Tempus Fugit

Back in Paris early Thursday morning, with only three days left to cram everything in, I try to map out a plan that will allow me to do all the things I want to do without doing myself in. I check in to my charming little Left Bank hotel and then head straight for the Musée Cluny, where I buy a 2-day museum pass. Sadly, the gallo-roman baths are closed for renovation, so I pay my respects to the Lady and the Unicorn and move on to the Musée d'Orsay, one of the best museums you could ever hope to visit.

First stop, a quick lunch at the Café des Hauteurs, which will always be one of my favorite dining spots in Paris. Even better, I get to sit right under the clock. Then, time to see some old friends: Toulouse-Lautrec's Le Lit, Henri-Edmond Cross' Les Cyprès à Cagnes, and the art nouveau furnishings of Hector Guimard, to name a few. The Orsay houses a truly amazing collection, but the space itself is a work of art -- a transformed train station, full of light. The hours slip by, and I have barely enough time to scurry across the Seine for my last art stop of the day.

The Musée de l'Orangerie was finally reopened a couple of years ago after closing for massive renovations, which were long stalled by the discovery of an ancient defensive wall in the basement. I can't say I like the new look: the old exterior has cleaned up nicely, but the raw concrete interior leaves me unimpressed. However, the naturally-lit oval rooms which house Monet's Nymphéas are just as the master himself specified (here's a virtual visit). They're beautiful. Downstairs, I fall in love with the paintings of Marie Laurencin, whose work I haven't seen before.


The museum is closing, and I run for the metro so that I won't be late for dinner at Philippe and Nicole's (Stéphane's uncle and aunt). They've graciously invited me and I'm treated like royalty; cousin Bertrand is there as well, and we eat and eat, and talk and talk, and drink and drink until the wee hours of the morning, it seems. It's wonderful, and I'm so busy enjoying it that I forget to take any pictures, but there are many photos of Bertrand's recent wedding to peruse. Thankfully, Philippe gives me ride back to the hotel, as I doubt I could have figured out the Plan de Metro at this point. In the night sky, the Eiffel Tower is lit up in blue, and I feel like I'm in a watercolor by Chagall...

I have an ambitious plan for Friday, so I'm up early in order to be at the Louvre when it opens. I haven't been here since I.M.Pei's Pyramid was installed so it's a whole new place: clean, well-lit, overwhelming, and unbelievably crowded. I'm shocked to see a Starbucks coffee, here, inside the Louvre: what is the world coming to? Trying to comprehend the floor plan is an exercise in futility, so I finally give in and take an hour-and-a-half-long guided tour. It's barely a taste, but it gives me a lay of the land, and I get to see the 12th Century moats which were recently uncovered. Later, I go back to find the favorites that I've missed. I don't even try to get close to the Mona Lisa, but I sit for an hour at the feet of the Winged Victory of Samothrace.

By now it's 6pm, so I hoof it across Les Halles, stopping for a $10 cup of coffee (not Starbucks) in front of the amusing Stravinsky Fountain by Niki de Saint Phalle before heading into the Centre George Pompidou. None of the temporary exhibits make me jump for joy, but I've always loved this quirky space and its commanding view of Paris. At 9pm, I'm once again closing down a museum. I stop for dinner at a wonderful, tourist-free place recommended by Philippe and Nicole, which luckily for me, is just steps from my hotel. Tomorrow, I think I might sleep in a little...