Hamming it up

Last week I was talking about Mr French’s Christmas present, which he only received in March. He also got one in February!

Every December someone in Spain sends Mr French some Spanish ham. Which does not sound like a major feat, but it is. Last year a wine bottle travel with the ham broke and created a bloody looking mess. This year, the ham got lost, stuck in a large warehouse, just a few miles from our flat and totally unaccessible. Because it is a gift, I could hardly call up the sender and say, “Thank you for the lovely thought, but your gift never arrived.” So the sender was not thanked, which he found odd and called to inquire, then learning about the mishap and setting things right.

So it arrived the last week of February, just I was stepping out the door to catch the Eurostar for London. I had my bags, Mr French’s bags and I was preoccoupied with some teenager mischief Em had gotten into when the guardian stopped me.

“Madame, I have a package for you!”

“Oh, Merci, can it please wait until Monday? I am headed out the door.”

“Uh, non, I am very sorry, it can not wait, it is taking up most of the loge.”

He opened the door to his office space and I saw what looked like a coffin for a very large dog. The ham had arrived. Mr Le Gardien carried the wooden crate to our door, I threw it in and let it sit there until our return. On the train, my phone rang. It was Em.

“Mom, the ham arrived.” The next day Mr French’s phone rang. It was his son who was staying at the flat because Em is only 15.

“Papa, I see that the ham has arrived.”

The ham is a major deal for our young’uns. Seriously, you’d think I hadn’t left the house stocked full of healthy pre-made food for them to scarf down. Everyone loves it.

My favorite part is that it comes with 6 bottles of some really outstanding Riojas. Mr French loves the elaborate hardware we’ve had to acquire to deal with the ham.

After London we immediately headed to the Alps skiing, so it was only recently we got to start hamming it up!

Maastricht, the town

Maastricht, of course, is more than just an Art Fair. Its an industrial city and university town at the tip of Holland, just a few miles from the both the Germany and Belgium border. When driving from France, you know you’ve arrived when the amber toned lamp posts that are the backbone of the Belgium highway system, suddenly disappear.

There are 11 museums and several churches to visit in Maastricht, but we were a bit too burned out on art to even consider more. What I did want to see was the Selexyz bookstore. Built inside a Dominican church, with metal frame catwalks creating see-thru floors below the stone vaults, it is often considered one of the coolest bookstores in the world. I wish I could agree, but there was a freak snow storm on our last day, so we had to rush home to avoid getting stuck in the snow!

This trip had been my Christmas present to Mr French, and the fact that I had organised everything down to the most minute last detail, up to and including a serious dusting of snow to ensure that it would be feeling a lot like Christmas, well he was in awe!

We stayed near the train station. Originally I was concerned that it may be a seedier neighborhood than we were used to, but there were not alot of options left, almost everything fully booked when I called shortly before Christmas. Seeing an Hermes boutique as we drove up “our” street made me laugh at my worries, but I was particularly intrigued by the tart displays at the all too tempting Patisserie Royale.

We stayed at the Beaumont Hotel, a very basic design hotel that had shuttles to the show. I stumbled across the hotel when looking for a fantastic dinner to book. Their restaurant is one of the best in town, with carefully sourced, fresh organic ingredients. I had a truffle risotto, grilled turbot and a divine lemon tart with champagne sorbet. It looked so good at the table next to us, that I asked the waiter to put one aside for me before we’d even ordered our meal!

Having a good restaurant coincidentally meant an exceptional hotel breakfast. I don’t normally go in for hotel breakfasts, but that snow storm kept us from heading out the door in search of a café. How exceptional was the breakfast? They had farm fresh yogurt with an entire selection of nuts, seeds and meusli to add to it. There were country jams and a man serving eggs to order. Even Mr French commented on the delicious honey and there was no doubt that the orange juice was freshly squeezed because they had a machine, letting you throw the whole oranges in yourself as they were sliced and pressed directly into your glass.

They also had Hagelslag. When I was a student in Paris a Dutch classmate heard I was going to Amsterdam and told me I absolutely HAD to get Hagelslag. I was thrilled to try a local specialty and when I learned that it involved chocolate, I made it a point to discover this local delicacy. Hagelslag, it turns out, is Dutch for Chocolate Jimmies and the Dutch use them rather liberally on their warm, buttered morning toast, smearing them as they melt into the nooks and crannies. Yum!

And that was all we saw of Maastricht; a pastry shop, a restaurant and a breakfast bar. Who you calling a little piggy? Me?

Just to keep with the theme of our weekend, as soon as we left Holland Mr French went into “quest” mode. He was on the look out for a Baraque à Frites. The Belgians are famous in France for their French Fry stands (love the irony, non?) and Mr French was bent on trying a few with one of their “disgusting” (his exact word) sauces.  The first stand had wonderfully large, bight yellow sign of a cone of fries waving us over. Unfortunately, in true Belgian fashion, the sign came about 15 meters AFTER the off ramp for the stand! The second stand, we missed as we were in a heated debate about the spending of those million dollars that we don’t have and the third time was the charm!

les frites belges avec sauces dégeulasse !

 

 

Maastricht, part 2

SO we were at the fair to see art, us and 69,998 other aficionados who had crossed countries and oceans to attend. The big news of the fair was that less Chinese are buying this year, the void quickly being filled by American museums which seem to have grown confident of their finances after a bearish hibernation the past few years. And that TEFAF is all set to organize a second fair; in China! But about the art….

Magritte and Me!!!

What I saw, what really blew me away were the Narwhal horns, which, being the left tooth of the arctic whale technically belong in a Natural History exhibition, but being from the 17th and 18th century, they qualified as antiques. Antiques I was invited to touch! That is one of the most flabbergasting aspects of this show. The dealers are happy to talk about their treasures and will occasionally invite you to touch and even try on things as rare and improbable as a Narwhal horn, a tiara, an impressionist painting and ancient Roman pottery.

A coffee table or work of art?

There were several stands with Illuminated books, rare manuscripts that were painstakingly calligraphed, then painted and gilded on parchment by solitary monks living in light deprived, freezing cold abbeys across Europe. Centuries later, the blues were still brilliant, the golds bright and they could be yours for anything from 240,000 to 3,000,000€.

As I walked through the fair, I priced things, which was a great way to strike up conversations with the dealers and to learn the market values of entire genres. By the second day I was humming the Barenaked Ladies song, “If I Had a Million Dollars” and virtually spending the money I don’t have. The thing with TEFAF is that someone with a million dollars could leave with a trunk full of loot and feel very rich indeed, or they could twist in angst over all thy multi-million dollar pieces that were out of reach.

There was an entire section dedicated to fine jewels, with Graff displaying the most famous stones of the show; an incredibly rare 20.02 carat blue diamond set with another 100 carats of diamonds in all different shades to form a $100 million peacock that would fit into the palm of your hand. I didn’t get too close to that piece, but I did approach a pair of diamond earrings that had once belonged to a royal princess, a pendant of an enameled lamb sitting on a golden bed that was created in the 1500’s and some gorgeous Indian with rock crystal stones set into enameled 22k gold fish shaped earring.

We never even knew micro-mosaics as an art form!!!!

In the works on paper area we saw some color-rich Japanese prints (Hiroshige 4,500€) and several studies by Klimt (220,000€). There were also quite a few pieces by Picasso, who could also be found in the Paintings area and the Modern Art section, in Gagosian’s stand, not far from the Koons. There were several mobiles by Calder (1.7M€) and a healthy amount of pieces by Fernand Leger and Joan Miro. The collections were conservative, making this one of the few art fairs where I didn’t wander around the booths snorting, “Hunh, and they call this art?” although Damien Hirst still leaves me cold.

from the 1500's!!!

You tired by all this amazing wealth? I was too, by the time we’d spent one day and seen only 3/5 of the show! We went home exhausted that evening, thrilled to have reservations in the hotel’s restaurant and determined to return the next day, as planned.

We had yet to explore the simply balanced Japanese ceramics (7,000€), nor the astonishingly ancient 3000 year old buddah (65,000€) or the heart-stoppingly pure Egyptian cat (75,000€). There was a blue hippo from Egypt that looked liked he’d sauntered off a poster for the Met, and gold earrings from ancient Rome that were actually quite wearable, though I’d be terrified of loosing one on the metro tracks.

Then we made our way to the Paintings, instantly falling for a gorgeous Caillebotte (2.4€ million) of a tree in a meadow that had been inspired by a Monet the artist owned. There were fantastic Dutch still lifes of butterflies (40,000€) by an artist I’d never heard of before, but plenty of work by names you’d recognize, like Boldoni, Cassat, Brueghel, Delacroix, Velazquez and Van Dyck.

After two days, even Mr French was feeling saturated, and loaded down. He was packing some serious weight on him because the galleries, which had been selling their personal catalogues for about 10€ a stand, suddenly went into panic at the thought of shipping all their tomes back and were handing them out as free gifts that we couldn’t refuse, happy to drive home with fodder to dream on.

Rather old sealing wax boxes and,

...rather new Damien Hirst

 

Maastricht

Please don’t ask me how to pronounce the name of this town. I simply can’t no matter how many times I’ve been corrected. But I am not the only one who has a hard time with the place. When I announced we were going to Maastricht, half the French people I know thought we were headed to Belgium, but it is in fact, in Holland. Why would I be going to a town I could not pronounce and very few people ever bother to find it on a map? For art’s sake! For the The European Fine Art Fair, to be precise, or TEFAF, for those in the know, which has been one of premier art shows since 1975.

What exactly is an art fair and what does one do there? Its a one stop shop for serious art buyers and lovers, collection 260 art galleries from 20 countries showing art from every continent except Antarctica. The are 5 main sections to the show, Old Masters, Antiques, Modern Art, Art on Paper and Design (which is a fancy way of say 20th century furniture). Within those sections there is also an area with fine jewelery and a handful of manuscripts and classical antiques (the really old stuff). Nobody seemed to know exactly how large the show was in kilometers, but its like a super mall of really amazing stuff and people flock there, paying the 55€ entrance fee to see truck loads of really rare and beautiful stuff.

Some of those people are billionaires and they are out shopping, vying against museum curators for some key pieces. Others may be passionate collectors who put all their resources into one specific kind of art and there are art students who simply want to learn more, but the vast majority of the people are the same crowd who would head to the Louvre on a Sunday afternoon. Especially this past Sunday, when we heard flocks of Dutch, speaking Dutch. We also heard American and British, some Chinese, lots of French, German and Italian with a bit of Russian for good measure.

Taking a closer look at 2000 yr old gold rings

If you hate museums, this show is probably not for you, but if you like art, its as exciting as being a 7 year old in a candy shop, a 1€ coin in your sweaty palm. Most people probably don’t consider TEFAF because it is out of the way and expensive to attend, but there may be a handful out there who do not go because they are intimidated by the thought of mixing it up with the elite of the art world, so today’s post is all about squashing that inhibition. Because unlike a museum, this place is like an interactive art history lesson, with some of the greatest specialist from the art world absolutely thrilled to share their knowledge and show their art.

Everyone is welcome. If you love art, it is the experience of a lifetime and you really should go. Its an easy train ride from Paris, so day trips are possible if you happen to live in town. The fair is a 30 minute walk, or 10€ taxi ride from the station. When you get there, I recommend spring the 2,50€ for the coat check. The entrance fee, 55€, includes a gorgeous, full color catalogue of the show. It weighs 5 kilos, so I sincerely recommended that you pick it up as you leave at the end of the day.

Getting close to art

Oops!!! Important point, what to wear! There were some outrageous outfits, and a confirmed eccentric, or two, like that crazy Californian chick who lives in Paris, and recently acquired a Bowler hat in London that she absolutely insisted on wearing the first day (to great acclaim, I may add). Most people, however, wear simple nice clothing with the experts insisting on comfortable shoes. I saw very few jeans, and it was warm inside, so sweaters we rare, but beyond that, it was anything goes.

So you’re well dressed, inside the show and ready to go. What now? Prioritize! We spent an entire day visiting just 3 sections. Once you know what you want to see first, start exploring. And here is the important bit, ask questions! The dealers are there to sell, but also to educate and they were happy to talk about their collections and the art world today, even to the obviously starving art a students. Its fascinating what you learn and an absolute thrill when they invite you to feel the canvas of a Caillebotte, hold a 3000 year old piece of pottery, or try on a tiara!

The gallery owners like a bit of fun, too!!!

For lunch, there are a couple of cafés and a “real” restaurant, but we were thrilled with the curry cart we stumbled across on the second day. Lunch for two 11€. After lunch we headed out to see more art and only stopped when they announced the doors were closing in 15 minutes and the booths started closing.

That night we were as exhausted as we had been earlier this month after a day’s skiing. Our minds racing as we digested all we’d seen…. more to come on that tomorrow!!!

 

Bloomin’ Spring


20130321-133247.jpg
When we first moved here, I wasn’t exactly used to winters. I’d done five years in Montreal, so they weren’t completely foreign, but I’m a third generation Californian and five years is not going to change what’ bred in the bone. We arrived on February 1, right in the thick of one of the colder winters on record. It wasn’t ideal.

I was distracted with all the details of moving in, so it hardly registered. What got me down was the early sunset with the dramatically shorter days in which to get things done. The lack of light was depressing, despite my overwhelming joy at being in Paris.

One day was particularly bad. My husband du jour was off on a business trip and the chauvinist principal of my daughter’s school was insisting she be held back a year before she’d ever set foot in a class room. And, oh, yeah, I had pneumonia. Leaving the neighborhood public school after our third discussion on the subject, I was absolutely furious with this fat, balding man who looked like Santa’s Mini Me with a rat’s tail up ‘do. I stormed across the street, talking to myself as I tripped over a pile of snow at the curb.

Even angrier now, I looked up and there he sat. A cheerful man, beaming up at me from his wheelchair, a basket of fresh violet flowers on his lap.

He held up his basket, “2€ a bouquet. Would you like one?”

My anger melted away, I smiled as I stuck my nose into the delicately fragrant bunches.

— Ah, oui….

It was exactly what I needed at the moment I needed it. Not only did I feel better about my day, but those flowers were a promise of spring and the light to come. I bought him out, filling our home with the fragile flowers, refusing to throw them out long after they’d faded.

Every year, I’d wait expectantly for the man and every year I’d buy a handful of violets, until one year, he was gone. But the violets still pop up and every year I am thrilled to see them as they remind me that soon the daffodils will be blooming, then tulips and soon it will be spring.

This winter has been particularly grim, the greyest in 50 years according to local weather reports, and March roared in before I’d seen a single bouquet, so I was particularly thrilled to spot them at our local florist this weekend. The sun’s gonna shine!

ps… My daughter did not get held back and earned top honors imstead.

Scheherazade

An exotic name that evokes love and romance. Somehow I made it through childhood, beyond my teens and into adulthood without ever having read the story of the Princess Scheherazade and the Tales of the 1001 Nights. I knew about Ali Baba and the 40 Thieves, Aladdin and Sinbad the Sailor, but mostly through Disney and Hanna-Barbera, I did not know about the beautiful virgin married off to an evil despot who believe all women were philandering whores. A belief that inspired him to take a bride every morning and have her assassinated before the next sunrise. The vizer’s daughter was horrified to see all these innocent young women loose their lives, and decided to do something about it. She convinced her father to let her be the next bride. He wasn’t thrilled with the idea, but he’s not the first man to find himself firmly wrapped around his daughter’s little finger. And, she assured him, she had a plan.

That night in bed, alone with her king Scheherazade began to spin a tale. A wonderful, enchanting story that had the King completely enthralled. He had to know how it ended, but she fell conveniently asleep before revealing who done it. If the king wanted to know what happened next, he had to spare her life, and he did. This went on for 1001 Nights.

L’Institut du Monde Arabe celebrates Scheherzade with the exhibition LES MILLE ET UNE NUITS that will run until April 28th. Entering the show, I was swept away by the modern version of a flying carpet that hovers about the first room, showing the various editions of the book, from the earliest known example in Arabic (on loan from the University of Chicago, thank you dear daughter) to the decidedly more modern 19th century French translations.

Winding through the exhibition there is a sound area dedicated to the recital of some of the tales, read by French actress and singer Sapho. I slipped on the headphones and was swept away by the seductive poetry of her voice, although the tales themselves are sometimes sad and sometimes violent.

There are more rooms. Some featuring the art from the region, other focusing on the story’s history in film. There are jewelery and costumes, and weapons of war; a totally bizarre foil-wrapped room featuring genies and djinn, as well as some truly exquisite objets d’art. There was a set of Chinese haircombs made of metal and kingfisher feathers that were stunning. Throughout the show, the colors are rich, the materials sumptuous and the subject enthralling, everything you’d expect from a centuries old tale that translates into nearly every culture across the globe.

 

 

 

The Reading

20130319-104434.jpg
When we moved to Paris, I dreamed of leading a cultural life; becoming friends with artists, joining museums and attending cultural salons like those once held by Juliette Recamier or Charles Nodier. I know, oh so very 19th century of me. But cultural salons are not a thing of the past, they’re alive and well, only I have not been to many. For some inexplicable reason famous authors, known artists and respected cultural luminaries did not spontaneously start beating down my door and the invitations did not start flooding my concierge’s mailbox the moment I set foot in Paris.

I had no idea how find the kindred spirits who hold these kind of events, and then there was that little detail called life. I mean, when you think of Proust lounging about with his pals, you can’t exactly picture a charming wife by his side and the idea of a packet of young kids scurrying about there ankles is just unthinkable. Well, I had a husband, and young children and I didn’t have a household of staff to take care of my responsibilities while I was out gadding about with “artistes”.
Then my husband left and I found myself with a French lover and my daughters grew up and that dream was still there, only the invitations still seem to be lost with La Poste, so, this Sunday night I decided to do something about it and I held a literary salon of my own.

I started by inviting my aunt, who was in town from San Francisco and who happens to be a successful author. In addition to a novel, some PBS documentaries, and a screen play, Victoria Zackheim is the editor of a series of anthologies. Her subjects generally focus on women and last night we had a full house of them in the form of local expat writers and photographers as well as a handful of Parisienne gallery owners and even a token accountant!

Victoria read from her latest book, Exit Laughing, a collection of stories about humour and death and how the one eases the other. Not an easy topic, but like her book The Other Woman, about infidelity, this collection takes the sting out of a difficult subject. Victoria spoke to is about her process and the writing classes she gives online through the fantastic UCLA Extension program. And graciously took questions from us all.

It was a lovely evening and I hope it is not the last salon in my home. To keep it going I have a proposal for you. If you live in Paris and you’re interested in attending a salon, please let me know by email, or in the comments section (your email will not be published) AND if you happen to know an author who lives here or will be in town, please let me know so that I can extend an invitation to Le Salon!
20130319-104538.jpg

Friday@Flore (not)

20130318-112545.jpg

20130318-112557.jpg

20130318-112606.jpg

20130318-112616.jpg

20130318-112649.jpg

20130318-112709.jpg

20130318-112719.jpg

20130318-112729.jpg
Its not Friday and these photos were not taken at the Café de Flore. Last Friday, in fact, I was across town from the Flore, working at an agency near the Grands Boulevards. I wanted to get out there and take some street fashion photos for you, but with a computer, two iPads and some serious warm winter gear in tow, I didn’t have the room in my portable, office, aka my hand bag! And then there was reason for toting all that winter gear about. It was cold outside. After having spent my summer in the southern hemisphere with below zero temps, my holiday break in Lapland and last week in the Alps, I’m feeling the deep freeze in the very marrow of my bones and My self simply refuses to spend any time in the cold unless it is for my immediate survival.

So, I tucked into a glass enclosed terasse that was swimming in sunlight. so much sunshine poured in I kept my sunglasses on and I was happy like a cat in a sun beam, I sat their relishing every little wave of UV as they caressed my skin. i’m afraid my purring could be heard two tables over!

But I did get in some street fashion shots. The man in the skirt is a more common sight than you’d imagine. Like most of the local kilt wearers, he was a rugby fan, in town to watch France play Scotland in the final match of the 6 Nations tournament. The game was Saturday, so I perhaps he was planning on pulling an all niter and perhaps his national team joined him, because France dominated the game and won their only victory of the competition.

I love the scarf of the girl who is oggling his knees, big and bulky as fashion demands, with a bright, personal touch of color! Just in time for spring, and perhaps a bit more sunshine. Bright days ahead!!!

20130318-114622.jpg

Detox redux

A few weeks ago I wrote about my first delivery of Detox Delight. I had committed to a 5 day juice fast and I was excited about trying a new, healthy experience. I was hoping to shed some weight, and be one of those cool people who can say, “Oh, yes, I’ve done a detox.” It sounds so enlightened, n’est-ce pas?

Like the American expat I met last month who went into ecstasies about the 43 liquid fast she’d do every year when she lived in the US. I was totally impressed as she went on about the evolution and how your body adapts over time. I asked why she’d stopped her annual tradition.

“Are you kidding? We live in France now, honey. I am not going to deprive myself of French cuisine for 43 days!”

But exactly how enlightened was I? Or rather, how light had become?

First of all, let me say that I cheated. On the evening of the fourth day we had a dinner date that had been planned months earlier. There was no way I could cancel, or re-schedule. But with that one exception, I stuck to the program. I loved the first few days, feeling virtuous and all that, but by day three, my mouth was craving texture, my taste buds crying out for some variety, I wanted to cry each evening as I prepared the family dinner (yes, I still had dinner duty). What saved me was the authorization to eat a piece of dried fruit or a few nuts each day. I’d cherish my little snacks like precious gem stones.

The results? I lost 2.5 kilos, and put 1 back on almost immediately. The rest has stayed off despite a ski holiday that included a daily tea time treat, 6 units of alcohol and 1 fondue dinner. Which kind of gives you an idea of the true results; I am healthier.

Detox has made me super conscious of everything I eat, and inspired me to adjust some of my eating habits;

1/ I’ve been driven to drink. Detox Delight suggests drink 2 litres of water a day, in addition to your “meals”. Well, I am back on solids, but I’m still drinking like a mad women, which seems to have my skin looking healthier than it has in ages, pleasantly plump and hydrated. Last week a neighbor didn’t recognize me at the grocery store. “I thought it was you, but then I thought, non, Sylvia’s way older than that!”

2/ I’ve gone dry. All that drinking has me thinking about what I do drink, so my alcohol consumption has gone way down. On holidays I had the equivalent of a drink per day, but in Paris its now closer to 2 drinks per week. The hardest part was learning how to get around social drinking. At my “cheat” dinner, I had to excuse myself and explain why I wasn’t having an apéro. You’d have thought a green head was growing out of my left shoulder by the expression on their face as I explained the concept of Detox.

3/ Bye bye bread. I’ve nearly cut it out of my diet. Unless its an integral part of my meal, like that fondue I had in the Alps, a pulled pork sandwich from a local wine bar, or perhpas the wrappers around the gyoza I’ll be having for lunch today. I am not eating bread after breakfast and I am avoiding starches all together. Proteins keep me from being hungry, vegetables fill me up, so this seemed like the easiest thing for me to cut back on.

4/ Veg-o-rama! I was a vegetarian for much of my adult life. Then I moved to Paris and became a confirmed carnivore. I even love a good tartare now! But French cuisine is not a big fan of vegetables, considering both beans and potatoes a worthy substitute. While a hearty cassoulet is a scrumptious feast, and is just what the doctor ordered for hearty men working out in the frozen fields from dawn until dusk, it is not exactly on my prescription sheet, so I am re-learning to build my meals around foods that recently had roots.

I am loving all the healthy influences of Detox Delight, but those five days were torture for an undisciplined gal like me. Next time I’d be tempted to choose their option that includes salads, and foods with textures. But I think the best solution for me would be a weekly Detox Delight, allowing me to clean out my system and reminding me to stay on track for the rest of the week, month, year!

The debate

London gets a bad rap for being grey and rainy, but Paris does not exactly enjoy tropical highs on a regular basis. In fact, sunny days with bright blue skies are remarkably rare in this part of the world, so when the sun does shine, there is only one place I want to be; outside! Mr French, who works outside the city all week, sees things differently, because while he is happy to see the sunshine, he has exactly 8 days a month in which he is out of the office. After doing a bit of sports, grocery shopping and running errands this does not leave him with much time to take advantage of everything Paris has to offer. Especially not art exhibitions, which is his second favorite hobby after rugby.

So when the sky is bright and the sun is high, we occasionally find ourselves facing a dilemma; he needs his fix for fine art and I stubbornly refuse to pass through a doorway. This is exactly what happened last week as we walked home after a leisurely lunch in the 14th, negotiating a truce debating our options.

The Adams Family!!!

We were so wrapped up in our conversation, we almost didn’t realize that we were in front of the Montparnasse Cemetery. Even though it is a short walk from our front door, I’d never been inside, yet had always wanted to because I’d heard fabulous things about the Pigeon family grave. Trying to change the subject, I suggested we take a detour and quickly found that we’d accidentally stumbled upon our solution!

At the entrance of the cemetery, there is a guard’s booth where they offer free maps. Looking it over the long list of luminaries and celebrities, we were quickly enthralled and insatiably curious. Jean Paul Sartre is buried beside the love of his life Simone de Beauvoir. The poet Baudelaire, the singer/songwriter Serge Gainsbourg, the actress Jean Seberg, and American feminist Susan Sontag all keep one another company.

As we strolled through the grounds, passing families with kids learning to master the tricycle, dapper seniors out for a stroll and the curious, like us, we came across famous names from the literary establishment. Names like the dictionary Larousse, as well as the editors Flammarion and Hachette. And I even found the Adams Family! Something about cemeteries brings out the kid in me. I felt slightly guilty about my laughter over the Penis family headstone, but was unabashed about taking photos of this phallus symbol, I mean really, it’s circumcised, there is no doubt about the sculptor’s intent!!

The cemetery has a surprising number of sculptures by internationally acclaimed artists. There are two works by Niki de Saint Phalle and the Brancusi masterpiece, “Le Baiser”.

It took us a while to find “The Kiss”. Hidden in a remote corner of the cemetery, we kept looking down at the gravestones. Then Mr French had the bright idea of looking up for security cameras, which is when he spotted the statue. Simply breathtaking. We headed towards the exit, but just three tombs down from the work of art we spotted an empty tomb, with a note informing passers by that this lot is available for rent.

 

 

Mr French paused mid-step, “What do you think? We could be buried just steps from Le Baiser. The shadow of a kiss thrown across our tomb for eternity.”

Related Posts Plugin for WordPress, Blogger...