight, so wide.  Where it changes names to the rue de Seine, its scale changes as well.  On the rue de Seine, you know you are in Old Paris.  When we cut over to the rue de Gregoire du Tours we sensed the age of the city even more, as the streetscape became even cozier and more intimate.

Interior of La Vagenende.

We paused outside Glozaria, a Brazilian-Portuguese restaurant, to examine the menu.  We’ll be dining there soon with friends.  A young woman from Portugal and Brazil came out to chat with us.  She’s only been in Paris for ten days, and she wanted to practice her English.  That’s always easier to do with English speakers who also speak French.

Then it was time for dinner.  Back around the corner on the Boulevard Saint Germain, we entered La Vagenende, another stunningly beautiful Art Nouveau former bouillon where we like to have the occasional Sunday dinner.

Interior of La Vagenende.

I can never resist the Quenelles de Brochet, Sauce Nantua (crawfish sauce), at La Vagenende.  Tom ordered the rack of lamb.  Both dishes take extra time – a full 20 minutes – to prepare, the menu cautioned.

No matter.  We ordered six large escargots to share to keep the hunger pangs at bay.  These snails were served in their big shells, with lots of garlic-parsley-melted butter inside.  We savored them, then waited peacefully in that dining room so lovely that we felt like we were in a fairly tale, or on a movie set – someplace not quite real.

Quenelles at La Vagenende.

The quenelles in their copper pot, like free-floating soufflés, were smooth, rich, and fluffy.  The crawfish sauce was really a bisque or Béchamel sauce, and was exactly as it should be.  Tom’s lamb was rosy and flavorful.  His fries were excellent – almost exactly like Christian Vivet’s truffle fries at the Bleu Rendez Vous Bistro on Sanibel Island, back home.

Rack of lamb and fries at La Vagenende.

Dessert was a shared order of profiteroles – almost as good at the ones at Le Pario.

Even though we had walked all the way over to the 6^th from the 15^th, we decided that we should walk home as well – at least as far as the Tour-Maubourg metro station – because of this rich dinner.

At the beginning of our walk to the 6^th, we noticed a Lost Cat poster on the rue de la Croix Nivert.  I photographed it.  Then this morning, as I was processing yesterday’s photos, I realized that this cat pictured on the poster was very much like the cat we saw in the garden of the Musée du Quai Branly on about August 8.  Without this journal, I would not have been able to remember the approximate date.

Wanted:  We have lost a Chartreux-type cat.  If you have seen a solid-gray cat of
a certain corpulence, please contact us at 0622157725.

That’s quite some distance, between the poster site and the garden, but still it is less than a mile, I think.  The poster did not state when the cat disappeared.  Is that because the cat’s owner/staff just left him out during vacation?  Therefore the date of disappearance is not exactly known?

Nevertheless, I texted the information I have to the phone number on the poster.  I hope that cat and owner/staff are reunited.

I would have described the cat we saw in the garden as a bedraggled Russian Blue.  But I am not familiar with French cat breeds.  Evidently, there is a French breed called Chartreux that looks a lot like a Russian Blue.  The poster called the missing cat a Chartreux.  I read the description of the Chartreux in Wikipedia, and was amazed at how many details about the Branly garden cat’s fur and build matched the description in Wikipedia.

The Medici fountain in the Luxembourg gardens.

One of the most intriguing sentences in the Wikipedia article on the Chartreux is, “Legend also has it that the Chartreux's ancestors were feral mountain cats from what is now Syria, brought back to France by returning Crusaders in the 13th century, many of whom entered the Carthusian monastic order.”

Not refugees from Syria, but captives from Syria.

These cats lived in the wild in France until the World Wars.  After World War II, the Chartreux were almost extinct.  (Did people eat cats during the food shortages???)  The Chartreux were brought back from the brink of extinction by European cat breeders.

If I were an abandoned or lost cat, I am certain that I’d be attracted to the garden at the Musée du Quai Branly – Jacques Chirac.  There I’d find clean water; fish, mice, and ducklings to eat; lots of swamp and jungle vegetation to prowl through; and shelter from the rain.  But I would not find protection from cruel Winter weather.  I do hope the lost one is found soon.

French man on a Velib bicycle in front of a fine, very old door at 74 rue Guynemer, by the Place Saint Sulpice.

La Vagenende and the Vagabond Cat

August 22, 2016 -- Wings on our heels, we walked quickly and painlessly to the Luxembourg Gardens yesterday.  The flowers there have never looked so lush and vibrant.  All the rain in late Spring and early Summer was ideal for them.  The grass is greener over there, in the Luxembourg Gardens, than it is on the Champ de Mars.

The Luxembourg Gardens

We entered the park in our usual way, after strolling through the Place Saint Sulpice and down the rue Férou, past the long wall with the Rimbaud poem, Le Bateau Ivre, past the luxurious apartment where Hemingway lived with Pauline.

The Place Saint Sulpice

After crossing the rue Vaugirard, we were in that glorious park that the French Senat owns, and so graciously allows the people to enjoy.

The apiary was even looking better than ever, with all the bee boxes in good condition, and the little fountain in the middle spewing away.

The apiary at the Luxembourg Gardens, with small gray metal fountain.

The great Medici fountain, on the other side of the park, was also in fine form.  Ducks were paddling, great goldfish-like carp were carping, and people were sitting along the water’s edge, mostly looking at their cell phones.

Tom said he was feeling great – far better than the first time we took our granddaughters to the Luxembourg Gardens.  That was right before he had chemo the first time – several years ago.  Tom said he was also feeling better than last summer when we were in Paris.  I feel a great lightness of being upon hearing that.

Memorial to Edouard Branly, physicist, in the Luxembourg Gardens.

There was no better state of mind for enjoying that glorious green space in the heart of Paris, on a perfect summer day.  Every day is a blessing, but some are more blessed than others.

Toward the dinner hour, we strolled up the Avenue de Tournon – so obviously a former Roman road – so straight, so wide.  Where it changes names to the rue de Seine, its scale changes as well.  On the rue de Seine, you know you are in Old Paris.  When we cut over to the rue de Gregoire du Tours we sensed the age of the city even more, as the streetscape became even cozier and more intimate.

Interior of La Vagenende.

We paused outside Glozaria, a Brazilian-Portuguese restaurant, to examine the menu.  We’ll be dining there soon with friends.  A young woman from Portugal and Brazil came out to chat with us.  She’s only been in Paris for ten days, and she wanted to practice her English.  That’s always easier to do with English speakers who also speak French.

Then it was time for dinner.  Back around the corner on the Boulevard Saint Germain, we entered La Vagenende, another stunningly beautiful Art Nouveau former bouillon where we like to have the occasional Sunday dinner.

Interior of La Vagenende.

I can never resist the Quenelles de Brochet, Sauce Nantua (crawfish sauce), at La Vagenende.  Tom ordered the rack of lamb.  Both dishes take extra time – a full 20 minutes – to prepare, the menu cautioned.

No matter.  We ordered six large escargots to share to keep the hunger pangs at bay.  These snails were served in their big shells, with lots of garlic-parsley-melted butter inside.  We savored them, then waited peacefully in that dining room so lovely that we felt like we were in a fairly tale, or on a movie set – someplace not quite real.

Quenelles at La Vagenende.

The quenelles in their copper pot, like free-floating soufflés, were smooth, rich, and fluffy.  The crawfish sauce was really a bisque or Béchamel sauce, and was exactly as it should be.  Tom’s lamb was rosy and flavorful.  His fries were excellent – almost exactly like Christian Vivet’s truffle fries at the Bleu Rendez Vous Bistro on Sanibel Island, back home.

Rack of lamb and fries at La Vagenende.

Dessert was a shared order of profiteroles – almost as good at the ones at Le Pario.

Even though we had walked all the way over to the 6^th from the 15^th, we decided that we should walk home as well – at least as far as the Tour-Maubourg metro station – because of this rich dinner.

At the beginning of our walk to the 6^th, we noticed a Lost Cat poster on the rue de la Croix Nivert.  I photographed it.  Then this morning, as I was processing yesterday’s photos, I realized that this cat pictured on the poster was very much like the cat we saw in the garden of the Musée du Quai Branly on about August 8.  Without this journal, I would not have been able to remember the approximate date.

Wanted:  We have lost a Chartreux-type cat.  If you have seen a solid-gray cat of
a certain corpulence, please contact us at 0622157725.

That’s quite some distance, between the poster site and the garden, but still it is less than a mile, I think.  The poster did not state when the cat disappeared.  Is that because the cat’s owner/staff just left him out during vacation?  Therefore the date of disappearance is not exactly known?

Nevertheless, I texted the information I have to the phone number on the poster.  I hope that cat and owner/staff are reunited.

I would have described the cat we saw in the garden as a bedraggled Russian Blue.  But I am not familiar with French cat breeds.  Evidently, there is a French breed called Chartreux that looks a lot like a Russian Blue.  The poster called the missing cat a Chartreux.  I read the description of the Chartreux in Wikipedia, and was amazed at how many details about the Branly garden cat’s fur and build matched the description in Wikipedia.

The Medici fountain in the Luxembourg gardens.

One of the most intriguing sentences in the Wikipedia article on the Chartreux is, “Legend also has it that the Chartreux's ancestors were feral mountain cats from what is now Syria, brought back to France by returning Crusaders in the 13th century, many of whom entered the Carthusian monastic order.”

Not refugees from Syria, but captives from Syria.

These cats lived in the wild in France until the World Wars.  After World War II, the Chartreux were almost extinct.  (Did people eat cats during the food shortages???)  The Chartreux were brought back from the brink of extinction by European cat breeders.

If I were an abandoned or lost cat, I am certain that I’d be attracted to the garden at the Musée du Quai Branly – Jacques Chirac.  There I’d find clean water; fish, mice, and ducklings to eat; lots of swamp and jungle vegetation to prowl through; and shelter from the rain.  But I would not find protection from cruel Winter weather.  I do hope the lost one is found soon.

French man on a Velib bicycle in front of a fine, very old door at 74 rue Guynemer, by the Place Saint Sulpice.