Marche, Marathon, Branly, Rodin and the Orsay

Sunday was a day of rest for us here in the 11th arrondissement of Paris. The morning sun was strong but the air a bit cool as we sipped coffee and had a light breakfast. Eventually we roused ourselves, dressed and walked down to Boulevard Richard Lenoir and the huge Sunday marche (market).

We took the usual path: down rue Chemin Vert, the garment district of Paris and one of the dreariest parts of the city on a Sunday morning. But it is the fastest way to the boulevard and the life force that these open-air markets bring to the city's population.

Strolling down the nearly half a kilometer of vendors selling fresh produce, cheeses, meats of all cuts and kinds, and of course the fishmongers hawking such odd-looking aquatic specimens that surely came from another planet, we wondered why we have nothing like this back home. I know, we have “farmers’ markets” and local produce markets, but their products are expensive and they serve a tiny fraction of the population. Here in Paris, in France in Italy, in fact throughout much of Europe, these markets cater to everyone and compete directly with the chain grocery stores. And they seem to do a pretty good job of it.

Anyway, we were in the market (get it?) for fresh produce so we checked out the various options -- prices of course but also quality – for example, the haricot vert (green beans) were plentiful but they all looked rather like green tubing cut into small segments. Tough or wrinkled seem to be our only choices. No thanks; we would pass on those for the time being.

After reaching the Bastille, and, before swinging back through the marche we thought we might have a peak at some of the early leaders of the Paris Marathon!

That’s right, we found ourselves next to the huge monument in the center of the Place de Bastille, mile 15 of the Marathon, and as we approached the running route we realized we had just missed the leader(s) come through! Still, we found a good vantage point to watch some of the front-runners.

Curiously there was virtually no security and people wandered in and out of the runners’ paths; even someone on a motor scooter going against the runner traffic, which we thought odd to say the least.

We soon turned our attention back to the matters at hand: food. Walking back through the marche and picked out a couple of stalls to buy our produce and then our cheeses. Finished, we headed back home.

After unloading our groceries we suited ourselves up for the day – it being the first Sunday of the month and many of the state’s best museums being free, we felt compelled by a force we didn’t understand to visit at least two or three museums.

It turned out to be three.

We took the metro line 5 to Gare de Austerlitz and caught the RER (commuter rail) C line to Pont de L’Alma. As we surfaced, finding ourselves in the shadow of the Eiffel tower, we discovered that just across the Seine was one of the final legs of the Marathon running route. We quickly walked across the footbridge (Passerelle Debilly) leading to the Palais de Tokyo on the right bank and watched for a few minutes as some of the less serious “runners” strolled by, casually and with little sweat. It had been more than 4 hours since the race kicked off so these folks were taking their time, just enjoying a moderately paced stroll in running attire along the Seine in Paris on a beautiful afternoon.

What could be better, eh?

After a quick walk back across the bridge we crossed Quai de Branly and walked into, surprise, the Musee du Quai Branly.

We had strolled through the gardens of this incredibly imaginative structure a couple of years back but had never gone inside. We did now and have to say this is one museum that should not be missed.

Even if you’re not keen on art from Africa, Asia or Oceania, this place might change your mind. The museum itself, totally enclosed in what seems to be a wooden mesh-like outer covering, is lifted up into the air, perhaps as high as two stories, on stilts of a sort. After you enter through the gardens you begin winding your way up the ramp, up and up and up, past images that seem to float on the footpath, until you find yourself deep into the darkest heart of cultures long gone – but of such exquisite depth and artistic drive.

The interpretative signage is very good and quite a lot of it in English, although I suspect the audioguide (available at additional cost of course) provides significantly more information.

Oh, and another imaginative aspect is that the collections rooms, the storage rooms as it were, are all glass-enclosed so that many of the artifacts in storage are, in effect, on display from a distance. Tres cool.

After leaving the Branly we returned to the RER and got off at the next stop east: Invalides. From there we walked a few blocks south skirting the Invalides proper, to the Rodin Museum. The line was short but the place was packed nonetheless.

We had been here before but admire the grounds and the outdoor sculpture that seems to lurk everywhere, capturing imaginations from all corners of the globe. (“The Kiss” is inside, “The Thinker” outside. I wonder if that means something?)


After bidding adieu to Auguste we turned right outside the museum entrance and strolled down rue Varenne, heading in the general direction of St. Germain des Pres and lunch. After a couple of twists and turns -- this part of the 6th arrondissment harks back to a much older Paris -- we found ourselves at a small confluence of streets and side streets, and chose the Bar Croix Rouge for lunch. sitting at the corner of rue de Sevres and rue de Grenelle the bar had a most pleasant outdoor space.

The service was friendly, impeccably so, and the food very tasty and reasonably priced. Susie and I each had a uniquely French twist on an Italian favorite: mozzarella, tomatoes, olive oil and vinegar but with delicious haricot verts! All washed down with a glass of cool, crisp suvignon.

We chatted about this, that and pretty much nothing in particular. Finishing the food, emptying our glasses, we paid the bill -- cash only though please note -- and headed off to our final museum stop of the day: Musee d'Orsay.

We had been here before on a "First Sunday," but we had never seen it so packed. The line was out of control but moved quickly nevertheless.

We got inside a little before 5pm (17.00 here in Paris) and not a moment too soon: they announced that the doors would be closed at 5; the museum itself closed at 6.

Well the place was almost wall-to-wall with people inside. Curiously, many were just sitting, long rows of people sitting doing nothing. Clesinger's incredibly powerful "Woman bitten by a snake," was surrounded by people just staring at pretty much nothing, looking dazed, worn, tired. It was as if the woman in marble dying right in front of their didn't exist. A long day I suppose.

Anyway, my agenda was short, at least for this trip to the Orsay -- I plan on a longer return later in the week. We stopped by Jean-Francois Millet's room -- his Gleaners is gone -- and then on to Manet where we discovered the portrait he did of Zola with the sketch of "Olympia" in the background is also gone. Hmmmm.

From there we took the escalators up to the top floor and after a spin to the "tower" overlooking the entire hall, we walked, or rather pushed our way through the Impressionists rooms.

New paintings by Morisot it seemed and Manet and possibly Degas, although we spent little time enjoying their nuances, what with the wave of human flesh swaying one direction and then another. We did stop by several Renoirs, some of our favorite pieces -- his use of color to imitate light filtering through trees is nothing short of genius.

We skirted past the Pointillists and down the stairs and out the door and off to the RER.

Not a moment too soon it seemed. I don't doubt that some of this folks are still there, sitting staring. . .

On the way back to Austerlitz to catch our we noticed another American couple board the same car and stand near us on the platform by the doors. After reaching Austerlitz we left the train and headed off to the Metro line 5 for the Bastille. We no sooner got on board than the same couple ended up standing next to us again -- and of course they were from Grand Rapids, Michigan! Well, Caledonia to be exact. They were at the tail end of a 10-day trip to Europe and were heading back home the next day, Monday.

We chatted for a few moments before the train pulled into Bastille -- they got off as well but we had to say goodbye; they were going in one direction and us in another.

Like life. But what a small world. We never did get their name.

Wish you were here,

Steve