24 Hours in Paris

Paris, France - Dear reader, I am filing this report two weeks late. Please forgive my tardiness.

H and I were in Paris the weekend of March 7. Before you scold us too harshly for travelling in the midst of coronavirus, keep in mind that the pandemic was not in full blossom at that time. H had traveled to NYC a week prior for work and, months ago, we decided that it would be more fun (and cheaper) if she flew from NYC to Paris, where we could spend the weekend traipsing in the City of Light. In any case, we seem to have avoided contracting coronavirus during these travels.

The Flood

In keeping with the general zeitgeist of catastrophe, the Siene was flooding while we there, though this was clearly not the most pressing crisis the government was dealing with at the time. The river had flooded over a lower roadway that runs along the bank and forced its closure, though it had fortunately not risen to the level of the upper bank and started flooding the city proper.

Seine river. Seen here flooding the lower roadway and being a general nuisance

Planes, Trains, and...that's it.

I took the TGV Lyria¹ to Paris on Saturday morning, and H and I took the same train service back on Sunday evening. The TGV Lyria train hauled us through the countryside at a breezy 320 KPH (~200 MPH), and in total, the trip took just over four hours. Rail travel has several key benefits relative to air travel: (1) there is no security check-in, (2) it is more comfortable (particularly with respect to leg room), (3) it departs and arrives in the middle of the city, rather than a former cow pasture an hour away. H took a flight from NYC, for obvious reasons, and it was not so pleasant as my trip to Paris, given that it was delayed for two and half hours (ultimately departing at 1am) and that she was flying economy.

Picasso and Other Art

Since Hannah's flight was delayed, I had some time to spare, so I went to the Picasso Museum, which - being a less prominent museum - I thought was less likely to be crowded with coronavirus vectors (AKA, other people). I was right: the museum was poorly attended that Saturday, in part because of coronavirus and in part because they had shut several of the exhibition spaces for renovation. Many of the attendees were older people, which made me feel better since they were playing a higher stakes game with their health than I was with mine. Maybe not the best logic, but it worked to quell some of the anxiety.

Anyway, the museum's open exhibits focused on the relationship between Picasso and literature. Picasso was apparently a voracious reader and the museum highlighted how his art was influenced by poets and writers in his circle, contemporary art critics, and socialist/communist writers. Much of the time, these literary influences were abstract and cerebral, and only apparent when you read the little plaque next to the artwork, which of course I did. Others were more obvious - for example, reading was a persistent theme in Picasso's art, particularly women reading. And sometimes Picasso's art was even woven into a literary work directly, as when he provided illustrations for collections of poetry, or when he scribbled cartoons into fashion magazines (below).

Picasso, one of the world's great artistic minds

More brilliant work from Picasso

In addition to hoity-toity fine art, we also thoroughly enjoyed wandering through the narrow winding streets of Paris, stumbling into beautiful 17th century parks and courtyards or happening upon remarkable street art. A lot of the street art consisted of posters that were glued randomly to the sides of buildings. Others were more colossal works that consumed the whole side of a building. It was very exciting to stumble through narrow Parisian alleys and come across a gem.

Food and Friends

On Saturday evening, we met up with Katie and Kevin, to whom we had been introduced by mutual friends. Katie and Kevin settle into Paris around the same time we got to Zurich. They, however, had spent the previous year travelling the world - making the most of Kevin's work-from-anywhere employment situation. So, we were the junior ex-pats in the group and spent most of the evening absorbing wisdom about living abroad and listening to fascinating stories about far-flung places. We started the evening at La Buvette for drinks and then got dinner at Brutos, where Hannah pleaded with the waiter in rusty french to bring her some of Brutos famous Sunday chicken on Saturday. Ultimately, she settled for a white fish, and the company more than made up for the lack of poultry. 

But don't think for an instant that H was about to put aside her craving for Parisian rotisserie chicken. No, she was prepared to persevere through all manner of minor inconveniences and distractions in order to find (and eat) her quarry. Brutos may have served² up an obstacle, but this only whet her appetite further. The next day (Sunday), we hunted around a farmers market near Place de la Bastille for H's poulet fix whereupon we were twice accosted by a rotund, elderly French gentlemen in a flatcap who - upon hearing us speaking English and thinking we were British - raised his cane into the air and jovially cried, "Brexit!" Despite this amusing sideshow, H managed to steer us to a vendor of delectable chickens and potatoes lathered in drippings. But alas, our trials were not over - the vendor had no cutlery! After rummaging around their stall they emerged with surgical gloves - one per person. H was not about to let dignity get between her and a good meal (my dignity hardly being a meaningful consideration, here), so we found a cold stone bench, and ate rotisserie chicken out of plastic bag, tearing the meat apart awkwardly with one (latex-encased) hand.

We were joined in this and other adventures on Sunday by Nes, the pastry chef at Septime. Nes came to Paris by way of Toronto, but sadly, she has since returned to Canada as Septime has shut for an indefinite period due to coronavirus. This is all the more sad when you consider what Nes invested into Septime - she would regularly spend 65 a week spent toiling away in a small alcove in the back of the kitchen creating culinary pieces of art for patrons (and then go home to her apartment that didn't have a fridge...). Our hearts go out to Nes and all the folks in hospitality and entertainment who have been so hard hit by this crisis!

Stocking Up

This being Paris, H made sure that we took advantage to stock up on gourmet supplies for the impending end times (though, let's be real, she really wouldn't have done it differently under other circumstances). On Friday evening, before I left, I received a desperate call from H reminding me (above all else) to bring an empty roller-board suitcase so she would have sufficient space for almond flour, caramelized white chocolate, cocoa powder, d'agen prunes (fully dried AND half dried), tea, praline paste, and fleur de sel from Normandy, among other things. We acquired these things in visits to G. Detou³ and Le Bon Marche⁴, where H would plant me on a bench outside with a phone, a chocolate bar, and a kiss and then while away the hours inside.

¹ TGV (Train à Grande Vitesse) Lyria is a joint venture between France's SNCF^a and Switzerland's SBB CFF FFS<sup>b

a</sup> SNCF (Société nationale des chemins de fer français) is the French national railway.

^b SBB CFF FFS (Schweizerische Bundesbahnen, Chemins de fer fédéraux suisses, Ferrovie federali svizzere) is the national railway company of Switzerland. The acronym for Switzerland's national rail service, SBB CFF FFS, is the same phrase repeated in German, French and Italian.

² Pun absolutely intended.

³ The name references the french play on words, "J. Detou", meaning “I have everything”. According to David Lebowitz this is "One of the world's great food shops..."

⁴ Le Bon Marche is "the good market." More specifically, we spent our time at the grocery of Le Bon Marche, which is La Grande Épicerie, which is roughly "the big grocery store." All very literal.