After two years of planning, we showed up at the Portland airport the evening of 5 September 2017 to catch a direct flight to Frankfurt. Our traveling companion was our grandson, Akira West Viboch, who would explore Paris with us until the 15th of September. This was Akira's first trip to Europe. This was my first time in Germany, despite still having rudiments of Deutch I learned from Herr Weiss in 1964–65. And remarkably, this would be Linny's and my 7th time in Paris together, though never for long enough—always on our way to somewhere else except for several days in 1990, when Linny's dad turned 80 and he and her mom, Pete, took all of us to France for two weeks. That was my first time out of North America; Linny had lived and worked in Paris briefly around 1960. She'd traveled pretty widely. Her French continues to get us by when we travel, although I had been failing to learn some polite Italian for the second part of this trip. I was excited to be in Paris just to be in Paris—especially with Linny and Akira. From our total time in France (about 2 months), the language now sounds normal and sometimes makes sense. Of course, my hearing sabotages conversation in any language. I can make sense of signs and other print in French and Spanish and Italian. I'm in the ballpark reading newspaper headlines. And I can still understand a little German. I can order beer in Croatian. I know where The Dalles is. I also know what les dalles are for. And I know how to buy 'em in a French bricolage shop.
We were all pretty fresh when we hit the streets of Frankfurt after a decent night's sleep to shake off the long flight. Linny and I had wandered out for dinner the night before, but explorations were limited for Linny and me. Akira had hit the streets to suck in this new place. We were in an area active at night. The morning was warm and lovely, though we noticed that the locals were all still wearing winter coats. We had a few hours before catching a TGV for a four-hour ride through new countryside—rural Germany, but mostly rural France. Linny has traveled in Germany, but this was my first time and it was too brief. The vibe on the Frankfurt streets was positive.
It's long struck me as odd that the barges on the Columbia have not evolved as self-propelled and piloted boats along with or instead of barges and tugs. That's more than mechanics and a helm back there; it's a living space. Like many who've seen them on the canals of Europe, we've fantasized converting one of the older, much smaller and narrower versions into a romantic living space. This one, of course, is large and modern, but it could host a small, portable community. I know that some of them are seaworthy and serve as coasters. There are lots of small ports that probably depend on carriers of this size and maneuverability.
Through VRBO, we'd filtered by location, price, availability, and size to find a place that wouldn't be cramped for three of us if it rained constantly. Our rental was on Blvd des Menilmontant directly across from Père-Lachaise Cemetery, just on the edge of Belleville. It was even bigger than we'd expected, and it was jammed with books and cd's. The owner is a cultural attache for the French government, and his qualifications show. The bedrooms were quiet, spacious, and private; the shower and laundry were cramped but serviceable; the kitchen was tiny, the worse for wear and poorly equipped, but we got by fine. The decent audio was a nice addition. The wifi was adequate, but barely. The price was right. Overall, the place was a great find.
This was the first stand-up bar. We were introducing Akira slowly to the subtleties of French culture. At this point, he was a bit skeptical about what to eat because of serious allergies, but he adapted to the idea that standing up deserves a discount. The man behind Linny seemed to find us interesting, but less so when the camera included him.
Rue Denoyez was recommended in something Linny read while researching this trip. The two-block-long street has been dedicated to street art/graffiti. It's the reason people come here, though the cafe/bookstore is another good reason. It's tough to guess if this experiment will last once the large building in the middle—it's a busy construction site now—becomes something new and probably more commercial, though this could be its alley.
This couple got here like we did and asked if we'd take a photo for them to send back home to Israel. The cafe/bookshop in the background anchors the downslope corner.
We went from Denoyez to Les Grande Halle de la Villette for the Imagine Van Gogh: Une Exposition Immersive. Linny had scouted this and we were getting there for the last day. Lucky to have seen it. I've loved Van Gogh's work and seen, I thought, quite a lot in books and museums, but this was revelatory in its completeness. The entire presentation on the 40 hi-res screens was wonderful.
I love animal fountains like these lions. This is a sliver of the whole of La Fontaine aux Lions, which fronts La Grande Halle de la Villette. Linny had checked out a show we thought Akira might like as much as we might. It sure sounded good. The largest expo hall in the Paris expo center was dedicated to a high-resolution display of most of Van Gogh's works. In an hour—but an hour that really needed many hours to absorb. This was the last day. The enormous size of the curtains—projected on from both sides—and their number (40), as well as their aspects, made this a lot more complex than only dazzling details. Wow. A couple of photos follow.
This is bigger than many of the mobile home conversions. It's the smaller ones that I've found so seductive in the canals of France, England, and Holland. The network is amazingly extensive. I recall a PBS show of a canal barge trip from the west side of Britain to St Petersburg. We've done only a few miles, but have friends who've done many. We've now seen a number of these larger river barges serving as restaurants, museums, and bookstores.
Akira is tapped by art.
Linny imitating art. Notice Akira's gesture on the left.
La Villette was once a working river and then a harder-working canal. The area deteriorated but has now been "rehabilitated." We did quite a bit of walking in adjacent neighborhoods and it all seemed calm and clean. along the quai, shops seem to be surviving and there's a streetlife. We learned that the canal is more than an artifact of a different age; it's a principal source for non-potable water used in parks and gardens, as well as being a well, if called upon for unexpected needs.
La Villette is not merely a canal; it's an actual river that got urbanized. We took an interesting boat trip from near the Van Gogh event that took us down to the Seine by way of several steep locks and a tunnel beneath the Bastille that gets it light from grates on the surface. Of course, the boat had lights, but you can see the antique arrangement that still lights and ventilates this underground canal.
First, we motored through a series of locks that lowered us toward the Seine in easy steps, though it seemed like a lot of our tour time was in locks. We had a talented guide, though. He was a fine storyteller in English, so his French versions must have been stellar. The long tunnel we went through is near the Seine, traveling under the Bastille before emerging in another boat basin. Our destination. From one tunnel, we went to another.
The train will come. Usually quite soon. We were getting around by Metro well, and our waits weren't long. Once it comes, the trips are fast to the other side of this gargantuan city. Yet, a lot of walking and climbing stairs is involved in a journey that changes lines in a large station. Plus there's the likelihood that you will once again incorrectly guess which "Sortie" to take and now you're four blocks away on the wrong side of one of the universe's busiest round-abouts.
The Louvre takes up an enormous space. It's utterly impossible to get a handle on it in one visit or even several.
We had a beautiful day, but standing in the unshaded sun was taking a toll on everyone waiting in line for the museum. The bottleneck was security, and they were hustling, but more lines were clearly needed. An umbrella the next time.
Once we were inside we still had to go through the ticket kiosk's maze, by which time we really needed something to drink and eat. Yadda yadda. It's time to hustle through the parts Akira is more interested in, since this is his first shot at it. I like the antiquities of the Etruscan, Roman, and Greeks, too. We pursue those displays while Linny decides which statue to draw.
Walking along the bank of Ile Saint-Louis on our way to Notre Dame and then St Chapelle.
Akira and I having a religious moment.
Sometimes things fall off of cathedrals, too.
St Chapelle charms. We knew this would be a good choice, and we expected to see it after Notre Dame. Getting into the cathedral was out of the question, so we went right to St Chapelle, where the line was much shorter and there was hope of getting in. I'm glad we did, and for more than the toilets. Certainly, there's no other Notre Dame, but there are thousands of stunning smaller examples. Some have art by famous artists; some house special artifacts and reliquaries; many shine as examples of exalted architecture; most represent their ages, though some have been on-going projects with their own stories. Frankly (and I'm not saying this because it's Paris), churches have sucked up the tithes of the poor and wealthy to replicate in art and edifice, not to mention: artifice. Because there is so much beauty to be seen there, we do so, but the price is what was not allowed to be said or seen and who decided.
This was a sweet surprise that came via Linny's research and was confirmed by our sister-in-law Dyanne. She was right, "Don't miss this." It's an astonishing taxidermy shop and an homage to animals and craft. The work is realistic and scientifically pursued. No photos are allowed, but browsing and buying are certainly encouraged. The ambiance is very much one of an old museum or library, oiled old wood and high, dark ceilings, and walls lined with matched cabinets of appropriate size. Work that can be watched is done in one room. Linny asked if they would mind her sketching. They had no problem with that, suggesting some good times to not be interrupted (or interrupt). Akira bought a beautiful butterfly for a friend.
The Louis Vuitton Foundation lives in a building designed by Frank Gehry. It's on the edge of town. So, less frequent transit plus a 15-minute walk—and it was actually raining. We were all glad we did it. The building is a sculpture that's beautifully sited and elegantly poised for take-off, yet it's well grounded. This is a place you want more cameras, more lenses. More time. Apparently, we didn't even require special exhibits, which are the norm but they were between shows. The building, the spaces it creates, the light and shadow, the acoustics. We felt no reason to hurry, though it would have been nice if the cafe weren't ridiculously priced; so we stayed our mutual museum limit before walking through the rain following some geese toward a park cafe. Sandwiches and fries were to be had. Coffee.
We did some serious hiking on our trek to the park at the top of Belleville, where you get the best panoramic view of Paris. This was part of the store's motif, but interesting street art.
This one from the top of the park in Belleville is probably the city's best panorama. The view was appropriate on Akira's last full day in the city.
Akira had tracked down fellow martial artists who are into "tricking," which is using their skills in acrobatic routines.
For his last evening in Paris, Akira took Linny and me to dinner in Belleville.
We wish we'd done more days together. When Akira headed home, it was right when Paris was becoming his own. I was thinking about this because I'd have loved to have gotten to Paris or almost anywhere "foreign" when I was 18. It took another 20+ years. I've only gotten to the point of having relationships with friends around the world because of coincidence or academics. I hope he travels again soon. Ten days can mean a lot. What about a few hundred?
