Musee Rodin

Before bringing you your regularly scheduled post, a brief announcement: Happy anniversary Mom and Dad!! And no, I did not get the date wrong. Apparently the blog displays the date you started writing the post, not the day it was actually published. So it is your real anniversary today. Not many people get shout-outs on my blog, but since you're pretty cool (and since you are paying for essentially all of the experiences mentioned on this blog) you get a special mention. I hope you have a wonderful day.

Now, down to business. I have many aspirations for my time in France. Some are realistic, some are not. And then there are those that are mutually exclusive. For example, Aspiration #1 (sample every pastry variety in Paris) and Aspiration #2 (lose ten pounds so as to look more like a real parisienne) cannot coexist. Another, somewhat less contradictory pairing is the following: Aspiration #3 (explore as much as I can of Paris, France and Europe) vs. Aspiration #4 (update all of my six followers on every detail of said exploration). Because telling everyone everything that happens to me, would necessitate about 16 hours of blogging a day. And then I wouldn't do anything else, and I would have to start blogging about blogging and it would all become too unbearably self-referential and probably open up some sort of hole in the space-time continuum. Long story short, much of what I did in the past week is not posted here. But I do my best to compile the highlights of the highlights so that you don't miss anything too important. With this in mind, I would be remiss if I did not mention my visit to the Musee Rodin, even if it did happen nearly a week ago.

And yes, that was a really long introduction that has very little to do with the actual subject of my post. But I'm the one writing this thing, so all six of you will either have to deal with it or find a more concise, less pastry-obsessed blogger to follow.

Anyway...the museum. Oh the museum. It is duking it out with l'Orangerie for the prestigious title of "Alanna's Favorite Museum in Paris." Everything about it was perfect. Starting with the fact that I got in for free. You see, I have a very professional looking ID (read: a piece of green construction paper with my photo stapled to it) stating that I am an art history student and, as such, deserve free admission to just about any museum in Paris. I am not an art history student, but I'm managed to suppress my conscience for the sake of my wallet. Admirable, I know.

Truth is, I would have paid a considerable amount of money to visit this museum. For one thing, it has a perfect location. Perfect, but dangerous. I think the staff needs to add a sign stating "Caution: Your head may explode from simultaneous viewing of the Eiffel Tower, les Invalides and The Thinker. You have been warned." Seriously, how can you beat this?



The collections themselves are extensive, and housed in a beautiful old mansion. I've had much more exposure to painting than to sculpture, but I have to say I've always loved Rodin. The idea that someone can look at a solid hunk of marble or plaster and see a fully-realized figure inside of it is mind-boggling to me. So even though I knew that Rodin is generally considered to be an okay sculptor, I was still surprised by the detail in The Thinker. I've seen a million photos of it, but standing in front of the original is an altogether different experience. Apparently when Rodin described the sculpture, he said the following: "What makes my Thinker think is that he thinks not only with his brain, with his knitted brow, his distended nostrils and compressed lips, but with every muscle of his arms, back, and legs, with his clenched fist and gripping toes." That quote is either attributable to Rodin or a remarkably clever and accurate Wikipedia contributor. Either way, it is absolutely true.



The thing I loved most about the museum, however, were the grounds. I'm a big fan of parks, gardens and green spaces in general. And the Musee Rodin has extensive grounds with beautiful flowers, fountains and sculptures scattered throughout. It was a perfect place to spend a quiet afternoon with a book and a camera.

Speaking of cameras, I did go a little crazy with the picture taking. But I think you all have realized by now that I am more than a little obsessed with this museum. If you are ever in Paris, go. I command you. And if you need more convincing, I will leave you with a selection of the appromixately 5,000 photos I took there.

Old and New

One great thing about studying in Paris (besides, you know, the museums and the fashion and the architecture and the bread...) is the chance to experience all of the above with friends. And this weekend was all about spending time with friends--both old and new.

Friday afternoon, I saw enough of the Eiffel Tower to last me for the rest of the year. First I saw it from land while picnicking with some friends. Then I saw it from the Seine, while riding a Bateaux Mouche with a bunch of other Sweet Briar students. Yes, the boats are disgustingly touristy, but they do give you a great view of many Parisian landmarks. And afterwards a group of Sweet Briar friends and I treated ourselves to Berthillon ice cream. This ice cream will get its own post here one day, considering that I ordered five scoops of it within two days. I want to thank Mr. Berthillon for sacrificing his soul so we can all enjoy this ice cream.

On Saturday, I met up with Mary, a high-school friend studying several hours outside Paris. We spent the afternoon wandering the city, mostly the Marais, which is a neighborhood in the 3eme and 4eme arrondissements of Paris.

Aside: Paris is the perfect city for people like me. And by this, I mean people who have the directional sense of a lemming. Everything is so beautiful and there are so many things to see and do that you're bound to end up somewhere interesting. Case in point, Mary and I turned down a side street and ended up standing in front of Paris's (alleged) oldest house, formerly owned by Nicholas Flamel. (Bonus points for any readers who know why this is cool...)

Mary does not get bonus points, as she is one of those weird people who cannot name every minor character in the Harry Potter series. Still, I have never been so happy to be lost. My happiness increased when we stumbled upon a covered market that I had read about, known as the Marche des Enfants Rouges (Market of Red Children). The market is absolutely packed with food stands and vendors, and it was the perfect spot to pick up a cheap dinner before our evening out.

Said evening out brought us face-to-face with a newer side of Paris at a concert in Pigalle, the red-light district. I expected that the France would put the U.S. to shame by classing up their sex quarter. Parisians are generally so refined and elegant that I couldn't imagine them being as dirty as us, even when it came to their baser instincts. But then I exited the Metro, and was immediately greeted by the blinking neon sign of the "Sexodrome," and my inferiority complex promptly vanished.

The concert itself was held at a venue just a few minutes away from the Moulin Rouge. It was pretty small, but absolutely packed with people. The artist's name was Ray Lamontagne, a Vermonter with a very cool, folksy sound. I think I'll definitely be breaking out some of his slower songs for stress relief during finals week. But I preferred his faster stuff, notably what I think was this song, which literally had the theater shaking.

Sunday, I met up with yet another group of friends, this time two of my former dorm-mates from Northwestern. Yes, I am enormously popular. We ventured over to the Musee de l'Orangerie, located in the middle of the Tuileries Gardens, to take advantage of the Journees des Patrimoines. Basically, for one weekend a year, museums across Europe are completely free, and normally closed buildings (i.e. Sarkozy's house and the French Senate) are opened to the public. I didn't much feel like standing in line for three hours to see Nicholas and Carla's living room, so l'Orangerie was a perfect alternative.

The museum is fairly small, which I actually liked. I love art and I love museums. So art museums are great, but I tend to get pretty worn out after a couple hours. Especially when one of my friends is carrying around a delicious-smelling baguette in her purse the whole time (thanks Julie). Anyway, the Orangerie has lots of great pieces, but the highlight is absolutely Les Nympheas, a collection of Monet's water lily paintings.

Of course, I've seen similar paintings before. The Art Institute, notably, has a phenomenal Impressionist collection. But I had never seen water lily paintings displayed like this before. You walk into two huge white rooms with nothing on the walls except the paintings themselves. And they are enormous. Completely surrounded by these tableaux, I felt like I was inside Monet's dream world. And it was not a terrible place to be.

I wrapped up the weekend with a late lunch in the Tuileries, and accordion music on the Metro ride home. All in all, a successful weekend. I wrote before about the dichotomy of Paris, the contrast between its unpleasant and beautiful faces. But the city somehow manages to unify all these facets of itself, so that in one weekend you can visit the oldest house in Paris, take in a concert in the red-light district, or spend some time with the Impressionists. And whether you visit these old and new places with old or new friends, it's all Paris. And it's all pretty wonderful.