On Language

We've had a lovely hint of spring in the last several weeks but Mother Nature continues to tease us with bouts of cold and rain.  At the moment, we're basking in sunny skies and warming temperatures. Paris can be so beautiful at this time of year.  On Saturday, I went for a walk on the Promenade Plantée, a lovely elevated walk planted in trees and flowers -- an old train trestle I believe.  It starts just south of the Opera Bastille and goes for quite a distance.  And yesterday, the Luxembourg Garden was awash in tulips and people, including an armada of small boats sailed by little boys on the great pond.

Modigliani, Redhead with Pendant (1918)
Alicia Koplowitz Collection

I recently visited a wonderful exhibition at one of my favorite museums, the Jacquemart-André.  It is called "From Zurbaran to Rothko" but there is no single title that could capture the elegance of these pieces, drawn from the stunning collection of Alicia Koplowitz, a Spanish investment banker.  Ms. Koplowitz decided to put together an art collection that reflects the best of each period of Western art, many of the pieces portraits or sculptures of women.  She must have had incredible patience and excellent advice to find these glorious works of art, many of them small, but all representing their genres to perfection.  I was particularly taken by an artist I had not encountered before, Kees van Dongen, who at the beginning of the twentieth century was exploring color in the way Matisse did (think Portrait of a Lady in a Red Hat).

Kees van Dongen, Woman in a Large Hat (1906)
Alicia Koplowitz Collection

I've hit another wall in French, or so it seems.  My progress has more often been crowned with a sense of frustration than accomplishment, but this time, I feel so close... yet so far away.  I love English as a language, its subtleties and rich vocabulary.  French is exactly the same, but my French commands at best only one word for any one thing.  In English I can talk about a scent or a whiff, a jump or a leap, a walk or a stroll.  I can describe hair that is auburn or red; see a movie that is depressing or bleak; come upon a young woman who is elegant or chic.  How I love to deploy this vocabulary to enrich my life and my ability to experience the world!

Many years ago, I read a book (I've always read a book...), a memoir by Eva Hoffman titled Lost in Translation.  It describes her experience as a child migrating from Poland to Vancouver, B.C.  As a 13-year-old, she mastered English much faster than her parents, but found it hard to understand the subtleties that make one 'belong'.  What, for example, constitutes the language of flirting when one is a teenage girl?  When does a word ostensibly mean one thing but also something else beneath the surface?  No matter our stage in life, language always deals with such nuances and it is our capacity to master this aspect of language (what one might call language as culture) that in the end makes us a 'native' speaker.   I suppose that as my French gets better, my frustration grows at not having enough time (or enough youth) to make this final leap.  Yet I am deeply grateful for this time in a foreign land; my French, though far from perfect, is immeasurably better for it.

An Anniversary

This is an anniversary of sorts.   One year ago on February 4, I arrived in Paris to begin my grand adventure.  It has been an utterly wonderful experience.  How can you walk around Paris and not be happy?  And, for all their reputation as abrupt and difficult, I have found Parisians generous, welcoming and always interesting to get to know.  As are the expats who settle or pass through here.

Here are some photos that might otherwise be left on the cutting room floor.  Just fun moments and discoveries.

This is one of my favorite things about Paris -- the way they wrap up structures that are being renovated or repaired so that, even if you can't see the real thing, you can see a semblance of the real thing.  This is the glass I.M. Pei triangle through which one enters the Louvre.  One day on my way by, I found it covered in a cloth.  Painted on the cloth was the facade of the building behind the triangle that one would normally see through the glass.  I think I got the angle almost perfectly.  I certainly wasn't the only person trying to capture the perfect image.




I live in a district of art galleries and from time to time they collectively hold a vernissage or private viewing (what we would call a gallery opening).  This is almost always accompanied by something interesting -- lights strung over the streets if it's winter or perhaps a band or other event if the weather is nicer.  This is the view from my window of a lovely jazz combo entertaining passers-by (and nearby residents) one lovely summer evening.

The Mairie of Paris sponsors many wonderful outdoor art installations, sometimes temporary and sometimes permanent.  I'm always delighted when I happen upon one of these excellent pieces.  I particularly liked this one, of a barefoot woman in an enormous hat sitting on a bench.  She's holding her face in her hands.  I just wanted to sit on a corner of the bench and put my arm around her, but the French don't hug in public much, preferring the air kiss on one cheek and then the other that is called a 'bisous' (pronounced bee-zoo).

Getting lost is one of the greatest things that can happen to you in any city as old and wonderful as Paris.  One day, I went to a French-English conversation exchange sponsored by the American Women's Group.   I wasn't sure what was the right location and so wound up wandering through a district in the 16th arrondissement that I didn't know.  I found myself in the Place des Etats-Unis (United States Square) and there was a statue of Jefferson and Washington shaking hands!  Paris is always beautiful when the sun is out, but this low winter sun made it difficult to photograph the statue well.  In spite of the bad photo, it is a really great statue -- I can't recall ever seeing another of the two of them in the US -- and certainly not shaking hands as their political philosophies placed them on opposite sides of the debates of that day.

On a final note, of course, there was another 'attentat' in Paris yesterday.  This looked to me more like a lone wolf or, even more likely, someone with a mental health problem.  It was at the Louvre, which is quite close to my apartment.  A subway stop was closed and traffic, both pedestrian and vehicular, was redirected in the area for a time.  But everybody is just fine.  Including me!

Only six months to go.  I'm looking forward to every minute!

Around Lyon

I promise this will be my last post about Lyon, but there is much to recommend in the region around the city.                                                                                                                                                                    

The Château La Chaize

Lyon lies in the Beaujolais region of France.  Beaujolais is one of the few French wines made from only one grape - the gamay.  You'll find this wine for sale almost everywhere, but there are many vineyards that are not well known in the U.S.  I visited one, the La Chaize estate in Odenas.  If that sounds like the Père Lachaise for whom the cemetery in Paris was named, it should.  The La Chaize family were powerful aristocrats, the youngest son of whom traditionally entered the priesthood.   Père Lachaise became Louis XIV's confessor and the family estates prospered even more, still boasting an exceptional château and the beautiful gardens designed by Le Nôtre, Louis XIV's landscape architect.  Today, the châtelaine is in charge of the wine-making. She produces a beaujolais, a rosé (made by pressing the juice through the lees only once), and a mature red, made only from vines between 50 and 75 years of age.  It was interesting to hear her talk about the craft of making these wines.  And I can assure you, they were delicious!
                                                                          

A front door in Oingt

View from Oingt over Avergues Valley

Oingt is lovely, though when pronounced correctly it sounds very much like a duck squawking.  It is a  medieval village constructed almost entirely from the so-called golden stone (pierre dorée) of the region and     provides great views over the Avergues valley.

Roman Temple, Vienne

Roman Mosaics from a floor in Vienne

South of Lyon, and easily reached by train, lies the old city of Vienne.  It was a prominent Roman settlement straddling the Rhône, the remnants of which are visible to this day.  There is an ancient theater, a temple, and a major archeological excavation, which is now a museum, St-Romain-en-Gal.  I particularly liked the mosaics that have been preserved.  They are extraordinary.  And there's a crumbling medieval castle, the Tour Valois, if your historical interests lie in that direction.  But in spite of all its history, Vienne is a bustling town, easily walkable, offering the ever-present Lyonnais cuisine, charming cafés and squares -- a suburb with the best attributes of a city.

Porte d'en Haute, Pérouges

Take-away, Pérouges-style

Another terrific place to visit is Pérouges, about 15 miles NE of Lyon.  It was settled by people from Perugia in Italy long before the Romans invaded Gaul and, like many of the towns in Tuscany, it is a hill-top village still hiding behind its protective walls.  The buildings in evidence today mostly date from the mid-fifteenth century.  One gains entry through the Porte d'en Haute (the high gate).  The main square, Place de la Halle, has a splendid old hostelry and a very nice restaurant.  This is a small city meant for strolling, with half-timbered buildings leaning over narrow streets and nary a car in sight.