Paris, Day 9 -- Distance, or Ellen & Eliza's Excellent Adventure in Giverny

Despite the fact that I've barely scratched the surface of things to see in Paris, my friend Eliza and I went on a little adventure out of town yesterday.  Our destination was Giverny, to see the gardens which Monet once declared to be his "greatest masterpiece."  He lived and gardened and painted in Giverny from 1883 to 1926.

Eliza came over at 9am, and met little Pepito and Bout de Zan while I finished my coffee and gathered my things.  Then she helped me buy a "carnet" of ten tickets for the subway and/or bus, and we left Reamur/Sebastopol Station on the first leg of our journey, headed toward Paris' St. Lazare Station.

Eliza on the train at St. Lazare!  We walked all the way to the front, and snagged window seats facing each other.

St. Lazare Station.

Looking out the window as the terrain changes from city to small town to countryside.

The queue in Vernon -- waiting to board the bus.  Which was standing room only!  Eliza and I got the next to the last seats, but they kept packing people on until it was full.  Lucky the ride was only ten minutes or so...

At St. Lazare, we bought one-way tickets for the train to Giverny, which was leaving from gate 22.  We could have bought round-trip tickets, but much like on Amtrak, we would have had to indicate a specific return time, and we weren't sure how long it was going to take us to reach the gardens, or how long we'd want to wander.  The woman who sold us the tickets validated them for us.  Eliza explained that this is a very important step when you are buying train tickets in France.  Buying them isn't enough.  You also have to validate them, using the "composter" machine.  "Composter" does not mean composting!  Instead, it marks the ticket with the day and time.  Apparently, you can get into trouble with the conductor if your ticket isn't composted, if he checks it on the train...

The 45-minute ride from Paris to Vernon (in Normandy) went by in a flash, which proves that it's always better to travel with friends.  Eliza and I chatted all the way, as city buildings gave way to green, verdant rural landscapes.  Lots of people got off the train with us, and we followed along as most of them queued up on the sidewalk outside the train station, all of us headed for Giverny.  A four euro bus ticket (round-trip) took us through the quaint little village of Vernon, over the river, through the woods, and into the tinier village of Giverny, where Monet's house and gardens are tucked neatly against the hillside.

We found a little cafe to lunch at before entering the gardens.  The day was perfect -- bright and warm.  We sat outside and ate our sandwich and salad, respectively, and tried to wave off the yellow-jackets that swarmed around my Coca Cola and Eliza's plum tart.  

Coca Cola.  Glass bottle.

(Coca Cola is very popular here.  You'll see people drinking it regularly at cafes in the afternoon.  It is served in glass bottles, which makes me remember and wish for the times when soda pop was sold in glass bottles in the U.S.  We didn't drink pop very often when I was growing up, but I remember there was either a machine that sold it or a refrigerator filled with pop down at the fire hall, where my Dad was a volunteer fireman for years and years... once in a while, if we were down there, we would have one.  I think it was RC Cola there, though, not Coca Cola.  And Dr. Pepper, and Orange Crush, and 7-Up, all in glass bottles that seemed much colder than the plastic ones we have today.)

We bought tickets for both Monet's gardens and the Musee des Impressionismes down the street -- a small museum of impressionist paintings.

The gardens are absolutely lovely.  There were a lot of people there, but it wasn't so many that you couldn't breathe.  (We did have to time our pictures carefully, though, so as not to have too many other people in them.)

The little green bridges and the pond with blooming pink and yellow waterlilies really does look just like Monet's paintings.  In addition to the pond, a fast-moving stream runs along the edge of the property.  Formal flower gardens are interspersed with less formal paths, and little bamboo railings keep visitors from trampling things too much.  A few gardeners were clipping and digging, paying all the visitors no mind.  It's hard to tell if the wheelbarrows were carefully placed for our photographs or about to have weeds plunked down in them.  Some of the fruit trees had been espaliered into a natural fence, while others leaned their heavy branches down, weighted with apples and pears.

We wandered for an hour, at least.  Maybe two.  It was just so nice to be there.  The air was fresh and we kept taking pictures of bright zinnias and geraniums and Canterbury bells and snapdragons and hollyhocks.

A wide path in the garden.

Purple.

Pears.

Blooming flowers over the meandering stream.

Waterlilies and weeping willows.

The house, tucked against the hill.

The house is pretty, too.  Each room is a different color, which is appropriate for a painter, I suppose.  The big room on the end, where Monet painted and displayed his paintings, had enormous windows on two sides, letting the light in.  The upstairs windows looked out on the gardens.  Every room was filled with Monet's original collection of Japanese prints.  Photographs allowed us to see what the place looked like when Monet was there, and it wasn't so very different.  There's a tiny little sewing room upstairs, and an enormous kitchen downstairs, replete with copper kettles and a huge stove.

Ellen and Eliza on the bridge.

The bend in the river.

Sky over Giverny.

Glorious hollyhocks.

Monet's house.

Wheelbarrow on the path.

We stopped for a cold drink before heading for the Musee des Impressionismes.  

The museum is the private collection of an American couple who were great fans of the Impressionists.  Their collection includes several Monets, Degas, Renoirs, a Gaugin or two, some pieces by Toulouse Lautrec, and a handful of others.  It isn't a large collection, but after seeing the blazes of pink and purple flowers in Monet's garden, it was nice to have a place to think about what he and his colleagues did with what they saw.

Eliza and I talked about a number of things as we walked along, including color, and distance.  Distance is what I've been thinking about today, as I look back on yesterday's adventure.

It's hard to see something when you're too close to it.  Hold a nectarine an inch from your face, and your eyes will cross in a red and yellow blur.  Hold it out a bit, and you can begin to understand what it is.

Seeing impressionist paintings (any paintings) in person is tremendously different from seeing them in a print on the wall of a pale blue bathroom or on a discount calendar.  Some of this has to do with real always being better than facsimile, but I think distance is a factor as well.  Instinctively, in the museum, I stepped back from each painting.  Forward, to see the rise of paint on canvas, because I love the rough edges and texture of it, but then back, to see the picture.  And each painting had an optimal distance -- that point at which the colors began to bleed into each other, where the individual brushstrokes disappeared into whole stories of color and light.  Boats pushing through stormy seas, beautiful young women laughing together in their opera box, dancers warming up at the barre...  

And maybe this is the great gift of being a traveler.  This idea of distance.  I didn't buy anything at the gift shops to take home as a souvenir.  But I feel like this whole trip is allowing me to take a step back from my life, and thus see it more clearly.  

The last year has been full of tremendous changes.  Quitting my job, moving across the country, writing full-time, meeting new people, trying to find my way into a new writing community, and wondering what comes next, now that my wonderful fellowship year has come to a close.

This trip couldn't have come at a better time, really.  I'm going to try to take in all the lessons it offers.  History lessons, French lessons, art lessons, and maybe... just maybe... a small insight into what to do with the rest of my life.

We'll see.

Distance.

Adventures in Giverny.

There and Back Again.

I nibble my nectarine, and drink my thick, dark French coffee, and try to be ready for where this trip is trying to take me.

Canterbury Bells, which remind me of my grandma's garden.

Ellen on the Bridge to Somewhere.  (Thank you to Eliza, for sharing her pictures!)

Paris, Day 1 -- Nervous Beginnings and Notre Dame

25 JULY 2011

I am in Paris.

I am on another continent.

D. met me a the airport yesterday, and navigated us via train and subway to her mother's apartment, where I will be staying for the next three weeks.

You might call it a railroad flat, as all the rooms are in a row, but the outside wall curves, and the doors are in different places (and are different sizes), so I'd say it's more of a meander flat.

We had a good hour of instruction on where things are and how they work, made more interesting because a lot of things work differently here than in the U.S.  And I don't speak French, and D's mum doesn't speak English.  D. translated some, her mum demonstrated some, and we all waved our arms a bit.  And then they left on their vacation, and here I am!  An American in Paris.  A broad abroad.

It was late afternoon when they left, and I didn't go out after.  I was exhausted from the overnight flight, and a little intimidated by the apartment lessons and all the little Google Translator translated notes that Madame left me, taped to the walls.

In my little Parisian flat!

The kitchen.

The sitting room.

I believe this is a player piano, but haven't opened it yet...

The view out the window, through Madame's plants and along the winding, narrow walk-street.

This first morning in Paris, I set my alarm for six.  I fed Pepito and Bout de Zan, and figured out how to use the gas stove and the little coffee maker.

Pepito!

Bout de Zan (named after a licorice candy).

I'm taking my time, settling.  I have three weeks, so I don't need to rush, for once.  But also, I'm a little scared to go outside.  Will I be able to work the strange door locking mechanism?  Will I be able to find my way back to the apartment?  It is on a tiny walk street, off a small street, off a boulevard, and all the signs are in a language I don't speak.  And my little brother inherited all the genes for navigation in our family...

I begin with a trip to the Monoprix -- both supermarket and department store.  It is right around the corner.

I manage to buy bread and milk and cheese and fruit and shampoo.  I'm fairly certain it's shampoo.  The blond neighbor lady smiles at me, and says bon jour (and other things I don't understand).  I met her yesterday, when Madame showed me where to take the garbage.  It is nice to see a familiar face.  I pass the door coming back, but backtrack and find it.  My key fits the lock, and I make it back through the door, and my first little Parisian adventure is a success.


I've had a bit of lunch, and am now setting off to try to find the Ile de la Cite.  And hopefully find my way back again after!

Even before I find the Ile de la Cite, it is a landmark for me, as I am staying in the garment district, just north of it.  On the Paris map, I find the Seine, then I find the Ile de la Cite in the middle of it, then I go up from there along Sebastopol, to Reamur.  That is my important corner to remember, for getting back again.  It has its own Metro station, which makes it even easier to find on the map.  "M" for Metro.

I write now from a little cafe on the island, where I am drinking a cappuccino and trying to find myself on the island map in my guidebook.  All this cartography all of a sudden!

It's good to be out and about.  Like most things (like writing!), it is easier to keep going than it is to start.

I think maybe this is the good sort of scared, the kind that makes you brave.  Maybe I should call this little blog series "Alone in a Language Not My Own."  Which reminds me of Walter Mosley's "Always Outnumbered, Always Outgunned" -- an entry in my "Best Title Ever" list, along with Sherman Alexie's "The Lone Ranger and Tonto Fistfight in Heaven" and Tim O'Brien's "The Things They Carried."

My guidebook says that there is no place older than this in Paris.  And that the city is named for a Celtic tribe named the Parisii, who liked the island's defendability.  That must have been before they built all the bridges...

The view from Pont Neuf.

I crossed over on the Pont Neuf, which is the oldest bridge in Paris, even though its name means "new bridge."  (There is something in that which reminds me of Ozymandias.)  From the bridge, I can see the temporary beach they've constructed along the Seine.  They truck in sand so the city dwellers can lie out there and sun themselves, and the children can play.  It sounds strange, but it's really lovely.

Charlemagne!  

Now it is after six.  I heard the bells of Notre Dame Cathedral ring... and promptly sat myself down at a little restaurant on the island, and ordered a beer and some dinner.  What have I been doing with my afternoon?  I've been here!

Notre-Dame.

Mary, flanked by angels, over a long row of saints.

Me in front of Notre-Dame Cathedral!  Picture courtesy of the nice Michigan couple.

The cathedral is where I spent a good part of my afternoon.  It's magnificent.  I remember learning, in an art history class at Chemeketa Community College, that cathedrals were built to allow human beings to experience the glory of God, or Heaven -- as close as we could, here on earth.  To inspire awe.  And I have to say, Notre Dame took my breath away.

Inside the cathedral.  Candles and prayers.

In the gardens behind the cathedral.  This is where the flying buttresses are!  Also, a rose garden...

In line, I chatted with a nice couple from Michigan.  "We're sixty-six," she said.  "This is our big blow out trip, and we're trying to make it count."  They are tackling three cities of Europe, two weeks each.  They're ready to enjoy it all, and remember it for the rest of their lives.  Me, too.

Things I noticed today:

• There are lots of motorcycles here, and sometimes they ride on the sidewalk.
• There are lots of smokers here.
• Ballet flats are in.  Le mode.
• When you eat, here, you are encouraged to take your time.  
• People really do wear a lot of scarves here, both men and women.

Poor Heloise and Abelard... were here.

The flower market!

Things I liked today:

• The statue of Charlemagne, outside of Notre Dame.
• The flying buttresses of the cathedral.
• All the bridges to the island.
• Happening on the residence of Heloise and Abelard.
• Finding the flower market.
• Chocolate mousse for dessert on a perfect, warm evening in Paris, eaten outside as the sun began to set.
• Walking along the water, watching the people and the river.

The beach by the river.

Walking by the water.

Oh, beauty!

Lock your love, like a bicycle, to the fence on the bridge, and it will last forever...

Things I plan to do tomorrow:

• Return to the island to see several things that were closed today, namely the Crypt Archeological, the upstairs part of the Cathedral, the World War II Holocaust Memorial and the Ile de Louis -- which you can reach by bridge from the Ile de la Cite.

What a lovely day!

Upcoming Theater Travel!

This year is turning into one of unexpected opportunities for travel.  What a way to bring my time as a Hodder Fellow to a close!

Summer 2011:

Paris, France -- Tourism, housesitting and play research are all part of my first trip abroad.  And what a trip!  Three weeks at the "moveable feast!"  Stay tuned here for reports and pictures from the City of Light.

Oregon -- There's no place like home.

Fall 2011:

Oregon, redux -- I'll be the host playwright again this year at the Ashland New Plays Festival!  This is a fantastic event, held in the city that hosts the inimitable Oregon Shakespeare Festival, but a celebration of new work all its own.

Independence, Kansas -- I'm delighted to be joining playwright Ken Urban as the two playwrights-in-residence at the William Inge Center for the Arts.  We'll both be workshopping new plays.  I'll be working on my Antarctic adventure story in progress, "Magellanica: A New and Accurate Map of the World."