Uffizi! Pitti! Ponte Vecchio! Pecorino!

As promised, I spent today at the Uffizi Gallery and then the Pitti Palace, getting a massive dose of art, history, and culture. Or rather, being confronted by the many gaps in my own education. The Medici: why were there so many of them? How were they allied to the other crowned heads of Europe (Hapsburg, Lorraine, Bourbon, etc.)? Why did so many end up in the Church? Were they all named Cosimo? Why can’t I tell saints apart in paintings or remember gods’ and goddesses’ attributes? Why is John the Baptist in so many paintings with the baby Jesus? I know what the Annunciation is but what’s the Assumption? Answers on a postcard, please.

I do think the Uffizi has the intended effect even if one does not know all the historical and religious details behind it. The sheer amount of art on view suggests the extent of the Medici family’s wealth, power, and influence. Seeing a Leonardo or a Caravaggio or a Velasquez is incredible, of course, but I was most impressed by the long hallways lined with portraits, busts, and statues: classical antiquity literally under the gaze of powerful Renaissance figures. The Pitti shows off the dynastic excess of the Medici in a whole different way. Room after room of frescoed ceilings, silk-hung walls, paintings, decorative arts, jewelry, and more. After a while I wondered if they ever got tired of looking at it all. Did any Medici ever long for an Ikea couch and plain white walls? Anyway, since I was on my own I just stayed for as long as I wanted, took pictures of things I thought were interesting, and took breaks when I felt like it. I highly recommend this approach to museum-going, especially since there’s so much to see that you’re bound to miss something and should not feel bad when that’s the case.

So the rest of this post will be my pictures with captions—definitely not a knowledgeable tour of the Uffizi and Pitti given by an expert art historian. In fact, if you are reverent about art, you may get annoyed with me! Don’t forget to click and enlarge the pictures.

Portraits along the crown molding and busts alternating with statues, all the way down three long hallways.

Portraits of the Duke & Duchess of Urbino. The placard described their appearance as “completely unruffled by emotion or anxiety” but I think they just look supercilious.

La Tribuna: if the Uffizi is extra, the Tribuna is EXTRA extra. I read that in the 18th century it was a popular stop on the Grand Tour. Judging by the crowds, some things never change.

The domed ceiling of the Tribuna, inlaid with shells.

Alongside the Tribuna is a room of miniature classical statues and other curiosities including this “big toe broken off from a monumental statue.”

Looking out a window at Uffizi–you can see how long those long hallway galleries are.

The Uffizi is full of Holy Family paintings but this one caught my attention because they seem to be reading to baby Jesus. Good parenting!


The Cranach portraits of Martin Luther and his wife. Don’t they just look like people who could invent Protestantism?

Madonna and Child paintings are all over the Uffizi as well, but this one distinguishes itself by making its subjects look extremely unappealing.

Looking toward the Duomo from the Uffizi balcony.

I submit that Titian only had one dog, who was very sleepy, and he wanted to put it in all his pictures.

Ignore the gory beheading and look at Judith and her maid’s faces. That no-nonsense look is so familiar to any woman who has ever cleaned up vomit, taken innards out of a turkey, or washed hockey gear. No surprise that a woman painted it: Artemisia Gentileschi.

I love (a) “night light” paintings and (b) Annunciation scenes in which Mary looks extremely nonplussed.

Now we go from the Uffizi to the Pitti. Come along!

This is the Ponte Vecchio. Easy to imagine a time when all the bridges over the Arno (and the Seine, etc.) were occupied with these chockablock little shops or homes.

The costume gallery at Palazzo Pitti. This is an exhibit about dialogues between art and fashion.


Ballgown with pockets!

Jacket with Florence on it

I just love 18C portraits. And portraits in general, really.

An enormous 19th-century music box

The plaque says this is some Grand Duke or other but this is clearly Prince Albert from _Victoria_ and I will not be told otherwise.

Not physically like our dog Zouki at all, but definitely a similar attitude!

Looking up the “Monumental Staircase” in the Pitti.

Looking up from the Pitti courtyard toward the Giardino Boboli, which I missed visiting because of the intermittent rain.

This painting is a Botticelli and therefore Important, but I want to shout back through time at the model, “STAND UP STRAIGHT!”

This is about the time when I started to think wistfully of midcentury modernism.

I always meet friends at these museums.

“What? These are my casual reading clothes.”

Curtained beds give me the yips.

Ferdinando III, whose “traveling nécessaire” this was, did not subscribe to the elitist culture of packing light.

This is a salt cellar. When my grandmother collected salt cellars they did not look like this!

Finally found a Medici family tree (hand-drawn in 1699) on display around 3 p.m. after needing one all day. They should hand out copies at the entrance.

Outside the Pitti. It’s pretty forbidding-looking.

And back to my hotel via some window shopping and at least one cappuccino (not pictured):

Dostoevsky wrote _The Idiot_ in this house.

Looking down the Arno from the Ponte Vecchio.

One last attempt to get the whole Duomo complex in one picture. I’m pretty proud of this shot.

Now back from my last dinner in Florence (*snif*) and I must recommend my new favorite antipasto:

Pecorino Romano with honey and thyme. Eat this immediately!

And so to bed. Thanks for coming along on my all-Medici day! Tomorrow I leave Florence at a time so early that I refuse to think about it right now. I’d rather go to bed tonight with visions of great artworks dancing in my head.

A grand day out in Florence

Hello from Florence where I have had a fantastic day! We left Siena at 10 a.m. and got to the Florence airport by 11. I successfully got a shuttle to the main train station and then a taxi to my hotel. Could have gone the whole way in a taxi for about €4 more but let’s say I spent that money on gelato instead. The taxi ride was extraordinary: it felt like a spiral through smaller and smaller streets till we reached the hotel, which (a) is on a street barely one car wide, (b) is in a 600-year-old building, and (c) is down the street from where Michelangelo lived as a kid. My room is on the 5th floor and to no one’s surprise there is no elevator. Once again I’m glad to have packed light. A large suitcase would not even have fit up the stairs.

Michelangelo lived a few steps from my hotel.

I had a 2 p.m. reservation to climb the cupola of the Duomo, so plenty of time to walk around, look around, have coffee and a snack, get lost, get found, and run over to the Duomo museum office when I found out I was missing a piece of paper that I needed in order to get in. Note to future visitors: if you book the combined ticket and reserve your time to climb the cupola, you must present the time reservation and the ticket itself when you enter. But if, like me, you forget the ticket, you can go around the corner to the museum and they will re-print it for you. May you also be as lucky as I am and experience only a small rain shower while waiting in line, then blue sky when you get to the top of the dome 463 steps later. It is a strenuous climb but so worth it. Definitely the highlight of the Duomo, which is beautiful on the outside (similar style to Siena’s Duomo) but surprisingly stark on the inside except for the incredible fresco inside the cupola. The view from the top is an illustration of Renaissance city planning: it looks like an old engraved map brought to life, with buildings cheek by jowl and streets winding everywhere. If you’re able, I recommend making the climb. It will also make your Fitbit or Apple Watch happy. I felt utterly justified in having a panini and a gelato afterward!

Outside the Duomo–utterly impossible to fit into one picture.

Waiting to climb the cupola.

About halfway up the climb, a much-needed break and photo op.

The bell tower is also part of the Duomo. I could have climbed it too–another 200 steps!

I was there. And my front camera was dirty.

In the bottom foreground you can see the curve of the dome.

You can walk around and see 360 degrees of Florence spread out around you.

A little closer to getting it all in one shot!

The ceiling of the Baptistery–somehow the outside of it is not in any of my pictures.

My next stop was the San Lorenzo leather market—an assignment from a friend who loves Florence and gave me good advice on haggling to get the best price. “Take cash and make them take off 30%,” she said. Florence is a historical center for leather production—there’s a leatherworking school that I may try to visit tomorrow if I can—and there are leather shops everywhere as well as this large open-air market at Piazza San Lorenzo with stall after stall of bags, jackets, wallets, belts, etc. I walked through and looked for a little while and finally started picking out some inexpensive keyrings. The man tending the stall showed me a cool bag that could be worn as a shoulder bag or a backpack, so I said yes to that once we agreed on a price. It’s an interesting experience if you are not used to assertive salesmen or dickering over prices. I’ll just echo my friend’s advice: don’t pay the marked price on anything! I actually got about 45% off and I don’t think I drive a particularly hard bargain.

By the time I finished at San Lorenzo I had walked a lot and was getting tired, but I remembered I wanted to go to the Officina Profumo-Farmaceutica di Santa Maria Novella. It’s a 600-year-old perfume shop near the main train station, and it’s worth going just to see the building and smell the wares. It’s so elaborate that it might be a little intimidating, but when I went in, it was thronging with tourists, including baby strollers and even a dog, so don’t hesitate to visit. The glass cases around the walls are full of the antique equipment that used to be used to make the products. It’s definitely a place where the old world meets the new, and in that sense it’s a microcosm of Florence itself.

Inside the Santa Maria Novella shop

At last I headed back to my hotel to drop off my purchases and accept their offer of a voucher for 10% off a meal at a nearby trattoria. Just hoping to stay awake through the meal, I arrived 10 minutes before they officially opened (fatally American—Italians eat late and I am incapable of doing so) and dispatched my dinner with such a quickness that the hotel receptionist was clearly surprised at how soon I came back. “Did you go to the trattoria?” he asked. “Did you eat? Was everything good?” I would like it noted for the record that this conversation took place in Italian and that the answer to all the questions was Si. I had a green salad, a bowl of ribollita, a little bit of white wine, and a gratuitous cappuccino. Ribollita (Tuscan bread soup) is delicious, filling, inexpensive, and vegetarian: you should try it.

Dinner: so Italian it hurts.

And so to bed soon although Florence is clearly still rockin’. It’s been a while since I have slept over a lively pedestrian street. Shades of Cité Universitaire and summers in Paris. Tomorrow, rain is predicted but I have a ticket for the Uffizi and Palazzo Pitti so I plan to stay dry inside and overdose on fine art.

Chow Italia, Part 2

It was late by the time we returned from Alberobello on Friday night, so Saturday we blew off a trip to the beach (probably a bad decision, in retrospect) in favor of relaxing, watching Italian TV (i.e. American TV dubbed in Italian, plus some baffling infomercials), and spending time with Karine and Antonio’s kittens. In Italian, “kittens” is “gattini.” Easy to remember because kittens are teeny!
This is Maurice Ravel.

This is Coco Chanel.
(also pictured: the nifty tile floors in the apartment)
In the afternoon I went with Karine to buy cheese and vegetables at some of the small shops in Corato. The whole weekend was a linguistic and cultural adventure and this may have been the highlight. The man who runs the cheese shop loves Karine so he dished out some fresh mozzarella knots for us to try as soon as we came in the door. Then he chatted with her while taking her order even though there was a line and some people were griping at him to hurry it along. Karine says she is not always accepted everywhere in Corato but obviously she is well beloved at the cheese shop and at the fruit-and-vegetable shop where she got guidance about her lemon trees. It was fun just to tag along even though I couldn’t understand everything or contribute much. Karine would just point at me and say “Famiglia!”
That night after serving as Antonio’s roadies (broken elevator, music gear up 6 flights of stairs: let’s try to forget that this ever happened) we went and got takeout pizza from a place called Pizza Teatro. It was jam-packed and boiling hot with a disorderly queue and one beleaguered waiter rushing back and forth with pizzas for the people eating at the tables outside the restaurant. Naturally, the pizza was delicious. I had a “Caprese” which was black olives, fresh tomatoes, and onion on a thin crust cooked in a brick oven. Worth the wait and the strange drama of ordering and paying there. Afterward I told Karine that it’s called Pizza Teatro because they could film a reality show in the restaurant.
It was very interesting being a native English speaker/second-language French speaker on this trip. Daniel and Karine have French as their first language and English as their second. Antonio is a native Italian speaker (of course) with English as his second language and no French. And Karine has learned to speak Italian incredibly well in only a year and a half. So when Daniel, Karine, and I or just Karine and I were together we would speak French because she doesn’t get to speak French very often. When the 4 of us were together we would speak English, and I would be the only one without (to my own ears) a melodious accent. But I learned a few words in Italian, such as “Molto bene!” which means “Very good.” Lots of things in Italy are molto bene.
Yesterday morning we went to the Adriatic coast for a photo op before heading to the airport. It was very crowded but so pretty!

Cousin love!

Look, I was there!
Soon it was time to take our flight back and our Italian adventure was over. Karine says we need to come for 2 weeks next time so we can travel around. Good idea or GREAT idea? In any case I am so grateful for the warm welcome we received there and the fun and relaxing time we had. Hooray, Italy! 

Chow Italia, Part 1

Daniel and I are back in Paris after a fantastic weekend in Italy with his cousin Karine and her boyfriend Antonio. It was terribly hot the whole time we were there, and neither of us speaks any Italian, and we flew Ryanair, and the whole thing could have been disaster, but instead we had a great time. Karine and Antonio are excellent hosts! Let’s click through, shall we?
Thursday afternoon we took the Paris Beauvais Airport shuttle from Porte Maillot to the Beauvais airport. It calls itself “Paris Beauvais” but is actually an hour and fifteen minutes away. On that logic I am going to start calling our house Paris Lizella. However, the shuttle is pretty convenient and quite cheap: 32€ per person round-trip if you book online, which is less expensive than the Groome shuttle and it’s a much nicer bus! Ryanair was a better experience than I expected as well. They do charge for EVERYTHING (drinks, snacks, newspapers, checked bags, printing your boarding pass) but the flights ran right on time and the planes seemed decently maintained (albeit not pristinely tidy because their turnaround times are very short). I would definitely do Ryanair or another low-cost carrier again if I travel within Europe for a weekend. As long as you travel light it’s an excellent deal.

We landed in Bari, which is about 35 minutes from Corato, the city where Karine and Antonio live, and they picked us up at the airport. Let me just say right now that everything you have heard about Italian driving is true. Antonio is an excellent “Italian style” driver; I am both terrified by and jealous of his skills. He says he does not drive fast compared to his fellow citizens, which is probably true. “What if I had an Audi?” he speculated.

After a stop at their apartment to drop off bags and freshen up, we headed out to dinner and that’s when the real fun began. They are regulars at a local restaurant called Le Stagioni di Puglia that does typical cuisine from the Puglia region (which grows a lot of olives and other vegetables as as making some unbeatable cheeses). First we got a crash course in Italian dining, which goes like this:
1. Start late. 8:30 is about the earliest you can eat dinner.
2. Antipasti: small dishes of preserved meats, cheese, or cooked vegetables
3. Primi: pasta
4. Secondi: meat or fish dishes
5. Dessert
6. Depart restaurant in a wheelbarrow, probably.
We gave Aldo, the owner, free rein to choose antipasti for us, and they just did not stop coming. Moreover, everything Francesco, the waiter, brought out was delicious: ham, salami, pecorino, parmesan, stuffed mushrooms, grilled zucchini, bruschetta, fresh olives, cooked zucchini leaves (who knew?), grilled string beans . . . It was all so good but we were expecting 2-3 more courses. Finally we had to ask them to stop bringing out antipasti!

This was AFTER we’d already eaten so much we thought we might die.
We had pasta (I had orecchietti with I forget what but it was yummy), canceled our secondi, and went straight to dessert. Karine was not feeling well but she did perk up after a chocolate mousse. I tried limoncello for the first time. It was good but I’m not sure I will order it again. Liqueurs are just not my thing, maybe. Meanwhile I’m still wondering if we should have canceled our pastas as well and just eaten antipasti all night. 
After traveling and a late dinner we simply did not get a jump on the day Friday but sat on the terrace at the apartment most of the morning:
Views from the 6th floor!

Corner apartment = Lots of skyline

At right, one of Karine’s lemon trees. 
Karine & Antonio’s apartment is big and very pretty; the only drawback is that it’s on the 6th floor and the elevator is not 100% reliable (as we learned!). We did eventually get dressed and venture out for lunch at a small café called Cofy Cloud (panini: average, gelato pops: A++++). 
Daniel wanted to rest but Karine and I decided to take the train to visit Alberobello, Alberobello is known for its domed houses called trulli, for which it is designated a UNESCO World Heritage Site. The train journey was a little grueling and we thought we would not have much time to visit before needing to catch the train back. But Karine had the excellent idea to call Antonio and invite him to come out with Daniel in the car and meet us for dinner. So we had time to take quite a few pictures, taste some locally made liqueurs, and sit down for a beer before the gentlemen arrived. Here are some of my pics. I’m so glad we went to Alberobello. I might never have known there was such a place and it is unique and beautiful.

Antonio and Karine

. . . and Daniel

Looking down on the beer festival in Alberobello just before we left
We ate another huge meal Friday night: I had bruschetta and orecchietti (again) plus part of a grilled cheese entrée that Antonio ordered. It was literally a thick slice of a gouda-like cheese, cooked on a grill. Unbelievably delicious and I want to try making something similar at home. By the time dinner was over we had to go straight back to Corato as Antonio, who is a musician, had a gig the next day. Did I fall asleep on the autostrada? I’ll never tell . . . 
Tune in tomorrow for the rest of the Italy Report, featuring KITTENS!

Epic Loire Valley Sightseeing Weekend

This year, the EC Paris program and other European Council programs decided to add a “bonus” to each program in some form, both to take advantage of this year’s favorable exchange rates and to help attract students. The Paris program’s “bonus” was a weekend trip to the Loire Valley to see some of the famous châteaux. It was an excellent trip and I am writing this post in the autocar on the way back. It will be light on narrative but heavy on pictures, so get comfortable and click through…

We set out Friday morning from Paris in 2 autocars. Ours was piloted by our trusty driver Guy and we were led by our old friend Tour Guide Josh. We arrived at our first destination, Amboise, before lunch and had plenty of time to visit the castle and enjoy a good meal in town. I had not been to Amboise before. It is very impressive and definitely shows the military and strategic roots of chateau architecture.

Amboise castle from below

Tour Guide Josh gives the history of the castle

Exterior views 

For lunch, Daniel and I and Dr. Mann went to a charcuterie and got “ardoises” (slates) of mixed cheese, charcuterie, and cold salads. Everything was delicious! I can’t remember what the cheeses were called but one was a goat cheese that’s grey on the outside–we would see it again, twice, before the weekend was over. We had more than we could eat and yet we still managed to get ice cream afterward. How does that happen?

Getting lunch in Amboise

Our lunch!

The view from our table

From Amboise we continued into Tours, which would be our base for Friday and Saturday night. Because we are a large group (almost 100 people counting students, professors, bus drivers, and tour guides), we were split between 2 hotels. One hotel, St. Eloi, was closer to the center of Tours. Our hotel, La Terrasse, was outside of town but right on the tram line so we could easily go downtown. We had a very quick city tour from Josh including some cathedral ruins that are right in the town center. Standing in front of the two towers, which once made up the northwest and southeast corners of the transept, respectively, you suddenly have a new perspective on the size of a cathedral that comes from examining how many normal-sized houses and shops can fit into the space where the cathedral once was. It’s amazing.

This is the southeast corner tower

Looking northwest to the other tower

This is the basilica that replaced the ruined cathedral but not until the 1800s.
Close-up of the northwest tower which is called the Charlemagne tower
View from where we ate dinner–a medieval half-timbered house.

We had a very traditional French dinner that night at a restaurant called Le Bouchon Tourangeau that is right off the main square, Place Plumereau, in Tours. For my entree I had chevre chaud (there’s that goat cheese again) on a salad, followed by andouillette and frites, and a chocolate mousse for dessert. Let me explain about andouillette: it is delicious, but like a lot of delicious French food (especially cheese), it smells terrible. The most polite word I can find to describe the smell of andouillette is “Swiftian.”  Or maybe “earthy.” And yet it is sooooo tasty. Again: how does that happen?

Saturday morning we had breakfast at the hotel and got a leisurely 10 a.m. start for our winery tour and tasting in Vouvray. We toured the “cave” (in this case a literal cave though sometimes it just means a cellar!) where Vouvray wines are aged for at least a year before they are sold. It was a fascinating enviroment and interesting to learn about. Then we went on to taste 3 different Vouvray wines plus some local snacks (GOAT CHEESE). Tasting wine at 11:30 a.m. was a little unusual but fun! I bought a bottle of my favorite of the wines we tasted, a “petillant,” “demi-sec” Vouvray. In the wine world “petillant” means “half-fizzy” (all the way fizzy is “mousseux”) and “demi-sec” is semi-dry. I am excited to open it next time the professors get together to raise a glass.

Daniel & Dr. Mann with Guy
Students walking into the cave

Madeleine, our tour guide at the winery, in front of a rack of 15,000+ bottles.

Goat . . . (wait for it)


The wines we tasted–the middle one is the one I bought.

From the winery we went on to Chenonceau, a short hop down the road. I had been to Chenonceau before but was more than happy to go again. It is so beautiful. I could probably have sat all day just looking at it!

Students listening to Josh’s introduction

I was there! (And using my worst posture, apparently.)

After lunch in Chenonceau we returned to Tours and had time to catch a nap before heading back downtown in Tours for dinner and some fun. We ate pizza (don’t worry; it was French: there was a fried egg on it) and walked down toward the riverfront where there is a little strip of bars and restaurants called La Guinguette. On the way, we stopped to ride the Ferris wheel that is in another square right next to the river. The views were breathtaking at sunset.

Down at the river Daniel managed to befriend some guys with guitars (OF COURSE HE DID) and they jammed around playing classic French music for a while as everyone relaxed and enjoyed the riverfront scene. But today was an earlier start–9 a.m. departure–so we did not stay out too late. Today we had a slightly packed agenda with a stop at Chambord for photos, followed by lunch in Chartres and a look at the cathedral, and then “home” to Paris. These were also the longest sections of the drive with a generous 90 minutes separating each stop, so we have been a bit rushed to get everything in. But it was worth the stop to see Chambord again (less worth it to pay 50 cents to use a porta-potty, merci beaucoup, domaine de Chambord):

And I am always thrilled to see Chartres again especially now that the restoration is really coming along. A large part of the nave is covered in scaffolding right now, but there is plenty left to see. And the restoration is extraordinary. The somber gloom that we associate with cathedrals is wonderful enough, but seeing the stone scrubbed white and the faux marble painted is thrilling. I can only wish we’d spent a bit less time eating cheeseburgers with our students and a bit more time in the cathedral. On the other hand, we are here for the students and lunch was good fun.

I love this plaque because it talks about students coming to Chartres on pilgrimages.

Notre Dame du Pilier

Left to right: completed restoration, non-restored, restoration in progress

The main altar: already fully restored

Arches & keystones above the main altar
Look, I was there too!

So now we are rolling back to Paris in our autocars and getting ready for next week. It’s going to be a mad scramble for the washing machines but a good weekend trip is always worth the laundry you have to do afterward.

Update at time of posting: Going straight to the laundry room from the autocar is the secret to success. À bientôt!

Vive le Québec libre!

The Francophile is branching out. I returned this afternoon from spending Labor Day weekend in Wentworth-Nord, Québec at my beloved Daniel’s son’s lake house. Québec, of course, was originally part of New France and remains a bastion of francophonie. Some people think that English is invading the province and French is losing ground, and there are a range of opinions about whether Québec would be Québec without the French language as its cultural backbone. I’m a fière québecoise (if only by marriage) and an optimist: I do think French is extremely important to the province’s identity and I don’t think it will die out. Everyone has something to say about the value of French and it’s exciting to be in a place where people think critically about their language. Not to say that they are snobs–rather the opposite–but no one ever seems to say “Whatever!” about French the way we sometimes do on fine points of English usage. Saturday night we had a 30-minute conversation about the word la relève and whether an English equivalent exists (at length we decided on “successors”). That is this nerd’s idea of fun! When I go to Québec I am very glad to be a French speaker not only to be able to communicate but also because, even more so than in France, it’s a way of connecting with people. And of course that’s especially important when the people in question are your in-laws!

So Daniel and I flew from Atlanta to Montréal on Friday morning, then picked up our rental car and drove to Dany and Nadine’s chalet (“Chalet” sounds fancy but it is just a regular-but-great lake house) by way of St. Sauveur, a gorgeous little tourist town next to a ski area. I was a tiny bit disappointed not to spend any time in Montréal this time around but St. Sauveur and Wentworth-Nord are so pretty that I got over it quickly. Dany and Nadine have two girls, Marguerite (6) and Céleste (2 1/2). They live in Montréal but come to the chalet most weekends. We spent the weekend doing ordinary chalet things: sitting around the fire pit and talking, watching DVDs, taking pictures, entertaining the kids, swimming, NOT getting up early or hurrying to get lots of stuff done. It was a lot of fun, very relaxing, and also a great challenge for me: having to speak French the entire time. There were occasional moments of confusion: Marguerite said “Quoi?” almost every time I spoke to her and I don’t think it’s because she wasn’t paying attention. And I still have not figured out the real word for the landing/storage area above the basement steps. It sounds like concombre (“cucumber”), so that’s how I have remembered it, but I’m pretty sure it’s not technically correct to say that the broom hangs on a hook in the cucumber. It’s very good practice to speak French in a domestic (rather than professional or academic) situation–even if you find yourself getting corrections from a 6-year-old.

Photos after the jump! Click through . . .

La Crêperie Bretonne in St. Sauveur. We ate here with my parents almost 5 years ago. 
It’s still delicious!

Québec’s official motto on the license plate of our car.

It’s MILK in a BAG! (inside joke for my mother–
bagged milk is a Canada thing, not strictly Québecois)

At the chalet
Daniel relaxing in the back yard

Trying out the “vignette” setting on my camera

The church in St. Sauveur

Looking out from the church steps

A Cuban festival was in progress, so obviously we danced the mambo.

On the main street in St. Sauveur

Lake Wentworth

Lake Wentworth

Lake Wentworth

Saturday, July 19: Chantilly

Fun language fact: in French, whipped cream is called “Chantilly” (pronounced something like “shawn-tee-yee”) because it was supposedly invented, or at least popularized, at the dairy on the Chantilly estate. If you are not into castles, gardens, horses, art, books, or military history, you should go to Chantilly just to have whipped cream at the source. However, if you are like me and you enjoy at least 4 out of those 6 other things, you can skip the whipped cream and have plenty of other stuff to look at instead. Chantilly is the château-turned-museum that was passed down from Anne de Montmorency to Henri II de Montmorency to the Grand Condé (Louis de Bourbon, Prince of Condé), destroyed in the French Revolution, and ultimately rebuilt and donated to the Institut de France by Henri d’Orléans, duc d’Aumale. The Duke insisted that the artwork remain as he had hung it and not be rearranged within the château, sold, or loaned to other museums. So, for instance, if you want to see Raphael’s “Three Graces,” you have to come to Chantilly.

The château also features a library of thousands of printed books, several hundred incunabula, and about 300 medieval manuscripts including Les très riches heures of the Duc du Berry (sadly, only a facsimile of the latter work is displayed in order to preserve the condition of the original). Chantilly also features the Great Stables (the Grand Condé thought he would be reincarnated as a horse, and built accordingly), a hamlet (faux-rustic village as at Versailles) and a Le Nôtre-designed garden. In short, Chantilly checks all my boxes. My only regret is that I didn’t get to spend more time there: 4 hours including a relaxed café lunch with one of our students. I took a good walk through the château and got lots of pictures inside and out, but did not make it to the hamlet and our tickets did not cover the Great Stables. However, as I’ve been telling our students, you have to believe that you will come back and hold some things in reserve for the next trip.

So . . . who wants to see some photos? Click through! Actually, get a sandwich and then click through. There are a LOT of pictures.

The château as you walk up to it from the entry gate

It was overcast when we arrived.

Anyone who has been to Versailles will recognize Le Nôtre’s work when they see it.

Another view of the garden

This is the side of the château from which visitors enter.

Dog butt!
(Downton Abbey joke, sorry.)
(Not sorry.)

You can tell that the château was used as a hunting lodge.

Arms of the Duc d’Aumale

The Duke’s monogram (H O for Henri d’Orléans) is everywhere.

The library is beautiful!

2 volumes of this polyglot Bible were on display.

Frontispiece to one of the Bible volumes

Page from another Bible volumes showing the 4 languages in which it is printed.

Another view of the library

Will Madam require a reading chair? Yes. Yes, she will.

Mourning stationery–a letter written from Twickenham outside London just after the Duke lost his son. “Believe me, my dear Count, your affectionate H. d’Orléans.”

Chantilly’s “regular” stationery

Selfie-ing in the “Grand Cabinet de Monsieur le Prince.” The Grand Condé was styled “Monsieur le Prince” when he became first prince of the blood after his father died.

Another view of the Grand Cabinet

A fire screen in the “Galerie des Singes”: the walls are painted with images of monkeys acting like people.

A monkey about to fire a gun?

Here is the Grand Condé about to throw his marshal’s baton so his troops will follow it.

The music room

China figurines in the music room

China figurines in the music room

Monsieur le Prince again

Now I am just playing around with the camera

More monkeys!
The Grand Condé himself

The upper level of the library

The books are shelved by format to some extent. These are tiny
the red one at right is probably only 3″ tall.

The card on each chair says “Please don’t sit here.” But surely the monogram conveys that message?
“Is your name Henri d’Orléans? No? Then DON’T SIT HERE.”

The “Hall of Stags,” used as a dining room

Glassware with the Duke’s arms

Facsimile of an 18C dinner menu

Joan of Arc listening to her voices

The princess of Condé says “Mmm, I don’t think so.”

One of the most important art collections in France

A door with the HO monogram

Miniatures from The Book of Hours of Etienne Chevalier

Close-up of one of the miniatures

Raphael’s “Three Graces.”  Had hardly given this painting a thought before today; 
now I am utterly in love with it.

“A good king; happiness” 

Chapel ceiling

“God helps”

“May God protect France” 

In the “Chapel of Hearts” where the hearts of the Condé princes are interred

The chapel altar

Super-elaborate stair railing leading down to the private apartments

Château exterior

More playing with the camera

On the way out . . . 

Au revoir, Chantilly!

Sunday, July 13: Un dimanche à Paris

The idea that there isn’t much going on in Paris on Sundays is only partially true. A lot of stores are closed but a lot of museums are open, the metro runs, and some big businesses or popular locations open their doors (although I think they pay some kind of tax penalty for this privilege). For instance, I was surprised to discover that the Orange (mobile phone) store on the Champs-Elysées is open on Sunday afternoon. But they are clearly making money via people who need some kind of service at that time. I happened to be there right at the opening time (1:00 p.m.) and there were at least a dozen people waiting, with more coming in once the doors opened. I like the idea that not everything has to be open 24/7–it makes you plan your life better and act more patient. There may be some truth to the idea that the French embrace their downtime a little too enthusiastically, but I can attest firsthand to Americans’ culpability in not taking downtime seriously enough. We get less vacation time than most other developed nations and then when we get it, we don’t take it! At minimum it makes for an interesting clash of cultures when the 24/7 Americans meet the 35-hour-work-week French.

Since I was in the neighborhood (sort of) I took the recommendation of an esteemed friend and went to the Musée Jacquemart-André this afternoon. This museum seems much less well known than the others I’ve been to–on a rainy Sunday afternoon, the day before Bastille Day, there was no line and it was not bustling with tourists. It is a 19th-century mansion built by a wealthy banker’s son, Edouard André, to house and display his and his wife’s (Nélie Jacquemart–she was a painter herself) art collection. When he died, the house and its collections were left to the Institut de France and it opened as a museum in 1913. It is a beautiful space: elaborate but not overwhelming. And as an 18th-century specialist, I was in heaven. A lot of the art dates to the 18th century and the styling of the house itself–as it is presented now–recalls that era. The special exhibition on display was focused on the fêtes galantes paintings of Watteau, Fragonard, and other artists who participated in that style: a sort of dressed-up version of the pastoral in which elegant people in beautiful clothes have a lovely (and sometimes slightly risqué) time in a fantastical woodland setting. The more paintings I’m exposed to, the more I enjoy looking at paintings because I often encounter familiar themes or people I recognize  Two of the paintings by Nicolas Lancret that I saw today incorporated La Camargo, a celebrity at the time Lancret was painting. Most of the fête galante paintings don’t depict actual people but the idea of an idyllic party in the country, possibly featuring some shenanigans, certainly reflects things I’m familiar with from eighteenth-century culture. And like many places I’ve been recently, it’s worth going just to see the building. The tour includes 3-4 rooms from the Andrés’ private apartments. I always love seeing how people lived “back then,” though I still can’t quite imagine living in such an elaborate space every day–and with corsets on, at that.

At the end of my tour through the museum I decided to have a coffee in the café and read my roman polar for a while (have learned the difference between a polar, which is more like a noir thriller, and a policier, which is just a regular detective novel). It was only a little more expensive than at a regular café and I got to enjoy being seated next to a gentleman of a certain age and his young Swedish girlfriend, speaking English to each other because that was the language they had in common, and him holding her hand the entire time. To his credit he seemed unable to believe his luck, as well he should have been. Across from me were 2 women, one of whom was wearing several thousand dollars’ worth of accessories (Gucci loafers, Birkin bag, and a watch I couldn’t identify because I’m not fancy enough) and who wouldn’t stop being rude to the server. She was like a caricature brought to life; I didn’t think those types existed. Between the coffee (which was very good), the book, and the other patrons I got my money’s worth out of that museum café.

Got a little lost coming out of the museum and walked too far through the 8th arrondissement in search of a metro. I don’t know what it is about the 8th–maybe just lack of exposure–but I usually get turned around when I go there. Finally I found Gare St. Lazare and made my way back in time for dinner and laundry. Tomorrow is Bastille Day; I’m thinking of going out for the parade but it will all depend on the weather. A little blue sky is peeking through right now, but what will tomorrow bring?

Last Night

I can’t believe it’s our last night in Paris. It’s almost midnight and our cab to the airport comes at 7 tomorrow morning. I have some major catching up to do on this here blog; hopefully I can work on it during the flight. The last couple of days have been busy but so much fun. Time for bed; see you on the other side! À bientôt!

One day more

For our last day in Paris we split up to visit the things we most wanted to see (and, in my case, run some unglamorous and non-touristy errands). Daniel went to play poker at Le Cercle Clichy Montmartre–I was surprised to find out that this is not a random hole in the wall but a beautiful historic building.  (Why was I surprised? Isn’t everything in Paris in a beautiful historic building?) I went with Vicki and Samantha to visit Notre-Dame (we had been on the premises but not been inside). It is spectacular. Vicki especially loved it.

They then headed on to the Orangerie while I went back to Cité Universitaire to see if they had my camera charger. I think I must have left it in my room when I moved out, but the Maison de Provinces de France did not have it. It never turned up in my luggage, so I will have to replace it. Sigh. That’s also why these pictures are from my iPhone. The visit to Versailles was the end of my camera battery.

Friday afternoon I decided to take up someone’s suggestion to visit Sainte-Chapelle and I am so glad I did. It costs a bit of money but it is worth it: an incredible little chapel from the 13th century whose walls are practically all stained glass. Beyond gorgeous.

I had just enough time to finish my last mission: writing some cards to friends to post from Paris before we left. I sat at a café behind the Centre Pompidou and then felt really proud because I successfully followed the café waitress’s directions to the post office. Back at the apartment it was nap time and then over to Brasserie Vaudeville for our last Parisian dinner. It was delicious (again)–Dr. Guglielmi gets all the credit for introducing me to it. This time I skipped the appetizer (okay, I mooched some of Daniel’s foie gras), had beef carpaccio and frites for my plat principal, and chose crème brûlée (always yummy) for dessert. We drank a carafe of Beaujolais, cracked jokes with the waiters, and generally had a great time.

Our intended after-dinner destination was Parc Tino Rossi for a bit of alfresco dancing, but I got the directions totally wrong (wrote them down but didn’t bring them; remembered them wrong). I took us to the Pont de l’Alma instead of Pont d’Austerlitz. We would have been very disappointed but we happened to come out of the métro at about 9:54, just in time to see the Eiffel Tower light up at the top of the hour! What a great ending to our visit.

One of the things I like about Paris is that even when you don’t end up where you intended, you usually see something great anyway!
It was a little hard to go to bed knowing we’d be leaving the next day. But Paris will be there when we get back.