Thanksgiving in Paris & more trip report

The Ribera show was marvelous, once you adjust your head to the critical style and habits of French art historians. I was so pleased to be able to get to see it with only a few minutes time in queue. But I noticed that it was also monumental -- going on and on. I worried whether I was showing signs of age, not able to maintain concentration as long as I would like? I also noticed that social distancing conventions were unfamiliar to me; women especially were getting into my space as I suite-ed my visite. It didn't occur to me that I had been in transit since the previous morning and perhaps running low on energy.

The permanent collection at the Petite Palais is full of treasures, and the building itself is a gem, too. I was enlivened by coming across a couple of large portraits by Carolus-Duran, who was the mentor of John Singer-Sargent (my fave). They helped me understand even more about Sargent's influences and evolution.

Across the street at the Grand Palais there was an opening party happening that night for another expo/fundraiser that was invitation only. So, I used the VIP entrance instead of the rope line, and did my don't-understand-French routine. As long as I didn't have anything dangerous in my RS Civita bag they just let me continue in. I had about 15 minutes inside to take pictures of the building (reminiscent of Kew and other Victorian era world's expos) before someone who spoke some English helpfully explained to me that the evening required an invitation so you have to ask the man at the podium to show your name on his list. Thanks so much for your help! My art-appreciation muscles were exhausted for the day anyway, so I walked over to the stand and kept on walking back out the front grand stairs.

I had an hour to kill until my changed-to-dinner reservation so i wandered around the Parc Monceau in the early-arriving darkness, and once again the notion dawned on me that I'm on vacation, so I bought a dessert crepe from the stand next to the manege, which was busy with young families enjoying Saturday evening. The crepe was a little work of art in itself -- the woman behind the griddle could see I was not local, and she seemed to let her inspiration guide her as she added a few accoutrements to my sweet crepe. It looked good enough to eat!

I wandered up and down the rue Levis, which is relatively upscale as market streets go in Paris. Fruit. Veg. Patisseries. Chickens roti-ing behind glass with potatoes catching the drippings. Gorgeous. Heart-warming. I also really like walking in the street whenever I get the chance.

At Le P'tit Canon they put me in the window since I had a reservation, and there was a solo diner next to me who was a rough match to myself. He was having the first of two after-dinner armagnacs. Clearly they all knew one another. The staff were all hot guys, and I realized that all the recommendations I'd seen had been from women. I reconsidered the name and thought, Oh -- it's like a French Hooters for women! As usual in France, the place goes from nearly empty to full in the space of half an hour around 7:30pm. I was trying to gab with the beaus by asking about the menu etc., and the starter of the day was a Lyonnais sausage dish -- what makes it Lyonnais? I asked. They didn't know enough English to explain, but the armagnac drinker beside me gave a nod at the ardoise and raised his eyebrows a bit "C'est bonne" OK, then, I'll start with that. What's the difference between a filet, an entrecote, and a bavette? Again their English not up to an explanation. I'm going to have the cassoulet though, because it's my first dinner in Paris since before the pandemic.

And of course Beaujolais nouveau to drink, since the annual release had just happened the previous Thursday.
(cont'd...)

It was a convivial and chaleuroux repas but

a few big spoonfuls into the tasty cassoulet my battery started flashing red.

I was out of energy. I told the guys that I'm enjoying myself but I've been going for two days straight,
and would it be a faux pas for me to get this wrapped up to go?
They found a suitable carryout container and got me on my way.

Back at the fancy hotel, they had turned down the bed, left me some chocolate and a tray of small madeleines, which were scrumptious. The big-for-Paris-lodging bathroom had a tub in which I managed not to fall asleep.

Jet lag conquered in the first round? We'll find out tomorrow.

I will accelerate the pace of this report as I go along.

On Sunday morning I went to the Guimet museum and the modern art museum - the Guimet was even better than I remembered; I figured it would take me two full days to go through it as much as I'd like.
There was a grand opening of a new Chinese exhibit and also a big tribute to Kazakhstan, but my favorite has always been South Asia. The politics/history of how so much great Indian stuff ended up in France is pretty dramatic.

The modern art museum is such a miracle in more ways than one. They had cleared out some of the floor space to allow more foot traffic during the Olympics but there was still plenty on display.

The Guimet had set up a Korean street food stand on the rooftop cafe space, one of those actually secret rooftop cafes in Paris, and I had some Korean tempura there, which was described as a friture.

The skateboarders were out in the courtyard at the art museum as usual.

https://www.guimet.fr/fr/expositions

https://www.mam.paris.fr/fr/un-artiste-un-chef-doeuvre

My timing for this trip hardly two days into it was turning out to be fantastic -- Ribera; beaujolais; Tang; Kazakhstan a few others --

but it got even better on Sunday evening: the official holiday lighting ceremony of the Champs Elysee was Sunday evening.

But first, an afternoon walking tour of St. Germain!

Very much enjoying your trip report. I love Paris, I’m a museum junkie and I’m hoping to get to Rouen on my next trip in 2026. So I can’t wait for your next installments. Thanks

Great last minute trip! Can’t wait to read the rest of your report.

Yay! You made it back to Europe! I enjoyed reading your report on my favorite European city. Paris is always a good idea!

Avi, what a great report! I’m so glad you were able to make the trip.

Glad your getting out there again!

Avi, I'm loving it so far! I can't wait to hear the rest, but what a wonderful first day!

Avi, I am loving your trip report. I just bought plane tickets for a week in April myself so the research phase of my trip has begun and your post is very useful!

Sunday afternoon

I had reserved ahead with Paris Walks for their tour of St Germain des Pres. Rick has long recommended this company and so many posts here on the Forum agree that their guides are formidable. In my head I have unfairly lumped this neighborhood together with the theme-park-ified Bou Mich and Shakespeare's 'Left Bank' performance / commercialization, so if anyone could rehabilitate it in my esteem I hoped it would be this guide.

And I was right. Wow. Brigitte (who is more of a Bridget) filled every minute of our tour with saucy and insightful stories and she could have gone on longer. Almost everyone in the group had been to Paris before [who is going to focus on St. Germain on their first visit?] so she didn't need to treat us like newbies. She got us both literally and figuratively into the nooks and crannies of the local churches and impasses and courtyards, and she operates the old-fashioned way --- you hand her cash and she makes a note on paper with a pencil by your handwritten name, which I think co-owner Oriel informs her about by phone. No whisper systems, no QR codes or Venmo, just some pictures in sheet protectors stuffed into her handbag. The old ways work best, non?

Rewind:

I didn't want to leave the MAM but knew I had to get over to St. Sulpice for the tour, and I gave up on getting a good lunch to save some time. But riding the 63 over to the 6th changed my attitude -- the tourists walking along the river, the people in American-logo'ed clothes gazing up at the American Cathedral; the freshly shined monuments and statues on the bridges -- it all got me in a bright mood. Walking along the rue de Seine south toward the meeting point, I detoured into the upscale patisserie Maison Mulot, got myself a croissant garni, and perched in the window to watch the world go by for a few minutes.

https://www.maison-mulot.com

The strollers were so upbeat! Many had their phones out, but to check their maps, not to take selfies like those a few blocks over on Bou St Michel. I really liked the streetscape -- dense like the Marais but not claustrophobic. Every time I spoke to a counterperson for a chocolate croissant on this trip I called it a chocolatine, as they do in the south, and it got me a little smile. I stuck a tradition in my RS civita and jogged over to the tour.

Brigitte remarked on how I seemed to nosh my way through the whole walk, with my fresh baguette and squirreled away snacks. She told us about the origins of the later additions to the big churches and included the story of the Butter Tower at the Rouen Cathedral, and I said that I would be there in a few days and would relate it to the version they gave. She made a few off-color Joan of Arc jokes with me as we moved along. If only she knew how much attention I spend on butter :-)

In the course of the gabbing in the group as we walked, it came out that the lighting of the Champs Elysee was later that night. Scheduled for 5:30pm, though, Brigitte said, so you'd miss the beginning. Ha! I thought to myself -- I know the transit system. I can jog across the river and get on the line 1 and get off in the middle of the Ch El. She was sure it was 5:30pm but she also wondered if it would be dark enough by then to appreciate the spectacle. Oh well, she turned her attention back to pointing out the windows of the assignation apartments of Gerard Depardieu (boo hiss) and the unlabeled side-chapel murals by Delacroix (yay wow).

The tour wrapped up below the atelier where Picasso worked on Guernica, and I had thought earlier I would occupy myself thereabouts until Chez Fernand opened and I could get my bœuf à la Bourguignonne fix. But instead I headed to line 1

(cont'd)

Fortuitous

It was difficult for me to renounce my attachment to dinner at Chez Fernand, but it seemed like a good decision right away -- I crossed the river on the Pont Neuf just as the sun set. Pinks and light blues to the west and over the Tuileries filled the sky. The lights on the Samaritaine dept store were starting to do an imitation of a fireworks show. That minty block beside the store (r d l Monnaie, get it?) has been pedestrianized and was bustling with window-lickers and apero-seekers who almost managed to keep the illegal acrobatic street performers in the background. Mo Pont Neuf is not line 1 so I needed to brave the 1st arr for two blocks to get to Mo Louvre/Rivoli,
and in that short walk it was clear that everyone knew that they themselves were No 1 -- the sense that they had made it to the center of the action, that they were winners in the attention/social media economy, was palpable.

Xmas music was piped out to the sidewalk. I slithered inside just long enough to look at the wreaths and lights decorating the interior and to feel a couple of cashmere Burberry scarves (they had anti-theft thingamabobs attached, darn). I chuckled at the spelling of 'BVLGARI' and moved on.

I got off the 1 at Franklin Roosevelt rather than the bottom station Clemenceau or the top station George V aiming to be not too close but not too far from the Arc de Triomphe, checked the quartier plan for the right staircase, and walked up directly into the sound of a marching band playing the can-can. I was getting giddy.

The band's name was Band' A Leo (ha ha) and it was surrounded by family and supporters. They stopped every 50 meters or so and did a few songs beside the can-can, and when they went into "Oh, Champs Elysee" the crowd spontaneously joined in as a choral accompaniment. It was genuinely moving -- Fraternité in action. A conga line snaked by me. That snippet became an ear-worm for the rest of my trip, and I realized that Prince borrowed it for the chorus of Raspberry Beret. [Background--last year's Halloween costume was a raspberry beret with a palette, paintbrush, striped pullover, and a curly mustache. Children pointed at me and said "Look -- he's a artist!"]

At this point, around 5:30pm, I was honestly thinking to myself "I could live here."

The stage in front of the Arc was mobbed, and there were jumbotrons teasing us with a countdown that kept going 10 9 8 over and over again.

Within half an hour my mood had swung 180 degrees. (or whatever that is in celsius)
The jumbotrons weren't teasing us -- the machinery was malfunctioning.
When would the lights finally light up? No one knew an answer. In the meanwhile, minor celebrities vamped onstage and local dignitaries and chamber of commerce gave speeches that would still have been boring if I had understood them. The drizzle changed its mind several times about getting stronger or weaker.
And to while away the time waiting for the big switch to be thrown, there was the glitz and glam of International boutiques and tasteless fast food marketing -- Five Guys has made it to Paris!!

The ultimate frustration was that I would have had plenty of time to go back to the room and tidy up and make a decent dinner plan if only the organizers had been honest to the crowd and said that they were aiming for 7:30pm now. All I had to do beside hate on Five Guys and do mock countdowns with the Spanish college girls shivering beside me was to indulge my prejudices and note that there were such a wide range of Arabs making the scene -- from friendly full-abaya types to skintight leather pants and stilettos with a designer handbag hanging off their elbow. In other places maybe the Americans or the Chinese nouveau riche would register more but here in this mise en scene the Emirati 13th-removed royalty caught my eye.

Kim, I can find other ways to express my distaste for commercialism along the Ch El of course and I will. Wait until I get to the cemetery for more on mass tragedies.

Coming up when I get a chance: how do you spend a rainy Monday in Paris?

[note that I missed seeing whichever comments got us in trouble with the webmaster, but I hope everyone appreciates my honest account of moment-to-moment reactions]

"...I hope everyone appreciates my"

I for one appreciate it. As someone who struggles to make a connection with Paris seeing such a viewpoint as yours helps a lot.

local dignitaries and chamber of commerce gave speeches that would
still have been boring if I had understood them.

...French Hooters for women.

This is one of the most uniquely written Trip Reports I've read. I'm hooked.
Hurry back to finish it.

So, how do you spend a rainy Monday in Paris? Especially when so many things are closed?

The obvious answer is to go to the Louvre, but I usually resist the obvious answer,

so instead I went to the Musée Jacquemart- André.

This family were serious Italophiles, so their collecting and decor and habits leaned heavily towards Italian art, and to turn that up a notch the new visiting exhibit in the newly refurbished galleries was on items from the Borghese Gallery in Rome. (This exhibit mentioned elsewhere on the Forum)

https://www.musee-jacquemart-andre.com/en/masterpieces-borghese-gallery

Right at the top of that webpage in red it says:
Due to high demand, online booking is strongly recommended. If you buy on site, you'll have to wait a long time.

Recall that Rick has updated his advice to something like "if a popular attraction lets you reserve ahead, then reserve ahead" and if it doesn't you should go early or late. The ticket line when I arrived went all the way out to the street.

It was more than the usual drizzly grisaille that day, so between the metro and the museum I stepped out of the downpour and into a Pret for a quick petit déjeuner . I wouldn't normally give my custom to a chain, but it was bright, dry, and there were bins with fresh fruit. Fresh fruit! Not something you run into in European cafes generally.

The museum has joined the tech revolution: there are QR codes at the start of the visite that let you download a multimedia guide in the language of your choice. I wasn't heading back out in the rain anytime soon, so I put the guide on my iPad mini and connected my ear buds and joined the stream of humanity flowing through the mansion. It is great to see rich people's stuff in its intended location, famous artist's work stuffed and hanging on the walls like safari kills instead of in a museum behind a rope. Imagine the 19th century rooms in the Carnavalet but you can walk around in them instead of past them.

Guides are usually worth using -- this one explained that Ed and Nelly were into the latest tech as well as fine art, and when they built this pocket-size Versailles in the 1870s they used hydraulic lifts in the basement to raise and lower the partition walls in the rooms whose windows face the streetside lawn, so servants could dismantle the wall hangings and the walls themselves, opening up the entire main floor as a ballroom that could hold parties for a thousand people. A thousand people wearing fashions that took up considerable space, too. I think 80% of the people admiring the frippery in those rooms now never notice that the walls are like convention center dividers for their 1%er guests. No one can miss the ornate mezzanines (more Italian) they designed for musicians and dramatists, though.

Around 11:30am the crowd seemed to thin and it became a pleasure to take in the furnishings and the Titians and such. What I didn't realize was that the museum cafe, which is a hot ticket, doesn't take reservations -- first come, first served. So when I took a break at 12:15pm to go get lunch, the dining room was complet already. Major oopsy. If I wanted lunch I would have to stand in the line. The clever folks had queued a little early and gotten in the first seating.

I had to wait over 45 minutes. I had the second half of the guide on my iPad to listen to, but after that I had nothing to turn my jaundiced eye upon beside the stream of tourists gushing about the convergence of the entrances to the food, the cloakroom, the boutique, and the galleries. My spirits were not buoyed by what I saw. I concede that I undoubtedly put words in their mouths, but there were many people who were more concerned with being seen dining in a room with Titians on the wall than with appreciating Titian and his art. [background note: I did some in-depth looking at the Titians in the Prado some years back] Women of a certain style, especially, were anxious about doing this cafe --

-- and it interferes with my idolization of Paris living to have to acknowledge that for a good many visitors the attraction involves seeing themselves being seen. No one was so gauche as to hold up a selfie stick, yet people were checking their clothes and their makeup , discreetly , a bit too often. I should also mention that the winter garden room in the mansion was being used for a wedding rehearsal where the couple's photographer and a handful of assistants were trying to capture both the figures and their surroundings in the best light. There's more than one way to construe 'the best light' though.

Lunch was very good. Since the walls and ceiling are covered in priceless art, lighting is provided by shaded floor lamps at each table, such that the scene reminded me of some Impressionist interiors by Sargent or Degas. A yacht-race-winner size silver bowl in the center held several bottles of chillin' champagne at the ready. I had the mocktail du jour, which was red, my favorite mocktail color. I don't have my notes with me right now so I can't be specific about the butter they provided when I asked for some. For me the most important French phrase after Bonjour and Merci is "un peu de beurre pour le pain, svp?" For the plat I chose the saltimbocca (more Italian), which was plated beautifully. Topped with some microgreens and two edible flowers, one yellow the other purple. It was served with new potatoes that were actually new potatoes -- if you've seen Jacques Pepin demonstrate how potatoes are conventionally pared into various shapes, you know that often small potatoes are formed rather than grown, but these were the real mccoy. [dammit, Jim, I'm a doctor not a chef] . Desert was the cafe gourmand but with hot chocolate, and it was merveilleux! A perfect pistachio macaron, an orange creme brulee, a crumble with chantilly, and what looked like a rice pudding or vanilla mousse turned out to be a very moist tiramisu (more Italian), and very moist is my favorite tiramisu texture. The red wine was perhaps a cotes du Rhone? Again, no notes handy.

https://www.musee-jacquemart-andre.com/en/nelie

This brings together two related topics -- the RS advice about either make a reservation ahead or go early or late and the issue of how to weigh/prioritize your use of time. Two+ hours including the wait for a great lunch at this hot address (a bit pricey) when the previous day I had a croissanwich and a chocolatine perched in a traiteur window in St. Germain for less than half an hour and less than ten euro. Even with a reservation, is a long lunch worth the time? I used to pretty unequivocally say yes, but now I'm not so sure. Especially when you aren't choosing between a great lunch and a bad one, but between a great one and a good one. It frazzles my skin crawl to know that plenty of tourists are getting the worst of both worlds over by Shakespeare's with cookie-cutter food at high prices in caricaturish surroundings (just as true in Fisherman's Wharf in SF) but that's not the choice that is germane for me -- I can spot a good sandwich or quiche and find a spot (when the weather cooperates) to enjoy it, and there are so many other things to do with my time and attention besides critique the butter they bring when I request it.

Anyhoo, after lunch I continued stuffing the mansion's contents into my eyeholes, now with the flood of poseurs replaced by schools of schoolchildren, and enjoying the borrowed Borghese masterpieces in the special exhibit. You might say that it was the cafe gourmand size version of the Borghese Gallery. I didn't notice any porphyry, another favorite color (and texture) of mine, but there was at least one bust employing it outside by the oval courtyard.

What would my third try at avoiding the sunsetter syndrome yield that evening? Stay tuned.

The third time was not the charm.

Dommage!

Somehow my brain insisted that we should catch the last hour or so of the Gustave Moreau Museum back in the 9th, but it didn't allocate the resources needed to get there adroitly. I proved lacking in ept. Inept. Had trouble with the bus, my feet, and took a while to get there, and when I did, there was a handwritten note on the front door apologizing for an unforeseen closure. Oy.

Wish I had looked at their website earlier, so I could see how wifty they seem to be:
https://musee-moreau.fr/fr/informations-pratiques

I had broken another basic rule -- use the facilities when you can. I left the J-A without going, thinking I would go when I got to the Moreau. The situation was becoming urgent. I walked into the business center across the street and gave the reception a chance to practice their Franglais, and succeeded in gaining access to a WC.

https://www.formeret.fr/en/our-spaces/space-la-rochefoucauld

I was ready for an apero. The famous La Rotonde brasserie is there on rue Saint-Lazare, but once again, too obvious for me, so I went into the Café du Mogador, the spot for people not concerned with being seen, and had a pastis Ricard.

https://cafedumogador.fr/fr/gallery

I decided I might as well have a snack, and to show you just how cranky I was, I complained to the barman when he gave me the English version of the menu. "You spoke to me in English, so I thought you would want the English menu!" he riposted.

Touché.

I'd had my fancy meal already, so I ordered a croque monsieur with salad and fries. Meh, non?
When it comes out from the kitchen the barman throws it in front of me. We're this close, monsieur, I am thinking.

It was delicious. Easily the best croque monsieur I can remember having. And the butter he gave me for the bread was intriguingly yellow. My scruff settled back inside my collar.

Lesson: a generous amount of béchamel can solve many problems.

I am going to post my mid-week break in Rouen as a separate trip report and then come back here to go over my Thanksgiving weekend experience in the Marais.

Teaser: the French know next to nothing about Thanksgiving, but do they take any notice of Black Friday?

Indeed they do.

Hello Avi,
Thanks for the report so far! I am reliving my visite to Musee Jacquemart-Andre. It wasn't crowded when I was there and I didn't have to wait long to be seated at le Nelie where I also enjoyed the saltimbocca. I am also remembering standing in the rain in the dark morning waiting for the Luxembourg RER station to open, ha!
I will keep going back to Paris.

I was in Rouen overnight in 2023 and I was a bit disappointed, so I will read about your visit.